The Damn Disciples Read Free Page A

companion snapped down. “Cool it, dog! You’re supposed
     to be man’s best friend—not his biggest hassle. Just chill out, food hound. Cripples don’t need tripping.” The dog growled
     under its breath and looked away disgustedly, as if it might catch a glimpse of something edible in the woods. It was never
     meaner than when traveling on an empty stomach, like a fighter without sex for a month before the big bout. The lack of chewable
     substance in its jaws sent the pit bull into a deep, dark, and brooding depression. Chow Boy better not get too close to him,
     that’s all the dog had to say about the subject.
    But suddenly all the arguing and snapping at one another like an ancient married couple was irrelevant. Excaliber sensed them
     first, stopping suddenly in his tracks, just a few feet ahead of Stone, so the human nearly toppled over the top of the dog.
     Stone started to curse up a storm, and raised his crutch ready to smack the canine a good stiff one right on the flank, when
     he saw that Excaliber was set in full attack posture, pointing back in the direction they had just come from. Stone knew the
     animal would never go into fighting mode against
him
, no matter how snappy their little argument. So he shut up and turned slowly around, supporting himself on the branch.
    “Shit-coated Crispies,” Stone muttered under his breath, not even aware he had said the words. He didn’t like what he saw.
     Not one fucking bit. Rats. An army of them, making the terrain just a blanket of brown and black swarming little bodies with
     way too many and too big teeth for their foot-and-a-half- to two-foot-long frames. And they were closing in from both sides
     fast, the forward ranks only a hundred yards or so away. Just ahead of the advancing vermin army came several gophers and
     a snake or two, all scared up by the meat-eating procession that chewed down everything that got in its way. Though the invasion
     of claws and snapping jaws was clearly after the pink stuff. And that meant one Martin Stone. Which, as he thought not too
     hard about it, he realized was him.
    Stone shook his head hard seeing that he was half hypnotized by the honor show coming in fast. He didn’t have time to be falling
     into spaceland right now—or he was going to be meeting a lot of hungry mouths within about three seconds. Bracing himself
     on the branch crutch that was under his left armpit, Stone whipped the shotgun he had snatched from an encampment of dead
     cannibals—whom he had put in that state—and swung it around in front of him. The pit bull was snarling now, its jaws wide
     as it pulled back, its tail just touching Stone’s leg—so it knew its back was covered. At least Chow Boy better see that it
was
covered. The dog didn’t like the gray skulking shapes that ran along on fast little claws one fucking bit. Shivers ran along
     its spine like dirty waves at Coney Island Beach.
    “Come on,” Stone screamed as his slow-witted brain realized they were being surrounded. Already they were blocked on three
     sides; only the field directly ahead was not yet blanketed with the squirming little bodies crying out in squeaking high-pitched
     commands to one another. “Let’s move it, dog. And I mean fucking pronto!” He started ahead, lurching along on the crutch as
     he gripped the shotgun hard so it wouldn’t fall out. Suddenly the brown sea of rats came rushing in from every side—even ahead—and
     Stone realized they had been successfully cut off. He dropped the shotgun arm down as low as he could hold it and still keep
     moving, stumbling, half falling ahead. He pulled the trigger and the 12-gauge autofire slammed back in his hands, threatening
     to pull him backward. But it did a hell of a lot worse to the wall of gray and brown straight ahead. The shot left the muzzle
     only about six inches above the ground—and spread out a good ten feet before it met vermin flesh coming in. The steel pellets
     got the better of