But the laughter broke.
"Pat--you're my wife. You know my dream--you shared it. Why did you do
it?"
"Yes, she knows your sick dream, Harry," I said.
"Shut up, Ash;" he said quietly. "Don't die with your mouth open."
He fired, but I was on the floor of the tunnel.
"Ash!" That was Pat's voice, but I was rolling, and tearing at my side.
"Get back, Pat!" Thorsten shouted. I was up on my knees, the singleshot
gun in my hand. I charged forward.
He brought up his gun. The noise had awakened everybody in hearing
distance. Doors were opening, men were running.
I pointed the slim tube at his belly and jammed my thumb down on the
firing stud.
He screamed, cupping his hand over the smoking hole I had punched in
his stomach. His knees bent, and he sank backwards, toppling, finally,
as he lost his balance. He opened his mouth, choking, and blood welled
over his chin.
One last shred of laughter bubbled up through his throat.
And someone, down at the other end of the tunnel, fired at us. He
missed me as I crouched over Thorsten's body.
"Ash--"
I had Thorsten's gun in my hand, but I didn't fire back. I spun around,
and looked at Pat, crushed back against the tunnel wall.
"Pat!"
She slid down the wall, and huddled on the floor.
"Pat!" I bent down beside her. It was bad.