Who the hell turned up with a gun?

He only knew of one firearm; Shannon's pistol that Bret had run off with. But it had a trigger lock.

Did he get it off? How could he? The kid's only... what, eight?

Hunter had told Mandy to wait, so she was waiting at the top of the hill even though it made her nervous being so close to Eleanor As Hunter charged down the slope, she glanced over at the woman.

Not dead yet. Moaning and twitching on the fence spikes, intestines slipping around and falling off her sides as if snakes were escaping from her belly.

I did that.

The blast of a gunshot made her flinch. Then came two more She jerked her head around. She'd missed where the shot came from. By the sounds, however, they must've been fired from somewhere down below.

Are they shooting at Hunter?

If so, they'd missed. He was still racing down the slope, waving his sword overhead like a madman.

"Mandy?"

She whirled around.

Rhonda was down on her knees a few yards away, a woman standing behind her. The woman wore a robe. He bare head gleamed in the moonlight.

She had one hand on Rhonda's shoulder. The other, raised high, held a hatchet.

"Take it easy," the woman said. "Don't try anything or I'll split Rhonda's head open."

"What do you want?" Mandy asked.

The woman smiled and said, "You."

"You got 'em?" Shannon asked. Mashed beneath Laura and Royce, she hadn't been able to see anything except grass and a nearby gravestone. But the gunshots were still ringing in her ears.

"Sure," Bret said.

"Any more coming?" Laura asked.

"Not yet."

"Can you get this guy off us?" Shannon asked.

"I guess so."

"No," Laura said. "Just leave him for now. Get us loose first."

What's the matter with her? Shannon wondered. Doesn't she know I'm getting crushed under here? Does she like having that creep on top of her?

"Can you untie us?" Laura asked.

"I can do better. This guy's got a knife."

Moments later, Shannon felt the flat of a cool blade slipping between her wrist and Laura's. The boy began to work it back and forth, cutting into the rope.

None of the four remaining guards seemed eager to rush toward the place where someone had just gunned down their pals. While two of them tried to round up kids who hadn't gotten away yet, the two others pulled weapons from inside their robes and rushed toward Hunter. The way they were shrouded by shadows, he couldn't see what their weapons were.

But he'd had a pretty good look at the whole group earlier that night when they'd shed their robes and danced in the light of the flare, and he hadn't seen any firearms. Just hatchets, all sorts of knives and a couple of swords.

Bad enough going up against anything like that.

I don't have to do this!

But he wondered if Connie was there among the captives.

Is she watching, amazed by the naked wildman charging to the rescue? She'll go nuts when she finds out it's me.

He wanted to look for her, but couldn't take his eyes off the two robed figures who were now only a few strides away.

One threw a knife at him. It tumbled end over end, blade flashing moonlight.

No time to dodge, so he slashed his sword at it.

Missed.

The knife struck him hard in the chest.

Hilt-first? Glancing down, he expected to see it bounce off and fall. But the handle, a couple of inches below his right nipple, was sticking out straight.

Oh, my God.

He felt the blade deep inside him, hot and stiff.

The man dodged away after throwing the knife, but the other, a woman with flowing blond hair, ran toward him with an upraised hatchet.

He swung his sword.

Her head leaped off her neck and bumped her raised arm, knocking the hatchet aside. An instant later, Hunter collided with her, caught a faceful of blood from her spouting neck stump, and took her over backward.

When he landed on the woman, her chest slammed the knife deeper into him.

Squealing, he tried to roll off her.

Someone helped.

A hand grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and flung him over. He tumbled off the woman. On his back, he saw the man who'd thrown the knife bend over him, grab the knife by its hill and pull it out.

The man put the blade to Hunter's neck.

Oh, no.

Then came a quick hard BLAM! and the man's head jerked as if he'd been punched in the face and pieces of his chin flew off and he stumbled sideways and disappeared from Hunter's line of sight.

He'd said, "Just a second."

"What?" Laura asked.

Not answering, Bret had left the knife's wide blade sandwiched between their upper arms, leaped up and run.

"Where are you going? " Laura had called.

"What's he doing?" Shannon had asked.

"I don't know."

"He shouldn't have left! If something happens to him..."

BLAM!.

"What's he doing?"

Laura raised her head, but Royce's head remained in the way.

"I can't see."

Royce raised his head and looked her in the eyes. Then he turned his head, opened his mouth and licked the side of her right breast. Squirming and lifting himself slightly, he licked his way to the top of her breast. His mouth opened wide.

Obviously unaware that Laura's right arm was no longer bound to Shannon's arm.

Fingers searching the grass by her side, she found what she wanted.

Her breast in his mouth, Royce raised his head, sucking and pulling and stretching it.

She clutched the heavy chunk of metal so that its smooth oval side was against her palm, its stubby barrel-like rod jutting outward, and swung it u p hard, slamming it against the side of Royce's head...

His head jumped up. Her breast popped out of his mouth with a wet slurping sound. As he bucked higher, Laura let go of her weapon - half of Shannon's trigger lock. It stayed with Royce, its rod embedded in his temple.

He made it to his knees, then tumbled sideways. His weight came down on Laura's left leg, Shannon's right. They both yelled in pain.

With her right foot, Laura shoved at the body. It wobbled, started to roll.

Then she heard an engine sputter. It died, then caught and roared as someone gunned it.

Then came another gunshot.

"What the hell's going on?" Shannon blurted.

After the shot, the engine quieted to an idle.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE.

A girl in a shiny, pale monster suit ran over to Laura and Shannon.

"Betsy?" Laura asked.

"That's me. Bret sent me over." Crouching, she look hold of the knife and started to cut through the ropes that bound Laura's upper left arm to Shannon's right.

"Where's Bret?" Laura asked.

"Over by the van. He has a prisoner of war."

Underneath Laura, Shannon said, "Huh?"

"That's what he called her, a 'prisoner of war.' He has to keep her covered, so he sent me over."

Finished with that rope, she started working on the one around their forearms. "A couple of them almost got away. They had me and some other kids in their van, but then Bret ran up to the door and shot the driver and rescued us all and took his prisoner of war."

"He got 'em all?" Shannon asked.

"Oh, he did. If you count the ones that went after you, he shot four of them."

"Jesus," Shannon muttered, "He's a kid. He shouldn't even know how to work a gun like that."

"He says it's easy," Betsy said.

Shannon laughed, shaking Laura.

Soon, the last of the ropes were cut away. After Betsy stood up, Laura gave Royce a hard shove with her foot and he rolled clear.

She rolled in the opposite direction, tumbled off Shannon's slippery hot back and buttocks, and lay face down on the grass. The wind felt wonderful against her own wet skin.

Turning her head, she looked at Shannon.

Shannon, still flat on the grass, smiled. "Nice to have you off my back, kid."