As the mutants and babies surge forward, Mr. Dowling launches himself at Dr. Oystein. The brothers fall to the floor, tearing and punching at one another.
Shane moves in on Kinslow as the mutant sweeps to the aid of his master. Kinslow spots the threat and swings his scythe. Shane ducks beneath the blade and slams his foot into the mutant’s stomach. Kinslow’s driven back with a winded cry.
Josh Massoglia and Reilly marshal the few human troops who made it through, roaring at them to aim carefully, not fire wildly, and choose their targets.
Master Zhang glides ahead, most of the Angels falling in behind him. As the mutants attack, he swats them aside, barely exerting himself, a lethal, tightly wound fighting machine.
Ashtat follows Shane and throws a few karate kicks at Kinslow, knocking him off his feet. He doesn’t know what’s hit him. Go, girl!
Vicky Wedge carries on a running commentary, telling Justin Bazini about the battle, adding words to the images that he’s picking up from the various cameras scattered among his remaining soldiers. She looks white as a ghost, and flinches anytime someone comes near, but she doesn’t back off.
Carl springs about the room like a bionic bunny. This is his specialty. He comes down upon his foes from out of nowhere, thrusting them aside, breaking up groups, causing confusion.
The babies swarm towards me. I’m not sure if they plan to hug me or eat me. Before I can find out, Holy Moly throws itself between us and bellows at them, “mummy.”
The babies stop instantly and I’m reminded of the power struggle in my wedding chamber, when they would have torn me apart if not for Holy Moly’s intervention. This time it’s easier for the idiosyncratic little baby to distract them.
“lots more for us to kill,” Holy Moly says, pointing at the soldiers and Angels. “leave mummy and daddy alone.”
“yes,” the babies say. “we love mummy and daddy.”
Then they hurl themselves at the humans. Lots of the babies are caught in the crossfire and blown apart, but there are so many of them that more push in to replace the casualties and they descend on the soldiers without slowing.
A few of the babies target Owl Man, who has been standing by my side, looking worried. As they attack, Sakarias bounds to his defense. The dog grabs one of the infants and shakes it like a doll, grinding through its rib cage, tearing it apart, letting its carcass drop.
The dead baby’s comrades hiss and leap onto Sakarias’s back. The dog snaps at them, then rolls over, trying to squash them. Owl Man leans down to pull them off, but one of the babies latches onto his hand and flashes its fangs. Owl Man yelps and jerks away. Two of his fingers have been ripped clean off. He stares at the bloody stumps, dumbfounded.
A pair of babies clamber onto Sakarias’s exposed belly. As the shaggy sheepdog howls, they rip the lining of its stomach to shreds and burrow in. I stare with fascination as one of the babies crawls through the mutant canine’s body and up its throat. I spot a hand shoot through the space at the back of the dog’s mouth. Then the baby’s fingers find Sakarias’s brain and tear into it. Moments later the dog falls still and the light leaves its sad, soulful eyes.
I feel sorry for Sakarias. It didn’t ask to become Owl Man’s mutated pet. It was a friendly thing in its own fierce way. But there’s no time to mourn a dead dog. Owl Man is still staring at his mutilated hand. This might be my chance to break free.
I spin round towards the exit, meaning to run and leave the fighting behind me. I jam my hands over my ears, to hopefully block out any commands that Owl Man might yell after me when he sees me taking off. My plan is to call to Holy Moly as I flee, ask the baby to join me, so that I can find out where it hid the vial of Schlesinger-10.
But Rage, standing next to me, has other ideas. As I swivel, he wraps his arms round me and murmurs, “Going somewhere, Becky?”
“Let go, you bastard,” I shout, kicking out at him.
“Not a chance,” he grunts. “This is the endgame. No one leaves before the fat lady sings.”
As I continue to kick at Rage, I spy Kinslow back on his feet. He lashes out blindly with his scythe and the tip burrows itself in the side of Ashtat’s head. She steps away from the mutant, stunned, blood seeping from the wound, staining her otherwise pure-white headscarf.
Shane roars furiously and knocks Kinslow to the floor. He throws a series of punches at the mutant, cursing wildly. The girl from the pub, Claudia, tries to pull him away, but the furious Shane shrugs her aside and carries on punching.
“Ashtat,” I moan.
I don’t know if she hears, but she turns towards me. Rage had been chuckling, but he stops when he sees Ashtat.
“Poor cow,” he sighs.
Ashtat reaches towards us. The scythe is sticking out of her head, the handle quivering.
Somebody drops a gun, and Claudia kicks it across to Kinslow. I yell a warning to Shane, but Kinslow grabs the weapon before the Angel can react, jams it up under Shane’s chin and fires. The gun snags on one of the chains that Shane always wears, throwing off Kinslow’s aim, so, instead of tearing through the middle of Shane’s head, the bullet explodes out behind his left ear. He falls to one side, screaming with pain, desperately trying to poke bits of his brain back into place.
Claudia laughs hysterically, picks up a few pieces of Shane’s brain, and stuffs them into her mouth, pretending she likes the flavor. I wish now that Owl Man had killed her when he had the chance. If this is what comes of being merciful, I’ll never show pity again.
Kinslow growls like a bear and Claudia spits out the cranial pulp and helps him back to his feet. Without thanking her, he grabs the handle of the scythe and yanks it from Ashtat’s head. She cries out once, then sinks and convulses, one of the undead no longer, at rest for all time.
The blond, leather-clad Ingrid and quick-fingered Ivor have swept ahead of Master Zhang, finding a temporary gap and exploiting it. Having slipped through the net of bodies, they close in on the battling brothers at the eye of the storm. Dr. Oystein and Mr. Dowling are tearing at one another like a pair of rabid dogs, biting, scratching, ripping. Flesh hangs from them in strips, and each is coated in blood.