[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

But there were still nine of them, several already lowering their iron grapnels, swinging them to the
surface of the river, ready to try to hook onto the raft.
Ryan threw the rifle inside the cabin and drew the SIG-Sauer. The pain in his leg seemed to have
disappeared into the background, and all his combat reflexes were tight and ready.
"Here they come!" he yelled.
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20...0Deathlands%2032%20-%20Circle%20Thrice.html (103 of 215) [12/29/2004 2:12:50 PM]
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/James%20Axler%20-%20Deathlands%2032%20-%20Circle%20Thrice.html
Chapter Seventeen
One vital factor became instantly obvious as the first of the hooks rattled against the spray-slick timbers.
The force of the Tennessee River and the weight of the raft were both far greater than the attackers on the
flimsy bridge had realized.
Four or five hooks made good, solid contact, but the rushing motion of the heavy craft was hardly
checked. Three of the men jumped as the bridge was pulled even lower, one of them landing off balance
on the side of the raft, slipping and tumbling helplessly over the edge. He vanished into the tumbling
foam with a muffled scream of despair.
The other two landed safely on the raft, one on top of the cabin, the other near the front, where Ryan was
standing and waiting.
He leveled the SIG-Sauer and shot him at point-blank range through the upper chest, the force of the 9mm
full-metal-jacket slug kicking him off his feet, where he also slipped over the side into the river.
Krysty shot the man off the cabin roof, putting two bullets into him from her Smith amp; Wesson, the
heavy .38-caliber rounds rolling him onto the deck, where he lay screaming, both hands clutched at the
double wound in his stomach. Krysty and Mildred heaved him off into the racing stream.
Ryan looked away, seeing no further threat from any of the three attempted boarders.
There were six men still hanging on to the bridge, four with their barbed grapnels dug into the raft, finally
slowing its racing progress. But they had looped their ropes around the spidery bridge, which was now
dipping perilously low, the cords that built it strained like banjo strings, singing above the deep thunder of
the river.
"Gaia, it's coming down!" Krysty screamed at the top of her voice.
Jak had moved from the steering oar and was busily crabbing around the raft, trying to cut through the
cords that snared them. But they had become wet and taut, like bars of iron, almost impossible to slice.
Another of the men jumped from above, landing awkwardly, close to Doc. He turned his ankle as he fell,
with a dry crack, audible above the bedlam. He shrieked once, showing a completely toothless mouth.
Doc was holding the Le Mat in his right hand, but he hesitated to waste a valuable shotgun round.
Quickly holstering the commemorative cannon, he drew the trusty swordstick.
The attacker reached up and grabbed at the honed rapier blade, but Doc tugged it away from him, cutting
the man's palm clear to the bone. Blood spouted over the wet timbers.
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20...0Deathlands%2032%20-%20Circle%20Thrice.html (104 of 215) [12/29/2004 2:12:50 PM]
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/James%20Axler%20-%20Deathlands%2032%20-%20Circle%20Thrice.html
"Chill him!" Ryan called.
Doc stumbled, steadying himself for a moment against the low roof of the cabin, and two more men
dropped onto the raft, one of them slashing at the old man with a billhook with a vicious beaked blade.
There was a high twanging sound, and the bridge suddenly collapsed into a tangle of broken ropes and
splintered wood, tearing away from both sides of the gorge. It fell into the Tennessee just astern of the
raft, dumping the last of the doomed men into the river.
Released from the restraint, the raft shuddered like a hound dog ridding itself of fleas and began to race
downstream once more, slowed only by the snarled weight of the wrecked bridge.
Three of the enemy were aboard, one with the broken ankle and horribly cut hand, and two others, one
attacking Doc who was parrying for his life, the slender Toledo steel ringing against the clumsy cleaver.
The last of the locals had dropped to hands and knees, a slender dagger gripped in each hand, and was
crawling toward J.B., who was still wrestling at the back with the long, clumsy oar.
Ryan was vaguely aware that there was white water ahead, with jagged boulders sticking above the
roiling surface of the river, threatening further disasters.
Doc finally slip-parried a powerful thrust from the billhook, and turned quickly to thrust the needle-tipped
blade of his sword between his opponent's third and fourth ribs, slicing through heart and lungs as he
twisted his wrist before withdrawing the blood-slick steel.
Mildred had managed to find her balance long enough to put a bullet through the forehead of the man
with the wounded hand, blowing away half the back of his skull, emptying a grue of brains and blood into
the waiting river.
Which left the man with the pair of knives, making his way toward the rear of the raft and the helpless [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

  • zanotowane.pl
  • doc.pisz.pl
  • pdf.pisz.pl
  • supermarket.pev.pl

    •