away, and then return—”
Another, closer shot rang out, and this time one of the bugs fell against J.B. as it died. “Whatever you two are going to do, do it fast!” Mildred snapped.
“All right!” Snatching the LeMat out of Doc’s hand, J.B. let him go and turned to take out two bugs that had been charging at him from the rear. He heard a shout from Doc—something about eating cold steel—then the man disappeared completely from sight.
“Doc? Doc!” J.B. dropped to his knees at the edge of the collapsed six-foot-deep pit and looked for any sign of the old man.
“Come on, John! These bastards aren’t going to stay away forever!” Mildred said as she shot another one through the eye.
“Hang on!” he shouted back, although he knew it was growing more hopeless by the moment. More seconds passed, bullets flying around him, but J.B. kept looking. He was just about to give up hope when he still saw nothing below, but then a wrinkled hand burst up from the dirt, looking for something to latch on to. J.B. leaned down, grabbed it and hauled upward with all his strength.
Emerging from the ground like an old gaunt gopher, Doc spluttered and coughed as dirt cascaded off his face and head. Once he’d sucked in a great, gasping breath, he was able to help by shoving on the sides of the pit with his feet, propelling himself up until they were both lying at the edge of the hole. Doc was still clutching his lion’s-head sword, its blade coated in the same thick black gunk that had come out of the other burrow-bugs.
With a mad chitter of rage, a bug exploded out of the pit, its clawed legs feeling about madly for its prey. J.B. aimed Doc’s revolver at it and pulled the trigger, hoping the old man hadn’t emptied the weapon.
He hadn’t. The slug cored the bug’s head and sent it falling back into the pit to disappear under the loose dirt. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” J.B. said.
“Agreed, John Barrymore, much agreed,” the other man replied. But when he rose to his feet and tried to take a step forward, he sank to the ground, his face twisted with pain. “I am afraid that one of those buggers may have injured me more than I thought.”
“Can you walk at all, Doc?” Mildred asked while J.B. stood over both of them, his Mini-Uzi back online and spitting lead death.
Doc tried to stand again, only to sink back to the ground with a grimace. “I fear not. Mayhap it would be best if you two went on without me. I shall hold the rear to my last breath— I say, whatever are you doing?”
“Saving your skinny ass,” Mildred replied as she hoisted him up and slung his arm over her shoulders. “Although I’ll be damned if I know why. If I left you here, I wouldn’t have to listen to your pontificating anymore. J.B., we’re leaving!”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied as he reloaded. “About time too. I’m on my last mag. Move out. I’ll cover you.”
Mildred still had her blaster in her free hand, and with Doc holding his sword en guard to fend off any close encounters, the three headed out again. J.B. estimated they were about fifty yards from the rock shelf, and he saw Ryan, Krysty and Ricky already there. The Puerto Rican teenager was lying next to Ryan, sighting down the barrel of his De Lisle carbine to take out more of the attacking insects. Between Ryan and him, the path to the plateau was opening up—awash in the bodies of dead bugs, but opening up nonetheless. With the two marksmen covering their left and right flanks, J.B. divided his time between guarding their six and making sure neither Mildred nor Doc fell into any other pit traps.
The ground in front of them suddenly dropped away into a pit at least fifteen feet deep. Mildred and Doc skidded to a stop at the edge, breathing hard as they realized just how close to disaster they’d come.
Unfortunately, J.B. had been backing up behind them as he kept an eye on the dozen or so bugs that were tracking the trio about ten paces back. Before Mildred or Doc could tell him to stop or move out of the way, he bumped into them hard enough to overbalance the pair and send them both tumbling into the pit.
Mildred was more than familiar with the concept of the ant lion, a small, predatory insect whose larva scooped a pit trap in the ground to capture its prey. In her previous life, she’d given a report in the fourth grade about it and other insects of North America. However, she’d never, ever expected to find herself in one of those exact traps.
Of course, she’d never expected to awaken in this nightmarish land in the first place, filled with predators on two, four or, like these, six or more legs. But Mildred was a survivor, and had adapted as well as she could to her new, harsh circumstances. It had helped that her revivers were Deathlands natives, able to provide a brutal crash course in living day to day here.
The primary thought on her mind as she tumbled to the bottom in a cascade of sandy dirt was to keep hold of her pistol—if she lost it down there, odds were she wouldn’t live long enough to find it again. The secondary goal was to avoid landing wrong and injuring any limbs. It would be difficult enough to climb out of here, and nearly impossible with a busted arm or leg. Bad enough Doc, with his sprained ankle, was also in the trap with her.
Spitting out grit, Mildred scrambled to her feet, aware that the ground was already shifting as the first of the burrow-bugs began emerging to see what they’d captured. She could still hear gunshots above, and knew Ryan and Ricky were keeping the bugs at bay. But that wasn’t going to help get Doc and her out of there.
As she began reloading, her fingers ejecting shells and inserting bullets as if they had a mind of their own, Mildred glanced up to see how far up the pit edge was. Her heart sank when she saw it was easily six feet overhead.
“Upon my word, Mildred...that is a ride I would not care to embark upon again.” Doc shook his head, sending a shower of dirt pattering around them.
“If you can talk, Doc, you can stand,” Mildred said. “We’ve got to get out of here before we’re bug food.”
“But of course, dear lady. Never let it be said that Theophilus Algernon Tanner did not come to the aid of a friend in need—”
“Less philosophizing, more stabbing,” she replied as she aimed at the bottom of the pit and pulled the trigger of her revolver twice. The dirt there rippled and sprayed around as the insect underneath thrashed and died. However, no sooner had it stopped moving than it was replaced by another one.
“You okay, Doc, Mildred?” J.B.’s head appeared over the edge of the pit.
“Oh, just fine, thank you, except I’m stuck at the bottom of a pit with huge bugs trying to eat me!” she yelled back.
“Well, yeah, I meant besides that,” J.B. answered. “Here, grab my jacket.” He dropped his arm over the edge of the pit, holding the sleeve of his leather jacket. The rest of the garment dangled down the side of the pit, the other sleeve a tantalizing couple of feet away.
A mortal, high-pitched squeal drowned him out as Doc skewered the next bug that appeared, driving the point of his rapier into the armored joint between its head and thorax. With a twist, he withdrew the blade, bringing a trail of the black gunk that served as the insect’s blood with it. “They seem to be exhibiting a sort of hive mentality—” he began.
“That’s great. You can tell me all about their social structure
