at him, but immediately the three raiders returned fire, driving him back.
'I think I got him,' said one.
'I don't know,' said another.
Earl, meanwhile, looked around the room. Squashed into the corner and holding on dearly to each other, two more Negro gals cried softly.
'Y'all be quiet now,' said Earl. 'We're going to get you out, okay?'
One of them nodded.
Earl peeked around the corner and saw nothing. He nodded over to Slim and held out two fingers, cranked his thumb back to indicate he was sending the women over.
Slim nodded.
'Okay,' he said, 'y'all get over here and get ready to run. I'm going to fire a little bit. They won't be shooting. You just jump over to the stairs and go on down and somebody will take care of you. Don't you pay no mind to the shooting I'm going to do. You got that?'
Both nodded.
Earl stepped out into the hall, and fired half a magazine into the ceiling at the rear of the corridor, watching the bullets tear into the plaster. The two girls dipped across, where they were grabbed by Carlo, who ushered them downstairs.
Frenchy returned to the hallway adjacent to the stairwell, breathing hard. He could see that the action had moved upstairs. He bent over and retrieved Earl's BAR, took one of the magazines, and implanted it. Then he cranked the bolt back.
The thing was heavy, and as he had his pockets jammed with other loaded magazines, he felt quite a burden as he rose. He walked around to where other raiders crouched at the foot of the stairs. He could see three others up there.
'I got Earl's gun reloaded,' he said.
'Well, he seems kind of busy just now,' said Elf.
'Well, hell, he sent me to get ammo for that gun and so he must need it.'
Eff and the others just looked at him.
'Look out,' he commanded. 'I'm taking it up to him.'
Frenchy pushed his way by them and began to edge his way up the steps.
Earl watched the room at the end of the hallway. He heard a motion, like a squirming or shifting, and the next thing he knew a man laid out with a shotgun and fired. He felt the sting of pellet, but fired too, finishing off the magazine. The bullets whacked chunks of plaster off the wall and the Grumley boy slumped and fell amid a white cascade of shattered masonry.
Frenchy started when the gunfire suddenly erupted. At that moment also his foot found a puddle of Grumley blood that had coagulated on the fourth step. Before he knew what was happening, he slid downward, struggled for purchase and fell hard. He clenched as he fell and was aware that he squeezed off a five-or six-shot burst of automatic rifle fire. Men ducked and fell to avoid the shots, and the gun pivoted in his descent, still pumping, and sent a load of bullets through the window, blowing it out in the process.
But then he was down, hard, his ass suddenly hot with pain from the fall.
'Jesus Christ, Short! What the hell are you doing?'
'I fell, goddammit. Is anybody hurt?'
'You are a lucky son of a bitch,' someone said. 'You didn't clip nobody down here but you're going to have to pay for a new window.'
'Fuck it,' said Frenchy. He pushed the mag release button so that the half-empty mag fell out, and replaced it with one from his coat pocket. Then he picked himself up, climbed the rest of the way, and bullied his way between the raiders at the top.
'Earl,' he shouted, 'I have the BAR.'
Earl looked at him, shook his head. But then he nodded, and gestured for the boy to come across.
He stepped into the hallway, and fired, issuing suppressing fire that again chewed into the masonry far at the end of the hall.
When Frenchy made it safely across, he pulled him back and took the BAR. Frenchy reached for the Thompson, but Earl threw it across the room onto the bed.
'You leave it be. Stick near me, and when I drop a magazine, you hand me a new one. You got that?'
'Yes sir,' said Frenchy.
But Earl was already leaning out the hallway.
'Slim,' he said, 'y'all be ready over there. I'm going to work my way down the hall. You weave behind me, clear the rooms. I think they's empty. When I get into the room next to the one they're in, I'm going to shoot through the walls. This.30 caliber should kick right through. I'll shoot high but I'll scare the shit out of 'em. They'll a-come running out, and you boys be ready, you got that?'
'Yes sir,' said Slim.
'You ready, kid?' he asked Frenchy.
Frenchy gulped.
Earl stepped out, the BAR locked in the assault position, its butt clamped under his arm, its long muzzle pointing down the hail. Like his caddie Frenchy cowered behind, two mags in one hand, one in the other, others stuffed into his suit coat. It seemed almost comic?the man with the vest cowering behind the man without one?but nobody laughed.
As second in the stick, Carlo let Slim dash forward into the first room, duck in and shout 'Clear!'
It was his turn. As Earl moved forward, hunched and urgent, and passed the next doorway, he jumped toward it. Ooof! He stumbled, caught himself, and looked down to discover a Grumley toppled over in a pool of his own blood, his fingers latticed around a belly wound that still pulsated. But Carlo could tell in a second he was dead, and flew on.
He kicked open the door, scanned quickly over the sights of the.45 which he had locked before him at the end of his two tightened arms. He pivoted, finding the room empty, checked behind the door, then dashed to a closet, finding only frilly women's clothes.
'Clear!' he yelled.
'Clear!' came another call, as a third raider worked a room behind Earl's staunch advance.
Finally, there was only the one room left, the last room on the right. A dead Grumley lay on this floor too, though Carlo wasn't sure when he'd been hit. He couldn't remember many details of the past three or four minutes.
He crouched in a doorway, on his left knee, his pistol fixed on the last entryway, his wrists braced against the wall. Slim was above him in the same position, only standing, and down the hallway, two or three other raiders had taken up positions in doorways.
Earl yelled to the surviving Grumleys.
'We got y'all covered. You come on out and you won't get hurt.'
'Fuck you, lawman,' yelled a Grumley from inside.'You come in this room, we're gonna start blasting these here nigger gals and we'll all go to hell for breakfast.'
'Don't hurt them gals. They ain't done nothing to you.'
'No man tells a Grumley what to do, you bastard. Who the hell you think you are! This is our town, it ain't yours. You get out of here or by God there'll be blood in rivers spilt. No Grumley goes down easy, you hear me?'
But Earl wasn't listening. Instead he'd slipped into the room next door, oriented his automatic rifle to the common wall with the room where the last Grumley boys crouched with their hostages. He stitched a burst across the wall, about seven feet high. The old wood and plasterboard vaporized under the buzzsaw of.30 caliber bullets. The magazine was done in two seconds. Dust floated heavily in the air.
'Another,' he yelled, and Frenchy placed the mag in his hand. He jammed it in and fired it off in another single roaring blast.
Dust blew and floated everywhere, like fog.
Screams came from inside the room.
