The Dark Tower - Stephen King [168]
Gaskie o’ Tego, meanwhile, wrapped one good-sized hand around James Cagney’s neck and the other around Jakli’s. Gaskie had an idea son of a bitching crowhead Jakli had been on the verge of running, but there was no time to worry about that now. He needed them both.
And—
“Boss!” Finli shouted. “Boss, grab the Earnshaw kid! Something about this smells!”
And—
With Cag’s face pressing against one of his cheeks and Jakli’s against the other, the Wease (who thought as clearly as anyone that terrible morning) was finally able to make himself heard. Gaskie, meanwhile, repeated his command: divide up the armed guards and put them with the retreating Breakers. “Don’t try to stop them, but stay with them! And for Christ’s sake, keep em from getting electrocuted! Keep em off the fence if they go past Main Stree—”
Before he could finish this admonishment, a figure came plummeting out of the thickening smoke. It was Gangli, the compound doctor, his white coat on fire, his roller skates still on his feet.
And—
Susannah Dean took up a position at the left rear corner of Damli House, coughing. She saw three of the sons of bitches—Gaskie, Jakli, and Cagney, had she but known it. Before she could draw a bead, eddying smoke blotted them out. When it cleared, Jakli and Cag were gone, rounding up armed guards to act as sheepdogs who would at least try to protect their panicked charges, even if they could not immediately stop them. Gaskie was still there, and Susannah took him with a single headshot.
Pimli didn’t see it. It was becoming clear to him that all the confusion was on the surface. Quite likely deliberate. The Breakers’ decision to move away from the attackers north of the Algul had come a little too quickly and was a little too organized.
Never mind Earnshaw, he thought, Brautigan’s the one I want to talk to.
But before he could catch up to Ted, Tassa grabbed the Master in a frantic, terrified hug, babbling that Warden’s House was on fire, he was afraid, terribly afraid, that all of Master’s clothes, his books—
Pimli Prentiss knocked him aside with a hammer-blow to the side of his head. The pulse of the Breakers’ unified thought (bad-mind now instead of good-mind), yammered
(WITH YOUR HANDS UP YOU WON’T BE)
crazily in his head, threatening to drive out all thought. Fucking Brautigan had done this, he knew it, and the man was too far ahead…unless…
Pimli looked at the Peacemaker in his hand, considered it, then jammed it back into the docker’s clutch under his left arm. He wanted fucking Brautigan alive. Fucking Brautigan had some explaining to do. Not to mention some more goddamned breaking.
Chow-chow-chow. Bullets flicking all around him. Running hume guards, taheen, and can-toi all around him. And Christ, only a few of them were armed, mostly humes who’d been down for fence-patrol. Those who guarded the Breakers didn’t really need guns, by and large the Breakers were as tame as parakeets and the thought of an outside attack had seemed ludicrous until…
Until it happened, he thought, and spied Trampas.
“Trampas!” he bawled. “Trampas! Hey, cowboy! Grab Earnshaw and bring him to me! Grab Earnshaw!”
Here in the middle of the Mall it was a little less noisy and Trampas heard sai Prentiss quite clearly. He sprinted after Dinky and grabbed the young man by one arm.
And—
Eleven-year-old Daneeka Rostov came out of the rolling smoke that now entirely obscured the lower half of Damli House, pulling two red wagons behind her. Daneeka’s face was red and swollen; tears were streaming from her eyes; she was bent over almost double with the effort it was taking her to keep pulling Baj, who sat in one Radio Flyer wagon, and Sej, who sat in the other. Both had the huge heads and tiny, wise eyes of hydrocephalic savants, but Sej was equipped with waving stubs of arms while Baj had none. Both were now foaming at the mouth and