monster started to twist, and the Ferryman saved himself by turning his whole body with the move. The giant had great strength and relied on it totally. But great strength is at its best when it meets resistance, and Kimberlain’s motion offered none. He ducked when he felt the grip slacken slightly, and then he was free, backing off.
The monster gazed at him, puzzled yet almost happy; the level of this challenge pleased him. Kimberlain sidestepped and nearly slipped in a pool of the waitress’s blood. A few feet in front of him was her headless corpse. The top of his head clanged against hanging pots and pans, and the monster’s face was temporarily swallowed by them as he stalked forward.
Kimberlain’s ruined shoulder was really throbbing now. He thought of going for his pistol, but where was it? There was no time to look. He felt behind him and realized he had backed himself against the kitchen stove. Next to it was a coffee station where a pair of pots simmered.
The monster chose that moment to lunge, the same moment Ferryman reached behind him and grasped the handle of one of the pots. He felt a hand like a knife pierce his kidney, and the pain blinded him as he started the pot forward. At first he had planned to hurl the boiling contents into the monster’s face, but he was too close for that now and opted instead to crash the glass pot against the huge bald dome.
The monster howled in pain, flapping at his ravaged skin and scorched eyes. His next wild motion stripped a dozen pots and pans from their hooks. Kimberlain saw the opening and seized it, kicking out once, twice.
In the midst of the second kick, his eyes locked on the pistol near the dishwasher, and without thinking he stooped to reach for it. The monster whirled in the same direction and lashed a blow to his wrist that shattered bone. He managed to evade the next blow by backpedaling agilely, but with one wrist ruined and the opposite shoulder dangling, his best chance was that Kamanski would appear to save him.
The monster knew he had him then. What he didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that the Ferryman had been trained to use pain, to make it work for him when there was nothing else left. The monster was going to try for his neck again; he counted on that, because it would bring his adversary close.
The giant’s hands came up boldly for his neck, and Kimberlain felt himself locked in an iron grasp. He backed up to a rack of meat cleavers and felt for one blindly before snatching hold with his right hand. The monster had already started to twist, and it was difficult to say where at that point the pain was greater for Kimberlain. Before it could grow any worse, he swung the cleaver forward with a shrill scream.
The monster wailed horribly, then staggered about, trying to free the cleaver from its position between his collarbone and neck. Blood pumped fiercely from the wound, but the Ferryman knew he was still dangerous, a wounded animal.
Using his own pain as a source of strength, Kimberlain feigned going for the pistol that was now halfway between them. The monster managed to work the cleaver free with a throaty scream and had no choice now but to try to cut Kimberlain off from the gun. The Ferryman had anticipated the reaction perfectly. His arms were useless now, but he still had his legs. He unleashed a vicious onslaught of kicks that reduced the giant to a gasping pulp on the blood-wet kitchen floor. The monster made one last effort at Kimberlain, but the Ferryman’s reserves carried him to the gun and then to a moderately safe distance from the bleeding animal.
Kimberlain got the gun up but didn’t fire as he heard Kamanski’s men charge through the entrance to the bar.
Fire , he told himself.
Shoot me , the monster’s sagging eyes seemed to beg.
The Ferryman held the gun rigid, and then Kamanski was by his side. His men circled the giant, their pistols and rifles ready as though he were a wild beast finally cornered in the
The monster gazed at him, puzzled yet almost happy; the level of this challenge pleased him. Kimberlain sidestepped and nearly slipped in a pool of the waitress’s blood. A few feet in front of him was her headless corpse. The top of his head clanged against hanging pots and pans, and the monster’s face was temporarily swallowed by them as he stalked forward.
Kimberlain’s ruined shoulder was really throbbing now. He thought of going for his pistol, but where was it? There was no time to look. He felt behind him and realized he had backed himself against the kitchen stove. Next to it was a coffee station where a pair of pots simmered.
The monster chose that moment to lunge, the same moment Ferryman reached behind him and grasped the handle of one of the pots. He felt a hand like a knife pierce his kidney, and the pain blinded him as he started the pot forward. At first he had planned to hurl the boiling contents into the monster’s face, but he was too close for that now and opted instead to crash the glass pot against the huge bald dome.
The monster howled in pain, flapping at his ravaged skin and scorched eyes. His next wild motion stripped a dozen pots and pans from their hooks. Kimberlain saw the opening and seized it, kicking out once, twice.
In the midst of the second kick, his eyes locked on the pistol near the dishwasher, and without thinking he stooped to reach for it. The monster whirled in the same direction and lashed a blow to his wrist that shattered bone. He managed to evade the next blow by backpedaling agilely, but with one wrist ruined and the opposite shoulder dangling, his best chance was that Kamanski would appear to save him.
The monster knew he had him then. What he didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that the Ferryman had been trained to use pain, to make it work for him when there was nothing else left. The monster was going to try for his neck again; he counted on that, because it would bring his adversary close.
The giant’s hands came up boldly for his neck, and Kimberlain felt himself locked in an iron grasp. He backed up to a rack of meat cleavers and felt for one blindly before snatching hold with his right hand. The monster had already started to twist, and it was difficult to say where at that point the pain was greater for Kimberlain. Before it could grow any worse, he swung the cleaver forward with a shrill scream.
The monster wailed horribly, then staggered about, trying to free the cleaver from its position between his collarbone and neck. Blood pumped fiercely from the wound, but the Ferryman knew he was still dangerous, a wounded animal.
Using his own pain as a source of strength, Kimberlain feigned going for the pistol that was now halfway between them. The monster managed to work the cleaver free with a throaty scream and had no choice now but to try to cut Kimberlain off from the gun. The Ferryman had anticipated the reaction perfectly. His arms were useless now, but he still had his legs. He unleashed a vicious onslaught of kicks that reduced the giant to a gasping pulp on the blood-wet kitchen floor. The monster made one last effort at Kimberlain, but the Ferryman’s reserves carried him to the gun and then to a moderately safe distance from the bleeding animal.
Kimberlain got the gun up but didn’t fire as he heard Kamanski’s men charge through the entrance to the bar.
Fire , he told himself.
Shoot me , the monster’s sagging eyes seemed to beg.
The Ferryman held the gun rigid, and then Kamanski was by his side. His men circled the giant, their pistols and rifles ready as though he were a wild beast finally cornered in the
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