The explosion was not the dull crump Richard had expected but a loud, braying roar that drilled into his ears, hurting them badly. He heard a splash, as if someone had thrown a bucket of water against his side of the train.
He looked up and saw that the engine, boxcar and flatcar were covered with hot guts, black blood, and shreds of the alligator-creature's flesh. The entire front of the barracks building had been blown away. Much of the splintered rubble was bloody. In the midst of it he saw a hairy foot in a boot with a cut-off toe.
The jackstraw blowdown of logs was thrown aside as he watched, and two of the goatlike creatures began to pull themselves out. Richard bent, found a fresh clip, and slammed it into his gun. It was getting hot, just as Jack had said it would.
Whoopee! Richard thought faintly, and opened fire again.
9
When Jack popped up after the grenade explosion, he saw that the four Wolfs who had escaped his first two fusillades were just running through the hole where the gate had been. They were howling with terror. They were running side by side, and Jack had a clear shot at them. He raised the Uzi - then lowered it again, knowing he would see them later, probably at the black hotel, knowing he was a fool . . . but, fool or not, he was unable to just let them have it in the back.
Now a high, womanish shrieking began from behind the barracks. 'Get out there! Get out there, I say! Move! Move!' There was the whistling crack of a whip.
Jack knew that sound, and he knew that voice. He had been wrapped up in a strait-jacket when he had last heard it. Jack would have known that voice anywhere.
- If his retarded friend shows up, shoot him.
Well, you managed that, but maybe now it's payback time - and maybe, from the way your voice sounds, you know it.
'Get them, what's the matter with you cowards? Get them, do I have to show you how to do everything? Follow us, follow us!'
Three creatures came from behind what remained of the barracks, and only one of them was clearly human - Osmond. He carried his whip in one hand, a Sten gun in the other. He wore a red cloak and black boots and white silk pants with wide, flowing legs. They were splattered with fresh blood. To his left was a shaggy goat-creature wearing jeans and Westernstyle boots. This creature and Jack looked at each other and shared a moment of complete recognition. It was the dreadful barroom cowboy from the Oatley Tap. It was Randolph Scott. It was Elroy. It grinned at Jack; its long tongue snaked out and lapped its wide upper lip.
'Get him!' Osmond screamed at Elroy.
Jack tried to lift the Uzi, but it suddenly seemed very heavy in his arms. Osmond was bad, the reappearance of Elroy was worse, but the thing between the two of them was a nightmare. It was the Territories version of Reuel Gardener, of course; the son of Osmond, the son of Sunlight. And it did indeed look a bit like a child - a child as drawn by a bright kindergarten student with a cruel turn of mind.
It was curdy-white and skinny; one of its arms ended in a wormy tentacle that somehow reminded Jack of Osmond's whip. Its eyes, one of them adrift, were on different levels. Fat red sores covered its cheeks.
Some of it's radiation sickness . . . Jason, I think Osmond's boy might have gotten a little too close to one of those fireballs . . . but the rest of it . . . Jason . . . Jesus . . . what was its mother? In the name of all the worlds, WHAT WAS ITS MOTHER?
'Get the Pretender!' Osmond was shrieking. 'Save Morgan's son but get the Pretender! Get the false Jason! Get out here, you cowards! They're out of bullets!'
Roars, bellows. In a moment, Jack knew, a fresh contingent of Wolfs, supported by Assorted Geeks and Freaks, was going to appear from the back end of the long barracks, where they would have been shielded from the explosion, where they had probably been cowering with their heads down, and where they would have remained . . . except for Osmond.
'Should have stayed off the road, little chicken,' Elroy grunted, and ran at the train. His tail was swishing through the air. Reuel Gardener - or whatever Reuel was in this world - made a thick mewling sound and attempted to follow. Osmond reached out and hauled him back; his fingers, Jack saw, appeared to slide right into the monster-boy's slatlike, repulsive neck.
Then he raised the Uzi and fired an entire clip, point-blank, into Elroy's face. It tore the goat-thing's entire head off, and yet Elroy, headless, continued to climb for a moment, and one of his hands, the fingers melted together in two clumps to make a parody of a cloven hoof, pawed blindly for Jack's head before it tumbled backward.
Jack stared at it, stunned - he had dreamed that final nightmarish confrontation at the Oatley Tap over and over again, trying to stumble away from the monster through what seemed to be a dark jungle filled with bedsprings and broken glass. Now here was that creature, and he had somehow killed it. It was hard to get his mind around the fact. It was as if he had killed childhood's bogeyman.
Richard was screaming - and his machine-gun roared, nearly deafening Jack.