The Omicron Legion (26 page)

“Come on!” he yelled to Patty.

Instead she leaned over to help John, who had been thrown down in the struggle.

“There are others!” she screamed at Blaine.

“I know,” Blaine said, ducking the gunfire that pulsed their way, bodies toppling in the path ahead of them. “The kids didn’t have enough time!” he shouted. “They didn’t have enough time!”

The plan McCracken had outlined to the boys was risky at best. Once they heard the sound of the firecrackers, they were to move in pairs on targets chosen by themselves. Not to lift wallets from pockets, though, not tonight. Tonight their targets were the pistols the enemy force undoubtedly wore beneath their jackets or clipped to their belts. Blaine had hoped to give them plenty of leeway. To pick and choose the time after he spotted Patty. As it turned out, he’d given them a minute at most, which meant few if any had completed their assigned task.

As he grabbed for Patty and Lynnford, he would have been surprised to learn that six of the fourteen additional gunmen had already been stripped of their pistols. Others either were equipped with minimachine guns or wore their pistols too well secured to make off with. But for these, the boys had an answer as well.

McCracken had expressly forbidden them to use the guns they had pilfered; nothing could have seemed worse to him than turning children into killers. But they had brought an assortment of other weapons that worked just fine. When a number of the still-armed gunmen drew their weapons, the boys were all over them with spray-paint cans, distorting their vision and confounding their aim. This much was accomplished ahead of the initial bursts of fire. At the sound of the gunshots, the boys scattered among the rest of the patrons along the midway, which had been turned into chaos.

A stray bullet caught John Lynnford in the shoulder as Blaine and Patty helped him backward. McCracken heard him gasp; he shielded the man with his own body as they dragged him into the cover provided by the guts of the Ferris wheel.

In the process, McCracken realized angrily that some of the boys had totally disregarded his orders and were in the process of firing back at the gunmen. For a time they held their own, but now those of Da Sa’s soldiers who had been stopped temporarily by the spray paint were joining the battle, shots firing wildly in all directions. Bodies surged down and through the midway, changing directions from one burst of fire into another. Booths toppled as patrons sought refuge. McCracken watched as a bald strongman lifted a gunman brandishing an Uzi up overhead and tossed him effortlessly into a neon sign advertising the TEST YOUR STRENGTH booth. Bulbs popped and crackled. The bell at the top chimed as the gunman crashed into the apparatus and tumbled it with him.

“Zandor!” Patty cried happily.

“Stay here!” Blaine ordered.

“Where are you going?”

“Out there to do what I do best, lady. And do it fast.”

McCracken had just slid out from the makeshift hiding place when five trucks roared onto the scene with gunfire marking their path.

He should have figured the opposition would have left some reinforcements back a bit—to be used only if needed, like now. The trucks roared onto the scene. The gunfire surging from them was indiscriminate, and bodies fell everywhere, some hit, some trying to find cover.

Blaine’s first order of business was to get a gun. He had scarcely left the cover of the Ferris wheel when he spotted the dark figure of Reverend Jim waving to him with pistol in hand. In a crouch, he rushed toward Hope, only to be caught in the spill of a truck’s headlights, making him an easy target for the gunmen on board. At the last possible instant, a shape lunged between the truck and him. The angle allowed Blaine to see the young American-looking boy named Edson, who had been part of that morning’s demonstration back at the slum, firing straight at the truck. It veered and crashed into the Ferris wheel, tearing away some of its supports and forcing it into a dangerous list.

Edson was turning proudly toward McCracken when a bullet smacked him in the stomach and blew him backward.

“Shit!” Blaine shouted, reaching the boy just ahead of Reverend Jim.

He grabbed for the boy’s pistol and rolled, bringing it up to fire on the gunman who had done the shooting. The three remaining bullets excavated the man’s chest, and he fell over backward. Blaine moved on toward Edson, who was twisting on the ground and screaming, greenish-blue eyes filled with fear. Reverend Jim got there ahead of him and was holding the boy still as best he could. He raised one hand long enough to give Blaine the pistol he had been waving.

