and sank an ax into his back. He slumped into the water, which had changed direction again, and was swept, facedown, past Krysty downstream.
Ryan let go and slogged through the water toward the swampie who held Isis. He had his SIG-Sauer P-226 out at arm’s length and was shooting as he splashed forward. Krysty wondered at the risk he was taking of hitting the captive.
Then the second swampie, who had struck down Jammer with the ax, pitched forward to land with a huge splash in the water. The muties were notoriously hard to kill, but one of Ryan’s 9 mm slugs had penetrated the back of its head.
Ryan ran up to the swampie that held Isis. He bobbed away from a clumsy swipe that for all its almost comic effect could easily have broken its neck if it had caught him in the side of the head as intended. Then he pressed the muzzle of his SIG into the rolls of fat around the mutie’s right eye and fired.
A gush of liquid spewed out the right side of the mutie’s head: brain matter flash-heated and overpressurized by both the 147-grain bullet and the gases that propelled it. The swampie emitted a shrill steam-whistle squeal and collapsed. Isis splashed into the water.
Krysty saw no more of what happened there because Mildred started screaming closer at hand. Her hair twisting like a mass of frightened snakes, Krysty whipped her head around to see a swampie had caught Mildred by one wrist and was trying to drag her away. The creature wasn’t bright. It seemed to be trying to pull the black woman through the tree, allowing her to hang on tight with her other arm and keep her face and body pressed against the trunk. Stymied despite the fact his strength was many times hers, the only thing the swampie could think to do was to pull harder.
Krysty ripped her knife out and began slashing at the doughy forearm. Past the squat dirty-white mass she saw J.B. trying to maneuver to get a shot with his shotgun that wouldn’t endanger either Krysty or his woman.
Then pain like lightning shot up Krysty’s right thigh, through her belly to her spine to explode in her brain. At the same instant she felt a strange sick edge to the blinding agony and knew she had been poisoned.
She looked down. A long narrow sinuous body a good four feet long, green and brown, writhed in the water right beside her. Its jaws gaped flat open. It had sunk its two forward-extended fangs into her leg like spears.
She heard Mildred scream her name.
“Gaia, give me strength.” Krysty saw a glittering arc descend and chop the snake in half as Ryan struck with his panga.
And then the darkness enveloped her and bore her down.
“W HAT IS THIS ?” Ryan shouted, holding up the snake that had bitten Krysty. He had chopped it in half a foot and a half down from the head. He held it near the stump. The head itself still waved, jaws opened menacingly.
“I think it’s a water moccasin,” Mildred said. Cradling her freed wrist, she half waded, half swam to where Krysty floated on her back in the water. Her eyes were closed. Her hair spread out about her like a halo, framing a face still as ivory that seemed calm and composed.
J.B.’s shotgun roared again. He had blown part of the head off the swampie who had held Mildred’s wrist. That hadn’t been enough to kill the mutie. He was finishing the job now. Around them the surviving Tech-nomads were battling more muties who had come out of the storm to catch their prey unsuspecting and nearly helpless.
“I never saw a snakebite victim react like this,” Mildred said, grabbing Krysty’s wrist. “She’s alive. I—”
“Ryan,” he heard Doc shout. “Watch out!”
Before he could react Ryan was picked up out of the water and hurled through the air. He flew a dozen feet and landed sideways against a tree trunk. Pain shot through his side and turned his vision momentarily red.
A terrific blow caught him on the side of the head, and he slipped into the water. For a moment he saw beneath the surface:
Ryan let go and slogged through the water toward the swampie who held Isis. He had his SIG-Sauer P-226 out at arm’s length and was shooting as he splashed forward. Krysty wondered at the risk he was taking of hitting the captive.
Then the second swampie, who had struck down Jammer with the ax, pitched forward to land with a huge splash in the water. The muties were notoriously hard to kill, but one of Ryan’s 9 mm slugs had penetrated the back of its head.
Ryan ran up to the swampie that held Isis. He bobbed away from a clumsy swipe that for all its almost comic effect could easily have broken its neck if it had caught him in the side of the head as intended. Then he pressed the muzzle of his SIG into the rolls of fat around the mutie’s right eye and fired.
A gush of liquid spewed out the right side of the mutie’s head: brain matter flash-heated and overpressurized by both the 147-grain bullet and the gases that propelled it. The swampie emitted a shrill steam-whistle squeal and collapsed. Isis splashed into the water.
Krysty saw no more of what happened there because Mildred started screaming closer at hand. Her hair twisting like a mass of frightened snakes, Krysty whipped her head around to see a swampie had caught Mildred by one wrist and was trying to drag her away. The creature wasn’t bright. It seemed to be trying to pull the black woman through the tree, allowing her to hang on tight with her other arm and keep her face and body pressed against the trunk. Stymied despite the fact his strength was many times hers, the only thing the swampie could think to do was to pull harder.
Krysty ripped her knife out and began slashing at the doughy forearm. Past the squat dirty-white mass she saw J.B. trying to maneuver to get a shot with his shotgun that wouldn’t endanger either Krysty or his woman.
Then pain like lightning shot up Krysty’s right thigh, through her belly to her spine to explode in her brain. At the same instant she felt a strange sick edge to the blinding agony and knew she had been poisoned.
She looked down. A long narrow sinuous body a good four feet long, green and brown, writhed in the water right beside her. Its jaws gaped flat open. It had sunk its two forward-extended fangs into her leg like spears.
She heard Mildred scream her name.
“Gaia, give me strength.” Krysty saw a glittering arc descend and chop the snake in half as Ryan struck with his panga.
And then the darkness enveloped her and bore her down.
“W HAT IS THIS ?” Ryan shouted, holding up the snake that had bitten Krysty. He had chopped it in half a foot and a half down from the head. He held it near the stump. The head itself still waved, jaws opened menacingly.
“I think it’s a water moccasin,” Mildred said. Cradling her freed wrist, she half waded, half swam to where Krysty floated on her back in the water. Her eyes were closed. Her hair spread out about her like a halo, framing a face still as ivory that seemed calm and composed.
J.B.’s shotgun roared again. He had blown part of the head off the swampie who had held Mildred’s wrist. That hadn’t been enough to kill the mutie. He was finishing the job now. Around them the surviving Tech-nomads were battling more muties who had come out of the storm to catch their prey unsuspecting and nearly helpless.
“I never saw a snakebite victim react like this,” Mildred said, grabbing Krysty’s wrist. “She’s alive. I—”
“Ryan,” he heard Doc shout. “Watch out!”
Before he could react Ryan was picked up out of the water and hurled through the air. He flew a dozen feet and landed sideways against a tree trunk. Pain shot through his side and turned his vision momentarily red.
A terrific blow caught him on the side of the head, and he slipped into the water. For a moment he saw beneath the surface:
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