Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [319]
“Want some company, kid?” Eddie asked him. On their right, the group of Wolves who had been stationed on the town side of the arroyo path all lay dead. Only one of them had actually made it as far as the ditch; that one lay with its hooded head plowed into the freshly turned earth of the hide and its booted feet in the road. The rest of its body was wrapped in its green cloak. It looked like a bug that has died in its cocoon.
“Sure,” Jake said. Was he talking or only thinking? He didn’t know. The sirens blasted the air. “Whatever you want. They killed Benny.”
“I know. That sucks.”
“It should have been his fucking father,” Jake said. Was he crying? He didn’t know.
“Agreed. Have a present.” Into Jake’s hand Eddie dropped a couple of balls about three inches in diameter. The surfaces looked like steel, but when Jake squeezed, he felt some give—it was like squeezing a child’s toy made out of hard, hard rubber. A small plate on the side read
“SNEETCH”
HARRY POTTER MODEL
Serial # 465-11-AA HPJKR
CAUTION
EXPLOSIVE
To the left of the plate was a button. A distant part of Jake’s mind wondered who Harry Potter was. The sneetch’s inventor, more than likely.
They reached the heap of dead Wolves at the head of the arroyo path. Perhaps machines couldn’t really be dead, but Jake was unable to think of them as anything else, tumbled and tangled as they were. Dead, yes. And he was savagely glad. From behind them came an explosion, followed by a shriek of either extreme pain or extreme pleasure. For the moment Jake didn’t care which. All his attention was focused on the remaining Wolves trapped on the arroyo path. There were somewhere between eighteen and two dozen of them.
There was one Wolf out in front, its sizzling fire-stick raised. It was half-turned to its mates, and now it waved its light-stick at the road. Except that’s no light-stick, Eddie thought. That’s a light-saber, just like the ones in the Star Wars movies. Only these light-sabers aren’t special effects—they really kill. What the hell’s going on here? Well, the guy out front was trying to rally his troops, that much seemed clear. Eddie decided to cut the sermon short. He thumbed the button in one of the three sneetches he had kept for himself. The thing began to hum and vibrate in his hand. It was sort of like holding a joy-buzzer.
“Hey, Sunshine!” he called.
The head Wolf didn’t look around and so Eddie simply lobbed the sneetch at it. Thrown as easily as it was, it should have struck the ground twenty or thirty yards from the cluster of remaining Wolves and rolled to a stop. It picked up speed instead, rose, and struck the head Wolf dead center in its frozen snarl of a mouth. The thing exploded from the neck up, thinking-cap and all.
“Go on,” Eddie said. “Try it. Using their own shit against em has its own special pl—”
Ignoring him, Jake dropped the sneetches Eddie had given him, stumbled over the heap of bodies, and started up the path.
“Jake? Jake, I don’t think that’s such a good idea—”
A hand gripped Eddie’s upper arm. He whirled, raising his gun, then lowering it again when he saw Roland. “He can’t hear you,” the gunslinger said. “Come on. We’ll stand with him.”
“Wait, Roland, wait.” It was Rosa. She was smeared with blood, and Eddie assumed it was poor sai Eisenhart’s. He could see no wound on Rosa herself. “I want some of this,” she said.
Sixteen
They reached Jake just as the remaining Wolves made their last charge. A few threw sneetches. These Roland and Eddie picked out of the air easily. Jake fired the Ruger in nine steady, spaced shots, right wrist clasped in left hand, and each time he fired, one of the Wolves either flipped backward out of its saddle or went sliding over the side to be trampled by the horses coming behind. When the Ruger was empty, Rosa took a tenth, screaming Lady Oriza’s name. Zalia Jaffords had also joined them, and the