walls and Eddie’s combat boots stepped on a floor of heads. Damned souls stood beneath his feet, stacked shoulder to shoulder like sardines, so tightly that they made a solid floor. The flesh on their heads was worn from treading feet all the way down, exposing cracked and oozing skulls under the tatters of hair and skin that remained.
Eddie ignored them. He jammed the muzzle of his 870 up the stairwell and squeezed off a couple of rounds, and then he half-dragged, half-kicked Phineas Irving into the Toys Department.
Mike was right on their heels. Jim jumped from the demolished bed to the banister of the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie saw the big dark-haired man slash three times at the pell-mell mutants before leaping over a shelf of sagging plush giraffes to join them, landing on his feet light as a cat.
Twitch touched down in man-shape as they raced through a depressing junkyard of dusty fire trucks and no-name action figures, but immediately took to the air again as a falcon. Eddie saw why and pumped the shotgun. “They’re bad enough when they stick to the ground,” he muttered, and pulled the trigger.
Two flying snakes in the way of the Remington’s slug exploded into shuddering meat. Two out of a thousand.
Phineas Irving sang louder and he sweated rivulets of salt, but he was still singing.
The wall of flying snakes hit the Nehushtan’s bubble of faith—
and bounced back.
“Yee ha!” Eddie shouted. “Onward, Christian soldiers!”
They rounded out the back of Toys at the top of the next flight down in a no man’s land between shrink-wrapped wire crates of fake plastic food labeled to look like off-brands on one side and a pallet of two-by-fours on the other.
“Down!” Eddie barked, and pushed Irving and Mike forward, after the flashing horse’s tail of the falcon Twitch.
He joined Jim at the back. The singer ducked under and wove around a hedge of snakes that snapped and hissed at him from the floor as well as from the bodies of the mutants—Lady Legs charged at him, along with Bob the repairman and others Eddie hadn’t yet bothered to recognize.
Eddie squeezed the trigger of the 870, letting off several rounds into the horde and setting them back a few paces.
“Don’t mind us back here!” he yelled to Irving, retreating from the serpents in a quick skipping shuffle down the stairs. “Everything’s under control!”
“ Forward into battle …” came the indirect reply.
They hit the ground floor, and it was ice. Heads protruding from the ice surrounded Eddie, and he was close enough now that he could see the words they were mouthing.
Save us , they said, and I’m sorry , and Soon you too will join us .
Eddie turned with Jim to see the late afternoon sun through the glass doors. He saw more heads out in the parking lot, but he saw cars, too, and with half his heart, he wanted to ditch Adrian and run like the devil.
Then the snakebite he’d got from John Deere’s wing-snake itched, fiercely. It stung. Eddie scratched at it, and saw that Mike and Irving were hesitating, too. “Go on!” Eddie bellowed, channeling his Inner Sergeant. “The basement, Twitch said!”
They ran through racks of brassieres and panties. Mike’s choice, Eddie thought. Guy can’t stop thinking about tail, even when he’s getting shot at. He could hear the sound that Twitch had been talking about now. It was a chanting, with a drumming mixed in, the shaking of metal rattles. If it counted as music, he thought idly, it did so only barely. It sounded like the crap he’d played for Sharon back when she was in college and he was just back from Iraq, and he wanted to impress her with his sophisticated interest in things African.
Bullshit, he snorted now. Gimme a fuzzed-out, wailing guitar solo any day. That’s the music of my people.
He forced himself to ignore the freezing heads, and charged straight through them. They flinched as he struck them, but of course he didn’t feel
Eddie ignored them. He jammed the muzzle of his 870 up the stairwell and squeezed off a couple of rounds, and then he half-dragged, half-kicked Phineas Irving into the Toys Department.
Mike was right on their heels. Jim jumped from the demolished bed to the banister of the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie saw the big dark-haired man slash three times at the pell-mell mutants before leaping over a shelf of sagging plush giraffes to join them, landing on his feet light as a cat.
Twitch touched down in man-shape as they raced through a depressing junkyard of dusty fire trucks and no-name action figures, but immediately took to the air again as a falcon. Eddie saw why and pumped the shotgun. “They’re bad enough when they stick to the ground,” he muttered, and pulled the trigger.
Two flying snakes in the way of the Remington’s slug exploded into shuddering meat. Two out of a thousand.
Phineas Irving sang louder and he sweated rivulets of salt, but he was still singing.
The wall of flying snakes hit the Nehushtan’s bubble of faith—
and bounced back.
“Yee ha!” Eddie shouted. “Onward, Christian soldiers!”
They rounded out the back of Toys at the top of the next flight down in a no man’s land between shrink-wrapped wire crates of fake plastic food labeled to look like off-brands on one side and a pallet of two-by-fours on the other.
“Down!” Eddie barked, and pushed Irving and Mike forward, after the flashing horse’s tail of the falcon Twitch.
He joined Jim at the back. The singer ducked under and wove around a hedge of snakes that snapped and hissed at him from the floor as well as from the bodies of the mutants—Lady Legs charged at him, along with Bob the repairman and others Eddie hadn’t yet bothered to recognize.
Eddie squeezed the trigger of the 870, letting off several rounds into the horde and setting them back a few paces.
“Don’t mind us back here!” he yelled to Irving, retreating from the serpents in a quick skipping shuffle down the stairs. “Everything’s under control!”
“ Forward into battle …” came the indirect reply.
They hit the ground floor, and it was ice. Heads protruding from the ice surrounded Eddie, and he was close enough now that he could see the words they were mouthing.
Save us , they said, and I’m sorry , and Soon you too will join us .
Eddie turned with Jim to see the late afternoon sun through the glass doors. He saw more heads out in the parking lot, but he saw cars, too, and with half his heart, he wanted to ditch Adrian and run like the devil.
Then the snakebite he’d got from John Deere’s wing-snake itched, fiercely. It stung. Eddie scratched at it, and saw that Mike and Irving were hesitating, too. “Go on!” Eddie bellowed, channeling his Inner Sergeant. “The basement, Twitch said!”
They ran through racks of brassieres and panties. Mike’s choice, Eddie thought. Guy can’t stop thinking about tail, even when he’s getting shot at. He could hear the sound that Twitch had been talking about now. It was a chanting, with a drumming mixed in, the shaking of metal rattles. If it counted as music, he thought idly, it did so only barely. It sounded like the crap he’d played for Sharon back when she was in college and he was just back from Iraq, and he wanted to impress her with his sophisticated interest in things African.
Bullshit, he snorted now. Gimme a fuzzed-out, wailing guitar solo any day. That’s the music of my people.
He forced himself to ignore the freezing heads, and charged straight through them. They flinched as he struck them, but of course he didn’t feel
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