A soft,
three-note whistle warbled through the warehouse, coming from the far door. She
choked on a totally irrational giggle. The distinct hiss-clop of very large
feet trying to walk noiselessly in heavy boots came through the waiting quiet.
Charles
was late, but fortunately not that more negative definition of late.
However,
he was walking right into trouble.
"What
in the Sam -- Odessa?" Charles hissed, appearing in the doorway. He was a
distinct man-shape on the far side of the spill of dimmed moonlight. "Where
are you, girl? Are you hurt?" The snick-click of his Colt cocking rang
loud through the warehouse.
"Run!"
she shouted. "I'm trapped -- get the others." She stared down the leg
suddenly pointed at her face and swallowed hard, braced for another cloud of
sleeping gas or maybe the acid this time. The automatons didn't have visible
ears, either, but they seemed to understand exactly what she was doing when she
shouted.
"What
are those things?" Charles stepped out into the moonlight, staring up at
her.
She was
touched that he was worried about her -- glad that he assumed she was hurt and
she hadn't fallen asleep on the job -- but the man was an idiot. What part of "run"
didn't he understand?
"Get
out, now! Look behind you!" She dared to point -- no reaction from the
automatons.
The
automatons on the floor moved at triple the speed she had seen before. Their
tap-tapping sound turned into a rattle as they seemed to skim across the floor,
heading right for Charles. He let out a shout and backed up, pulling his other
pistol and letting go with both barrels.
He
missed.
Charles was a crack shot.
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