"Don't touch me!" Mandy blurted.

"Get away from her," Eleanor ordered.

Hunter scurried back and Eleanor came forward. She shifted the sword to her left hand. Planting her feet on both sides of Mandy's hips, she bent down and clutched the neck of the sweater and pulled.

"No!" Mandy cried out.

The angora stretched away from her neck, made sounds of starting to rip, but her head and back began to rise off the ground. Her left arm dangled toward the ground, erupting with pain. As she whimpered with the hurt of it, Eleanor hauled her upward and she pushed at the ground with her feet. A moment later, standing, she was jerked forward by a rough tug of Eleanor's hand, pulled up close to her.

"Told you to watch where you're going," Eleanor said.

"I'm... sorry."

"She tripped" Hunter pleaded. "You don't have to..."

"Shut up or I'll give it to her worse."

Mandy put her right hand quickly up under her poodle skirt to Simone's knife in its sheath belted low around her hips. She grabbed the hilt and jerked upward. Her skirt came up with her hand and Eleanor made a perplexed sound, then grunted when Mandy punched the blade into her belly.

Grunted and jerked rigid.

Sensing she'd be in deep trouble unless she finished the job fast, Mandy jerked the knife upward hard while it was still inside Eleanor.

The woman went up on tiptoes. Her mouth leaped open, but only a harsh gasp came out.

Then the fist clutching Mandy's sweater punched her in the chest, blasting her backward. She kept hold of the knife. It pulled out of Eleanor. When she hit the ground, pain exploded through her arm.

Eleanor lurched toward her, sword raised high, right hand pressed against her split belly.

Leaping in from the side, Hunter grabbed her sword arm. She turned toward him, let go of her belly and pulled her knife from its sheath.

"Look out!" Mandy warned.

They both suddenly went down, Eleanor falling backward, Hunter on top.

Eleanor grunted.

There was no struggle. Hunter climbed off her.

Mandy sat up, gritting her teeth against the pain from her arm, and saw Eleanor sprawled out on top of a low iron fence that surrounded a family plot. The uprights looked like miniature spears. She must've fallen on at least three of them.

She was still alive.

Still conscious.

Writhing on the spikes, she screamed.

CHAPTER FORTY.

For a short while, Royce had been down on his knees and clutching his nose. Now he was up, staggering toward Laura.

"Oh, God," she murmured.

Shannon, spread-eagled underneath her, groaned and squirmed, maybe wanting to get up but too weak, too hurt from the fall.

Royce stopped just beyond the reach of Laura's feel. "Ya busted by bose, ya puckin'..." A distant scream caught his attention. He looked over his shoulder.

Laura, on the ground and lashed to Shannon's back, couldn't see what he was looking at.

His robe was blowing behind him.

The size of him made Laura feel sick and shaky.

Please, God, don't let him...

He turned his face again toward Laura. The blood running from his nostrils gave him a dark mustache and goatee.

"Leave us alone," Laura said. "Please."

He took a step closer and she kicked out at him. Too far away.

"You an' yer puckin' poot," he muttered. Then he pulled out his knife.

"No," Laura said. "Please."

He stepped toward her and she shot her foot out, aiming for his groin.

Flashing moonlight, the blade slit her across the instep.

She jerked her leg back, crying out.

He kicked her other leg aside and dropped to his knees. She felt him between her thighs.

And heard a quiet pok!

Royce remained kneeling for a moment. Then he toppled forward. She grunted as his thighs forced her legs wide and his torso came down on her pelvis and belly. His head followed, shoving his face between her breasts.

Underneath her, Shannon moaned, squirmed, flexed her buttocks. "What... happened?"

"I don't know," Laura said. "He got hit by something? I think he's out cold."

"Can you... get him off us?"

"I don't..."

Someone ran in from the side, skidded to a halt and looked down at her. A kid with wild, pale hair. He wore bib overalls and held a slingshot in one hand.

"Hi, Laura," he said. "Hi, Shannon."

"Hey," Laura said.

"Who is it?" Shannon asked.

"Dennis the Menace?"

"I'm Bret. Bret Wilson. Remember me?"

"What's going on?"

"I'm here to rescue everyone. I'm supposed to give up, but I'm not gonna."

Suddenly, kids started screaming. Eight, ten of them, boys and girls together, shrieking in terror.

Bret turned his head. "Uh-oh."

"What?"

"Somebody's watching."

"Oh, God."

"It's okay."

"Get outa here, Bret," Shannon warned.

"Don't worry."

"You'd better run," Laura told him.

"I'm fine," he said, reaching behind his back with the slingshot A moment later, his hand came forward empty. He shoved it into a front pocket of his bib overalls and pulled out something that looked like a pistol.

"Shannon?" he said. "What's the combination for your trigger lock?"

"What?"

"I think he's got your gun," Laura said.

"You're kidding!"

"Uh, oh," Bret said. "Here they come."

"Double-oh-seven!" Shannon cried out.

Bret raised the pistol higher, studied it in the moonlight, worked on something with his thumb. "Now what?"

"Twist the thing sideways and pull it apart."

He fiddled with it.

Laura strained her head upward. The top Royce's head blocked most of her view, so she couldn't see who was coming. She could hear them, though. Footfalls, panting sounds.

She looked over at Bret.

Two big shiny chunks of something metallic fell away and he shoved the pistol straight out in front of him.

BLAM!.

The pistol spit out fire, leaping in the boy's small hand.

BLAM BLAM!.

Sword high overhead as if leading a cavalry charge, Hunter raced down the slope, dodging grave stones and trees. On the level ground in the distance, all the robed figures seemed to be watching him.

I must look crazy to them.

Maybe even scary, coming down through the graveyard like the Headless Horseman, sword waving. No horse, though. No clothes or missing head.

Hunter let out a war cry.

A lot of the kids started screaming.

Suddenly, a couple of the robed adults turned around and ran in the opposite direction.

Afraid of me?

Maybe not. Looked like some others were over there, down on the ground.

He heard a quick BLAM!

One of the running shapes fell. Two more bangs. The other tumbled to the ground.

Somebody shot them?

As if the shots were a signal, chaos broke out. Yelling kids started to stand up, struggle with their ropes. Some of them, already loose, sprinted away. None of the guards tried to interfere; they had problems of their own.

Namely me and Wild Bill!

The four remaining robed figures were striding around, looking every which way, shouting, grabbing kids, pointing at Hunter, throwing kids to the ground, pointing toward the scene of the gunfire.