“Get him to safety,” McCracken ordered. “Stay with him.” Blaine looked at the writhing boy. “When you get him quieted down and more comfortable, round up as many of the others as you can. I’ll join you later.”

“Sure about that, governor?”

McCracken looked at the four trucks still barreling through the midway spitting death.

“You can bet on it.”

The members of the circus had responded as well as could be expected, not fleeing but choosing to defend their patch instead. John had obviously prepared them for this kind of battle—Blaine could see men and women—every kind of crude rifle hidden behind the cover of what had been booths and stands—firing resolutely at the gunmen and the trucks. Their bullets kept the enemy at bay, allowing at least a portion of the crowd to dash to safety.

For his part, Zandor was hurling shards of steel rail used to fasten down the big top at the trucks as they passed by his position. Blaine saw one of his tosses strike a driver square in the face. The truck crashed into the refreshment stand and spun onto its side.

He felt he could handle the three trucks that now remained. The problem was how to stop the enemy still patrolling the grounds, shooting at anything that moved.

The answer occurred to Blaine when his eyes found the big top. He and Reverend Jim had taken stock of its contents when they had done a fast walkabout through the circus grounds earlier.

He dashed toward the big tent against the tide of people streaming out from it. Those inside were late finding out what was happening outside, but now they were joining the flow of the escaping mass. McCracken held fast to his two pistols, ready to use them at an instant’s notice if necessary. For now, though, even if he had been able to pick out the gunmen, it would be all but impossible to hit them without risking the lives of innocent people. Well, he was about to make what was already chaotic worse, though to his own advantage.

Dropping to all fours, he lifted a flap of the big top and crawled under, then made his way beneath the steel layers of platform seating. The show featured the circus’s fifteen trained lions, perhaps the attraction it was best known for. All the lions were still in the large performance cage, left there when the shooting started. They prowled anxiously about, roaring and bellowing. Blaine reached the door to the cage; it was locked. He fired one of his pistols at an angle certain to keep any ricocheting bullets away from the great beasts. Two shots were all it took. The lock lay in pieces. McCracken climbed up onto the heavy steel of the cage and swung open the gate. The lions emerged and padded silently toward freedom.

“Go to it, fellas,” he said as they began to roar.

Chapter 25

THE SUDDEN APPEARANCE
of the lions outdoors changed everything. Blaine emerged from the big top and saw two of the remaining trucks crash head-on, the drivers’ attention diverted by the sight of the great beasts loping across the fair grounds. The gunmen, trying to protect themselves against the lions, would stand out now, and Blaine had plenty of bullets left for them, even if the circus people didn’t.

Gunfire pouring from the final truck winged one of the galloping beasts and another leaped for its cab, terrifying the driver. The truck careened wildly and smacked straight into the Ferris wheel, tumbling it to the ground in a shower of sparks. Blaine had already switched his attention back to the gunmen on foot. They were easily identifiable since they were trying to buck the crowds, not flow with them, and his two pistols clacked alternately at easy targets.

One of Da Sa’s men managed to creep up unseen behind him, only to be smothered by a rush from the boys Reverend Jim had managed to gather together. Another two seeking cover were found and dispatched in quick fashion by Zandor. Blaine was flashing him the okay sign when his eyes fell on the tumbled remnants of the Ferris wheel.

“Patty,” he muttered to himself. “Patty…”

And then he was running toward the pile of ruined steel, where he had last seen her. Patty had crawled out from under the corpse of the Ferris wheel when she saw the gunmen approaching. Dashing across the midway, she leaped on top of the merry-go-round, which had somehow continued to spin throughout the entire battle. As she dived behind a wooden horse for cover, gunfire aimed for her splintered the wood and tore its painted head off. The merry-go-round picked up speed, and Patty stayed low, eyes searching for her hunters. She could see figures approaching through the rampaging crowd. The fun house would make for the best cover according to John. It was the next building over, set back a bit.

The merry-go-round circled again, and the approaching gunmen opened fire on the position where they had last seen Patty. Another horse blew apart as she scampered toward the edge, ready to make a run for the fun house. The ride was moving at its fastest clip, and the maneuver was not as easy as she would have thought. But she couldn’t risk another pass that would put her directly in front of the approaching gunmen, so it had to be now.

