“Enough already.” Smacky faced Yul in sullen mood. “Okay, your bitch bests mine. Bravo. Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.” He slapped the others away, shoulder-checked Wilb and Marv back. He turned to Lacey, snatching at her wrist. “You happy now, Lace, you dumb slut? You go off shooting your mouth, get your ass whipped. Clock you up a bunch of bruises, lose you some pride, skin and a front tooth.”
Lace spat out an uprooted tooth, wiping her bleeding lip.
“Smacky, my arm hurts. Don’t pinch it so hard.”
“I’ll pinch it if I want to. Here, lemme see.” He squinted at her bruised forearm, poked and prodded around at the swelling and she yowled some more, sucked in a pained breath at his rough touch.
“It’s nothing, girl. Just a chicken scratch. Maybe a small sprain or two. Nothing to bawl over.”
Her eyes brimmed with anger. “What d’you know, Smacky? You some doctor?”
“Don’t talk back to me. It’ll heal.”
Marv tapped Smacky on the back. “We ought to—”
“Shut up. I know what we ought to do, Marv. When I need your tongue I’ll pull down my leathers. We’re heading out, Lace. You can stay behind if you’re hurting too much.”
“Naw, Smacky. I’ll be coming. Boring as shit in this filth crib.”
“Suit yourself. Yab or Yulb, whatever the fuck his name is, is coming. Get your woman cleaned up, and wipe that smug grin off her face or she’ll be eating it. And get your ass moving out the door. Mickey, bring all the explosive gear you can carry.” He kicked at bottles, tin cans, old ale-stained clothes. “Sick of this fucking dump. Told you bastards to clean it up, and what do you do, sit here and yak out more filth from your gobs whenever you get high and wasted.”
They made for the hall and moved up the rubble and plaster-strewn trail clogging the stairwell.
“Don’t like that redneck crew on our turf,” Smacky mumbled. “Seen it in all the holo movies. About Armageddon. Planet goes to shit. Guerrilla warfare in the streets. Turf wars to the end of time with some highbanger moving in, trying to take over the local creed. Blows the head off the competition, sets up shop and becomes the new head hog. Seen it a million times. Only one Smacky round here, that’s me.”
“You tell ’em, Smack,” said Wilb.
Smacky turned at the half-sagging railing. “Don’t call me ‘Smack’ or I’ll smack your fucking ass. Want me to call you Wib instead of Wilb?”
“No, wouldn’t like that, Smacky. No need to get sore.” Wilb shook out his shoulders. He looked away with a sullen grin.
“Why don’t I get a gun?” Lace bawled, keeping her distance from Smacky, eyeing Cloye with contempt.
“Because you don’t need one, Lace. And I don’t trust you with a gun. You’ll blow off somebody’s head.”
“Aw, Smacky, you always give Mickey the good stuff,” she whined.
“Give Mickey the good stuff,” he echoed. His eyes scrunched up like raisins. “Don’t ‘aw Smacky’ me. What is this, kindergarten?”
The others guffawed. Wilb grabbed her in a head lock and gave her a stiff, hard noogie. “Hey, cut that out, you dipshit!” Lace cried.
“Knock it off, you asswipes. Move out!” Smacky slapped some heads. The pale light showed ahead through the broken glass that gave way onto the street. “Enough horseplay. Day’s still young, we’ve got some bugs to hunt.”
The young blonde hesitated, rubbed her head and swatted at Wilb, nursing her sore arm. “Think he should get punished for that. Why I always get beat on?”
Marv hunched in toward Smacky and muttered, “Don’t you think it’s a bit risky out there after the last bug blast? We’ve already got some crickets here to play with—maybe, Spin the bottle, Matchsticks, Blow the gasket. Whole pile of smash to smoke. You know how kinky Lace gets after a bit of Zombie.” He grinned and nudged Smacky in the ribs.
“Are you fucking brain dead? There’s a war out there and you want to play Spin the Bottle and smoke smack?” He herded Marv, Mickey and Wilb out with a rough push and painful prod of his gun.
The others lanced Marv a scowl.
Chapter 28
A view to the street showed no improvement from the last time. An aphid and NOA fighter had crashed down and more humps of unmoving bodies lay in heaps. Yul looked on with little hope. Casualties during the Mentera raids.
Smacky groused. “Gotta put a stop to this. They’ve infiltrated our turf. Not to mention they’ve snatched friends and innocent citizens.”
“Very noble of you,” said Yul.
“Yeah, I think so…and don’t get too glib with your two-toothed remarks, spaceman. You’re already in enough trouble as it is.”
“Smacky, I say we—” bawled Lace.
“Shut up, bitch. Move!” He grabbed a hankful of her hair and herded her through the broken glass and into the street.
The bright light stung Yul’s eyes. He took a deep breath, paused to get his bearings. The square was as before: overturned vehicles, scattered mobs of people, distant screams, the thump-thump of locust blasters.
His eye caught a sparkle of metal across the square. Out of the third floor window of a soot-grimed apartment building, some amateur sniper had gone ballistic and was taking pot shots at anything that moved in the street below. Dumb fool.
Smacky danced to fire that had him kicking up his heels like drops of oil on a frying pan. “Jesus H Christ…Get the hell out of here!”
All of them made a mad scramble for the downed airbus. Yul hunkered down, his back sideways to the bus. He saw dead faces with staring eyeballs peeking out at him from the blood-grimed glass.
“On my count.” Smacky heaved himself erect. They scrambled for better shelter after him while Spike and Mick
