24.
 Taxi dragged the wagon to the fence.
Already, brass crabs were stirring. Sand grains rolled silently down dull crab shells. Here and there, sun glinted dully amid dust on brass surfaces. But they would only attack an organic being, that much Taxi had learned from Moira.
Taxi used the shovel to dig frantically in the sand. The shovel had a broken handle, and soon she was on her knees, throwing off sweat. Sand caked her bloody ear, making it sting all the more. Flies buzzed around to get at the wound, driving her crazy.
Moira came to. She crawled close and helped dig. “Go away,” Taxi said.
“I’m going to help.”
“Oh man, why don’t you give up?”
No time any more. Distantly, a trumpet sounded. A ruffle of drums flew across on the wind, a steady and urgent sound. Moira looked up, fear crossing her face like a shadow. “Toons. I haven’t heard that trumpet in a long time. They’re drumming them all out of their shed. They’ll be here soon.”
“Goddammit, push!” Taxi said.
They struggled, but the helium drive bottle squeaked under the fence.
Taxi shook Moira by the shoulders. “Don’t screw around with me now. For God’s sake, get lost!”
Moira shook her head. “Please!”
Taxi shoved her, and Moira stumbled back ten or twelve paces.
Taxi raised an M16 and pointed it at Moira’s lower half. “I’m gonna count to five — don’t got time for ten — and then I’m gonna shoot you.”
“We made love to each other!”
“One.”
“Taxi!”
“I’m dead serious. I’m gonna put a bullet in your leg. That means you stay here, and they fix you up. You’ll be good as new. I’ll be good as gone, bitch.”
Moira pulled up her gray skirt. The front came apart, and her long pale smooth legs were visible, right up to the white bulge of her undies. “You were licking these legs just last night. No way you are going to destroy one of them.”
Taxi threw the gun down. “No more time. You come near me, I choke you to death, outta being pissed to all hell. There is no reasoning with you.” The legs were beautiful, she had to admit, and she couldn’t bring herself to hurt Moira.
Already, in the distant grass, a flag was visible. Marching Toons, a platoon of them. Maybe that was where the name had come from.
“Hurry!” Sam yelled from the other side. He had reappeared and was lugging the heavy .50 caliber machine gun that could be mounted on the hummer. Only the hummer was defunto without this bottle.
Taxi took the heavy coil of rope from the wagon and tied one end to one of the handles in the helium drive bottle. To the other end of the rope, she tied a ball of yarn. She unraveled the ball of yarn, and tied the free end to a smooth stone about the size of her fist. She pushed rope and yarn under the fence.
The robot crabs were stirring in their sandy burrows, peering out with fish eyes.
Taxi threw her boots, her gun, and the ammo across. She kept her knife in her belt. Then she used every ounce of cat in her for speed, running up the fence. As she got to the top, she threw her rear out to one side, over the top, and half ran, half slid down the other side. “Sam!” she yelled hoarsely.
“Watch out!” Sam yelled.
Taxi picked up the yarn and the rock. Holding the yarn in her left, and the rock in her right, she sprinted toward Sam. “Catch! Bring it over the fence! Over!”
Sand crabs were stirring up out of their burrows. They bucked up suddenly, the way camels got up.
Moira screamed.
Taxi did a ball park poise, bouncing back on one foot, hopping, while gathering her energy for the big throw. Her powerful arms, which also had cat in them, flexed and then let go.
She paused for a fraction of an instant to watch: The rock sailed high up, trailing zigzags of yarn. She followed up by throwing her boots, gun, and ammo.
Seeing the first crab machines circling in to trap her, she ran back to the fence, up, and over, down on the other side. Moira was in tears. Taxi ignored her. “Pull the yarn gently!”
Sam’s hands made mechanical motions, over and over, pulling the yarn in, until the rope began to move. Thank God it didn’t break. The rope moved, uncoiled, moved, moved slowly toward the other side. The crab machines were fully alert now, circling, but in their dumb machine brains they were only looking for organic live matter, not rope or yarn. Once one of them started to roll over the rope. Taxi emptied a clip from one of the M16’s into its face; it stopped and sat feebly twitching.
“You know, Moira, I’m beginning to think.”
“Yes?”
“All the defenses are old here. You guys wouldn’t last much longer. We should get you out of here. Maybe the others can find another way.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” Moira squealed, squeezing Taxi’s arm.
At that moment, Taxi became aware of a silent watcher.
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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