Patty leaped and hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb a measure of the shock. The fast-spinning merry-go-round provided the cover she needed. Patty ran up the ramp leading into the fun house and plunged into its dark confines.

She could tell from the murky lighting and eerie sounds that it, too, had remained operational throughout the chaos. She walked on, able to see barely a yard in front of her through the fake fog that was the first effect to greet patrons.

Suddenly a pair of red eyes flashed before her, accompanied by a shrill howling. Patty lurched back as the spring-driven ape-man recoiled upward, returning to its slot. The quickness with which the thing had struck gave her an idea. She reached in her pocket for the screwdriver she’d used to fasten the ticket box at the Ferris wheel into place. Looking around she found a crate and, after positioning it properly, stepped up on it and went to work.

Seconds later, she was finished, frame pinned against the wall, as the gunmen pounded up the ramp leading into the fun house. The two men entered the fake mist just a yard apart, confused by the darkness and the swirling fog.
Just a little farther,
she urged the lead gunman.
Just a little farther…

The first man reached the spot where Patty had been greeted by the recoiling ape-man and, once again, the mass of rubber, wood, and fur dropped downward. Only this time, there was no spring mechanism to stop its fall and send it back upward, because Patty had removed it. The thing simply crashed into the man, knocking him down.

Patty, meanwhile, put the rest of her plan into action. She plowed into the second man with as much force as she could muster. The man was quick; he started to pull back on his trigger almost at once. But Patty had made his gun hand her first target; as she jammed it upward, the barrel spit orange heat.

“
Arrrrrrrgggggghhhhh!
”

For an instant, Patty wasn’t sure who was screaming; then she realized the ape-man’s tape was caught in a loop and was playing the same ugly cry over and over again. She held fast to the man’s gun hand with her left hand, while with her right hand she went for his eyes with her finger nails. She felt the nails part flesh, then tear sickeningly into his sockets. His screams were worse than the ape-man’s.

Patty spun away from the man, who was now groping blindly around, and grabbed the gun from his limp hand. She turned back in the ape-man’s direction just as the first man was shoving it off him, his gun coming up.

Patty shot first. Once, twice, as many times as she could pull the trigger until the distinctive
click
sounded, and then she kept on pulling in her panic. Ten feet before her the gunman let the pistol slide from his grasp. He looked more confused than anything else, as a pool of blood gushed from his upper chest. His head collapsed suddenly, but his eyes stayed open. The second man was still wailing, clutching desperately at his ruined eyes.

Patty pulled herself together again. These two weren’t the only ones left. More would be following them into the fun house, and she had to make use of this darkened labyrinth of a hiding place.

She crossed through the manufactured swamp area, complete with its eerie night sounds and moist, fetid walls, and realized she was still holding the spent pistol in her hand. She dropped it and felt strangely naked. Listening intently for sounds of pursuit, she kept walking, but the fun house’s taped sound effects made it almost impossible for her to hear anything.

Patty approached the chamber of horrors and crossed a threshold that triggered the monsters into motion. The mummy lunged from an upright crate. Frankenstein’s monster walked an unvarying path—forward and back—thanks to a spring connecting him mechanically to the wall. Dracula rose from a coffin that opened with a squeal and a whine.

The coffin! Maybe, just maybe…

Patty dashed over to it and stripped off the spring mechanism that opened it mechanically at regular intervals. The coffin top began to drop down suddenly, nearly crushing her hand. Chewing down her pain, Patty pushed herself into the coffin and squeezed the waxen vampire figure to the side. Then she closed the lid back down, the darkness swallowing her.

Zandor reached the Ferris wheel just after Blaine. Together they threw pieces of the shattered wooden platform and steel housing away to clear a path into the debris.

“Patty!” Blaine yelled as he dug through the mess. “Patty!”

At last he could see into the ruins of the chamber containing the Ferris wheel’s works. A single shape lay there, partially entombed by ruptured and splintered parts.