The Regulators - Stephen King [140]
The Carver house (it is, perhaps ironically, a ranch-style home) is now entirely blocked off by Power Wagons. From the firing pit of Dream Floater, Laura DeMott trains her shotgun on the smashed picture window; from the firing pit of Tracker Arrow, Hoss Cartwright and a very young Glint Eastwood — he is Rowdy Yates of Rawhide in this incarnation, as a matter of fact — have also got the house covered. Jeb Murdock stands in the Doom Turret of the Meatwagon with two shotguns, each sawed off four inches above the cocked triggers, the butts propped against the wishbones of his hips. He is grinning widely, his face that of Rory Calhoun in his prime.
Roof trapdoors bang open. Cowboys and aliens fill the remaining shooting-points.
'Gosh, Paw, looks like a damn turkey-shoot!' Mark McCain cries, and then utters a shrill laugh.
'Root-root-root!'
'SHUT UP, ROOTY!' they all chorus, and the laugh becomes general.
At the sound of that laughter, something inside of Kim Geller, something which has only been badly bent up to now, finally snaps. She gets to her feet in the living room and marches to the screen door beyond which Debbie Ross still lies. Kirn's sneakers grit through the broken china shards of Pie Carver's prized Hummels. The sound of the cycling motors out front — that weird beat-beat-beat, like some sort of electric heart — is driving her insane. Still, it's easier to focus on that than it is to think about how that uppity nigger woman first almost broke her arm and then threw her into the other room as if she were a sack of laundry, or something.
The others are unaware she's left until they hear her voice, querulous and shrill: 'You get out of here! You just stop it and get out of here right now\ The police are already on their way, you know!'
At the sound of that voice, Susi forgets all about how nice it is to have Dave Reed touching her breast, and how she'd like to help him forget the death of his brother by taking him upstairs and balling him until his liver explodes. 'Mummy!' she gasps, and starts to get up.
Dave hauls her back down, then clamps an arm around her waist to make completely sure she doesn't get up again. He has lost his brother, and he feels like that's enough for one day.
Come on, come on, come on, Audrey thinks . . . except she guesses it's actually a prayer. Her eyes are squeezed so tightly shut she can see exploding red dots behind the lids, and her hands are clamped into fists, the ragged remains of her nails digging into her palms. Come on, go to work the way you're supposed to, do your job, get started —
'Kick in,' she whispers, unaware she's speaking out loud. Johnny, who has raised his head at the sound of Kirn's voice, now looks at Audrey. 'Kick in, can't you? For Christ's sake, kick in!'
What are you talking about?' he asks, but she doesn't answer.
Outside, Kim moves down the walk toward the Power Wagons, which are parked at the curb. This is the only place along the former Poplar Street where there is any curb left.
'I'm giving you a chance,' she says, her eyes drifting from one weirdo to the next. Some are dressed in ridiculous outer-space masks, and the one behind the wheel of the lunch-wagon thingy is actually wearing a whole-body robot costume. It makes him look like an oversized version of R2D2 in the Star Wars movies. Others look like refugees from a class in Western line-dancing. A few even seem familiar . . . but this is no time to be distracted by such foolish ideas.
'I'm giving you a chance,' she repeats, coming to a stop just above the place where the Carvers' cement walk joins the remaining strip of Poplar Street sidewalk. 'Go while you still can. Otherwise — '
The slide door of the Freedom van opens, and Sheriff Streeter steps out. His star gleams a dull moonlit silver on the left flap of his vest. He looks up at Jeb Murdock — old enemy, new ally — in the Doom Turret of the Meatwagon.
'Well, Streeter?' Murdock says. 'What do you think?'
'I think you should take the yappy bitch,'