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They stepped past overturned chairs and abandoned tables. Some of the tables had been swept clear in the melee. Others were still cluttered with the remains of interrupted dinners: plates, glasses, silverware and wine bottles shimmering in the soft glow of the centerpiece candles; some plates loaded with food, others nearly empty. |
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As John and his women (he realized the waitress was still with them) backed their way through the room, the crazies fanned out. |
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Can't let them circle us. |
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Cassy tripped over a body. Her back pounded the floor. The fat man with the cleaver, maybe pushed beyond caution by what he saw as Cassy swung her legs up to roll clear of the body, rushed at her. Bellowing. Waving his cleaver overhead. |
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John fired. The bullet struck him under the left eye. The eye popped from its socket. The man veered away from Cassy, his piles of flesh flopping like a bloated bag of pudding. He crashed down on a table top. |
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Cassy scrambled to her feet as the table overturned. |
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One shot left, John thought. |
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'Go for the window!' he yelled. |
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A woman with a steak knife rushed in from the right. John swept his revolver past the others and put a bullet into her chest. |
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But the others held back, not realizing his gun was empty. |
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Lynn was still beside him. John glanced toward Cassy. Saw her squat by the fat man and snatch up his |
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