Way too fucking late, Jack thought.
In the moments between the last blast of Rodriguez’s gun and now, the Can Heads had made quick work of Jack’s partner. Gaping holes sprouted in his midsection, his upper legs, and a massive one by his neck.
And yet—
And yet…
Fuck. The poor bastard was still alive.
Jack watched Rodriguez’s near-dead eyes land on him. Begging. Hoping.
Not a thought. No question what to do. Jack moved his S&W handgun over toward Rodriguez, aimed, and fired twice.
And then the Can Heads could do no more harm to Rodriguez.
Which is when the Can Heads leapt up from their feast and made a mad rush for Jack.
Jack was on automatic now. Job straightforward. The reward clear.
Kill them before they kill you.
Can Heads coming right at him, inches away, he began firing, holding the M-16’s trigger down so it just kept spitting out bullets. His handgun—only a few shells left.
And they fell.
One down, then another Can Head climbing over it, still trying to get at Jack, and Jack made that one’s head explode. Would they turn on themselves, take the easy pickings, or keep coming at him?
He thought of Christie. Then Simon, Kate.
And he knew that, unlike his partner, there’d be no one to spare him.
No one to help end his horror.
In that moment, the other two had gone to either side of Jack; he looked both ways, trying to decide which posed the biggest danger.
All in seconds.
Choosing the one on the left, he tried to aim his handgun but suddenly felt that Can Head’s arm shoot out and its claw hand grab his throat. But the hand slid off the protective covering, and Jack both fired and awkwardly jabbed the thing with his pistol.
Then he wheeled to face the last Can Head.
His handgun clicked. Empty. And not a chance of being reloaded. He backed up against a wall of the living room. Now only one gun to keep the Can Head at bay.