Dead Water Zone - Kenneth Oppel [47]
Behind him, Armitage hefted a shotgun. “Tim, Bob! Hi, you guys!” he said cheerfully. “Good to know you’ve been keeping busy since trashing my house. Why don’t you just put that needle down and move back against the wall. Do it now! You, too, Sked.” He waved the shotgun convincingly. “That’s it. Very nice.”
“Stand away from the girl, David.” Decks slowly walked forward, keeping his aim steady.
“Decks,” said Sturm, opening out his arms in a grotesque parody of welcome.
“It’s an abomination what you’ve done here.”
“You never understood,” said Sturm. “You let yourself become hysterical. It was just jealousy, Decks; we both know that. The water wasn’t for you. But that’s past now. Look.” He pointed to the canister on the table. “We’ve refined it. Anyone can drink it. You can.”
“No, David.”
“The family, Decks, you haven’t forgotten. We’ll make our comeback after all, you and I!”
Paul could see Decks adjusting his grip on the pistol, blinking sweat away from his eyes.
“Don’t move.”
“Let me embrace you, brother.”
David Sturm shambled slowly forward, then all at once broke into a run, his insect drone building in intensity. A pistol shot tore through the air and he was wrenched around, barely an arm’s length from Decks. He collapsed to the floor, a small pool of greenish water forming around his shoulder. The hum stopped.
Paul sank back in his chair, limp, and watched as Decks lowered the pistol and stepped cautiously toward his fallen brother.
“There was no other way,” he muttered. He looked across at Paul. “We’ll have you both out in a second.”
The insect hum sounded again, and before Paul could shout a warning, Sturm had snapped upright and latched a quick hand around Decks’s forearm. The gun dropped from numb fingers and Decks sank to his knees, his face blank with pain. Sturm rose to his feet, blocking Paul’s view, but when he heard the horrible crunch, he was glad he couldn’t see what was happening.
He heard Armitage shout in alarm and turned to see him swinging the shotgun around on Sturm. His shot was panicked, and his aim was off, tearing a jagged hole in the chamber’s curving wall. The two Cityweb men lunged and toppled Armitage from behind.
It was Sked who snatched up the gun. With a yelp of triumph, he rushed toward Paul. But it was the syringe Sked wanted. He snatched it up in one hand, the shotgun in the crook of his other arm. Backing against the forge, his eyes danced wildly around the chamber.
“Good work, Sked,” said White Sneakers, pinning Armitage to the ground. “Bring it over.”
“Been a long time coming,” said Sked, looking at the syringe. “This one’s for me!”
The spider boy plunged the needle into his arm. Paul stared in horror—everyone, he realized, was waiting to see what would happen. Sked flung the needle aside, chest heaving. His body drooped forward for an instant, then arched back violently.
“Yes!” he roared. “Yes, yes, yes, yes!”
Paul’s eyes fixed on the barrel of the shotgun as it swung erratically around the chamber.
“I’m fast!” Sked ranted. “I can feel it! Look at me!” He pummeled the air with his free fist, dodging blows from invisible opponents.
“The gun, Sked!” said Beer Belly. There was, at last, a trace of emotion in his voice—worry this time. “Bring it here.”
“‘Bring it here, bring it here,’ “Sked mimicked in a thick voice. “Who are you guys—ordering me around like—”
“Sked!” White Sneakers was advancing on him like an angry parent. Paul could see that the spider boy had broken into a heavy sweat and his pale face had assumed a demented squint. “You’ve screwed up enough!”
“Stay away!” Sked bellowed. “Everyone stay away! I’m fast!”
“Give me the gun, Sked!”
The shotgun jumped in Sked’s trembling hands. White Sneakers hit the floor, staring at the ceiling, lifeless.
“See, I’m fast!” Sked shrieked his hyena laughter. He skipped across the room and leveled the shotgun at Beer Belly. Armitage disappeared under a table. Another blast, and Beer Belly was driven back against the wall with an annoyed grunt, a red stain spreading across his shirt.
Sturm was