Terminator Salvation_ The Official Movie Novelization - Alan Dean Foster [47]
“She’s a firecracker, ain’t she?” He leered at Blair. “Want to have some fun? Let’s have some fun—you and me.”
She nodded once toward the wavering weapon.
“You might want to chamber a round. Or do you think a pilot is stupid enough to wear a loaded sidearm in a cockpit where it might go off accidentally?”
On close study and subject to the rules of logic neither of her statements would hold up. However, before subjecting them to close examination Carnahan instinctively looked down at the gun he was holding. That was just enough time for Williams to dart forward and slam the knuckles of her closed fist into his throat. His mouth opened wide but with his air cut off nothing came out.
He dropped like the sack of shit he was.
Caught by surprise by both the speed and efficiency of her response, his two companions hurried to bring their own weapons to bear. Struggling to rise, eyes blazing, Carnahan started to raise the Eagle.
The chunk of grandstand that exploded against the back of his skull was a good three-feet long and at least as solid as the bone with which it connected. Carnahan went down, revealing a dripping Wright standing behind him. His unexpected appearance distracted one of the other men long enough for Williams to kick the sawed-off shotgun out of the startled vagrant’s hands.
Rolling clear, the last member of the trio raised his own shotgun to fire at Wright. Exhibiting extraordinary reflexes, Wright reached down and yanked the stunned Carnahan up in front of him. The dazed leader of the attackers caught the force of the shotgun blast full in the chest, killing him instantly.
As Williams looked on in disbelief, Wright lifted the limp body and threw it at the man who had fired. His second shot went wild as the bleeding corpse crashed into him.
Wright was on him before he could even think of reloading. The man screamed as his arm was not just snapped but crushed. Letting the moaning, sobbing intruder fall to the ground, Wright turned to confront the only attacker still standing.
“Turnbull’s the name and surviving’s my game,” the man stammered as he held both empty hands out in front of him and began backing away from the cold-eyed slayer who had materialized in their midst. “Killing me ain’t gonna win this war. Save it for the machines.”
In full killing mode now, all emotional restraints removed, Wright started toward him. He could end the life of this cowering shaft of slime with one blow, he knew. Whether he should do so or not wrestled in his mind with whether he wanted to or not.
This dilemma was solved for him by the sudden eruption of the Desert Eagle. Having recovered her weapon, Williams had taken careful aim at Turnbull’s right leg and fired once. He screamed and collapsed as a large chunk of his calf was torn away.
Walking over, she glared down at him.
“That’s so you don’t follow us.”
Whimpering as he clutched at his badly damaged lower leg, Turnbull stared up at her.
“Follow you? What, do you think I’m insane?” His frightened eyes shifted to the silent, menacing figure of Wright. “Follow that?” A long howl of pain bubbled up from the back of his throat. “You’ve crippled me! Kill me now and don’t leave me for the scavengers.”
Returning from searching through her gear, she looked down at him in disgust.
“You’re not crippled. You’ve lost blood and muscle.” She tossed him gauze and an Ace bandage. “There’s plenty of wood here. Make yourself a damn crutch. If I’d wanted to cripple you I’d have blown up your knee, not your gastrocnemius.”
He gaped at her. “My what?”
She shook her head in revulsion, glanced briefly at