'We hold these truths to be self-evident…' she recited.
Uncle Sam came at her, long arms outstretched. She kicked him in the face with her boot-heel, and he got a grip on her knee.
'…indivisible under God, with Liberty…'
Other hands grabbed her, and she was dragged towards the crucifix.
Miss Liberty was shrieking as she burned. The Daughters wouldn't have enough water with them to waste on her, but the children were shovelling sand at the woman, trying to smother the flames.
The Sandrat bit into the wrist of one of the Minutemen, chewing until she severed the artery. He fell away, blood gushing into her face, trying to stanch the flow with his fingers.
'…and Justice for all!' She spat a bloody froth at Uncle Sam.
She got one foot in the sand, and dragged it. The patriots were having trouble holding her fast. She scratched down a face with her desert-hardened claws, and broke some ribs with an elbow.
'I'm just exercising my right to Freedom of Expression.'
It was just her and Uncle Sam now. She slipped behind him, pulling his arms back until his shoulders popped, and pushed him into the dirt. He had a gun in his waistband, a long-barreled Buntline special. She relieved him of it, and made five bullets count, dropping Minutemen and Daughters where they stood.
'Who wants the last one?' she asked.
The remaining gangtypes looked at each other. A tall, well-built girl in a star-spangled bathing suit knelt by Miss Liberty, and picked up the coronet.
'No volunteers, huh?'
The Betsy Ross Bimbo settled the coronet on her Annette Funicello hairdo.
'So you've just elected yourself Boss of the Beach, huh?'
The new leaderene tottered forwards on five-inch spike heels—not the ideal sandwear—rolling her hips. She had a pair of batons with wickedly barbed ends. She twirled them like a majorette, and did a few ninja moves.
'Back off, prom queen!'
Damn, she needed her last bullet. She would have to fight. She slid the gun into her holster, and spread her hands in a sign of peace.
'Can't we settle this constitutionally, with a debate and a referendum?'
The Beach Bunny swung her batons in a deadly arc.
'Just you and me, commie,' the Daughter said. 'Miss Liberty was my den mother.'
'It's always somebody's den mother, or sister, or brother, or pet rattlesnake, huh? Why can't people just be dead and forgotten?'
A baton shot out, piercing the air where the Sandrat's shoulder had just been. The Daughter dodged an elbow thrust, and brought the majorette rod down on the Sandrat's back. It was a good hit, and she had to use all of her concentration not to go down.
The Daughter was a Champion Twirl Tootsie. To get around that, she would have to get in close, and go for some serious cat-fighting. The Sandrat hugged the girl, and pulled her close. The Daughter's face crinkled up in disgust. The Sandrat knew she had an edge. She licked the girl's mouth, tasting strawberry lipstick, and flicked her lightly freckled cheerleader's nose with the pointed end of her tongue.
The Daughter looked as if she were ready to give out with the old Technicolor Yawn. 'What's the matter, saph? Worried that you'd like it too much?'
The Daughter wriggled, trying to get a knee up into the Sandrat's stomach. Her rock-hard hair was shaking.
'Maybe you don't kiss on a first fight, huh?'
The Daughter grabbed a handful of hair, and yanked hard. It hurt, but the Sandrat could handle it.
'Hey, no fair! Tammy's cheating!'
The Sandrat lifted the majorette up, and tossed her away. She landed badly, and crawled away.
'Nobody loves a sore loser, Gidget.'
The other Daughters were in a semi-circle around the Sandrat. She drew her gun. 'Remember the last bullet, everyone? Good, there'll be a pop quiz after recess.'
She took aim, and shot the arvee in the gastank. Uncle Sam was loaded with ScumStoppers. The bullet punched tfirough armour plate, the tank exploded, and the arvee rose up into the air in a whirl of flame. The DAR must keep all their ammo in the bus, the Sandrat thought. There was quite a fireworks display. A flying wheel knocked the crucifix over, and chunks of wreckage rained down on a fifty-foot circle. Two or three of the cykes blew up in sympathy. Miss Liberty wasn't the only one on fire now.
Patriots were running all over the place, periwigs ablaze, screaming for help, burrowing into the sand and rolling.
'See, whoever has the biggest gun gets to kick the crap out of everybody else. It's the American Way.'
The Sandrat was untouched in the eye of the hurricane. She knew the fire wouldn't hurt her. It was destiny.
She picked up a few more guns from corpses, and didn't feel naked any more. One or two still felt like fighting, and she shot them.
She left the children alone. They would make good sandrat material. Along with the majorette, whom she saw being helped away from the fire by the kids.
'You'll be able to work on your tan tomorrow, surf sweetie,' she shouted after the Daughter, 'but don't hold your breath waiting for the tide to come in.'
She found an unburned six-by-three stars and stripes in the sand. She picked it up and draped it over Miss Liberty's still-smoking remains. She shot a salute at the cooked corpse.
'Like I said, the American Way, sister.'
She found a cyke parked out of range of the explosion, and straddled it. It was strange having a sickle between her legs after all these months, but the reactions came back. You never forget. She took a helmet from the handlebars. It was starred and striped, but it would do. She kick-started the machine, and drove away from the fires. Someone took a shot at her, but missed. She searched through the pannier for a musichip to put into the helmet's sound system, but only found
Her hair flew out behind her, and the clean air struck her face. She would have to do something about her face now.
Once she got her bearings, she could head for Dead Rat and get Doc Threadneedle to sort out her skullplates. Maybe she should invest in a few more elaborate bio-amendments. Her credit should be good.
Her wilderness years were over.
She wasn't hallucinating any more, she knew. The voices were under control. She wouldn't be seeing any dead women getting out of their rocking chairs. Things were clear again.
She smiled, and her heart beat away the seconds, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
PART THREE: JESSAMYN
I
It had taken Duroc at least three quarters of an hour to get through the Holderness-Manolo security system.
