23.
 Fingers slippery with blood, she crawled out just far enough from cover to aim the assault rifle — an ancient M16, she saw — and fire off the precious rounds one by one. Each one hit its target. Each bullet exacted a price.
But four of the Toons were still coming. In seconds they would be on top of the boulders, firing clips into her. She tossed the M16 aside and pulled out her .45. She waited until the first dour Lincoln face, fringed in dark greasy hair, loomed above her, and fired point blank in the Toon’s face. His head snapped back; neck broken, he continued walking in long marching strides, right over the boulders, and on, with his head dangling backward between his shoulder blades.
Three more to go. Only four rounds left.
Two surfaced above her.
She emptied the gun into them.
They calmly reloaded, staring at her without emotions. The third joined them.
She crawled backwards between the boulders.
Dead end.
She could go no farther. She was trapped. She was going to die.
Here. Now. Die.
A wall of fire erupted, and the Toons dropped their weapons. They stood in place, doing a little jig of mechanical death, before falling all at once in a heap of tattered cloth. The bullet holes were bloodied with brown oil sludge.
Moira stepped up on the boulders, holding an M16 in each hand. Smoke still dribbled from the muzzle flash surpressors. “Taxi M’Koo! Are you all right?”
Taxi rose and dusted herself off. “Wow, Moira, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Moira jumped down and hugged her. Then she handed her an M16. “We’ve got to hurry. There will be more of them any minute. They’ll kill you for sure. Lock me in solitary for months.”
The two women stopped to strip the comatose Toons of ammo. Taxi even found one who carried a .45, which she pocketed, along with some twelve rounds.
They pulled the wagon the remaining distance to the fence.
On the other side stood a familiar, brooding figure. “Sam!” Taxi cried, jumping up and down, waving. “Sam!”
Sam waved back. “Where the hell ya been?”
“I signaled to you.”
“I know. I couldn’t signal back because they’da seen. Them, and the bandidos I seen around the beach.”
“I got the bottle!”
“How do we get it over here?”
“I got a plan.”
“I’ll help,” Moira said.
“Moira, you go back where you came from.”
Moira’s eyes teared. “Taxi, I just saved your life. I’m ruined here.”
Taxi gave her a little shove. “Go on, bitch, get lost. You’ll get eaten alive out there. For real.” She noticed Sam running away somewhere. Now what?
“I am going along.”
“The fuck you say, mama.” Taxi hauled out and back-handed Moira so hard she flew backwards and landed unconscious on the sand. “Man, you got ass complaining about a few months in a lockup, maybe with just some porridge and water instead of the usual muffins and milk. Hah!”
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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