I jumped on the brakes. This is an extremely effective way of dealing with an attack from behind in a moving vehicle-more so, if you're not traveling at eighty miles an hour. Eighty's probably pushing it. I was flung forward. My neck folded, drove my chin down-as the momentum forced my assailant on top of me. Something wet spilled into my ears. The long body of the transport did not travel well with its wheels locked up. It began to careen wildly. I dragged my foot off the brake and the transport popped out of its skid. It lurched forward again then up and over a pair of parked cars. The steel body sparked and crashed as it struck a building, its armored side tight to the brick screeching. I took a second to unfasten my harness-the canvas straps pulled away as my attacker fell back with the bucking change in direction. I twisted and kicked off the dashboard and fell grappling. I was fighting an unidentifiable silhouette. I sprawled on top of him. The floor of the compartment was slick with formaldehyde. In the darkness, I could feel the cold clamminess of my attacker's hands, and the sour damp of his clothing. The transport lurched again, dowsing us both with a wave of preserving fluid. My eyes burned. We lurched again, and then sped up. I had to guess Julie was taking a crash course in transport driving.
Two hard fists struck my face. The blows landed like steel on bone. My head rang; my bruised face was as fragile as broken crockery. I whimpered as we wrestled in the cramped space beside the sarcophagus. Waves of formaldehyde sloshed over its rim as Julie wrestled for control of the vehicle. I tried to rise to let a few punches fly. My elbow struck the bench behind me-went buzzing numb. I shifted. I put a hand on, and into a chest. Wrestling frantically, my hand passed through shattered bone, and into something that felt like a wicker basket full of macaroni and raw liver. A strong hand choked off my gasp. My shadow moved off, I recognized the smile.
"Not yet, clusterfuck!" Willieboy laughed, and then punched me repetitively on the chin. Three good solid punches-my ears hummed. He slammed me into the bulkhead-teeth rattling. I tasted blood; my eyes were swelling. But, it didn't matter any more. I was an angry sore ready to burst. Pain was all I could feel. I was so badly bruised only a bullet would stop me now. I flew back at him.
"Soon!" I yelled, smashing my fists into his face. I kicked him in the chest as he tried to rise.
He rolled with unexpected agility toward the rear door, leapt to his feet. He wiped old blood and drool from his shattered teeth. "Then do it!"
I remembered the sword. I had placed it in between the driver's seat and the passenger's. My peripheral vision picked up Julie struggling with the joystick. There was a hissing noise; it was my breathing-or Willieboy's.
The dead Inspector looked down at his ruined chest, and pain crossed his features. His full lips contorted. "Look what you did to me!" he sobbed. One of his fists went to his temple. His face twisted into anguish. "Christ, I'm going to make you pay!" He looked up and saw that I had the sword. I leapt at him, point level with my hips. The blade slid easily into his abdomen. He snarled fiercely and gripped my neck.
"No, no, no, clown!" His eyes were crazy. "That's not going to work any more. It doesn't even hurt." His grip tightened, and I began to feel the full strength of his massive shoulders. His dead thumbs started to crush my windpipe.
I whipped a hand out and wrenched the door handle. A horn sounded repetitively-louder now. A yellow light flashed. I felt an immediate air pressure change. My head stuffed up. I swallowed, couldn't get it past his thumbs. Willieboy tightened his grip.
"That's how it's going to be, is it!" he snarled, spittle and blood spraying.
I grabbed his wrist with one hand; the other still twisted the sword in his guts. The transport lurched and we stumbled against the ramp. Our extra weight forced it down with a bang and shower of sparks. The ramp's iron surface was pocked with holes and corrugated for traction; I drove the fingers of my left hand into the holes while still gripping the sword hilt with the other. Willieboy's face was close to mine. His hands tore at my throat.
This time I smiled. "No. This is how it's going to be!" With all the strength in my shoulders and back, I twisted and sawed with the sword until it struck spine. The sword was sharp and the newly dead muscle cut quickly. Completely independent, the legs began to kick spastically. Their motion tore the sword from my hand, the hilt struck the road-there was a snap. The lower half of Willieboy rolled messily off the ramp with the spine severed. It hit the road wetly and was gone.
Willieboy looked at the horrible mess of entrails spilling out of him. He reached down with one hand to keep them in. Pieces that fell off the ramp burst as they hit the road. Willieboy looked up at me, true horror on his face. His dark eyes deepened, vacuuming darkness in. He started screaming terribly-wildly-like the damned soul he was. His strained features twisted unimaginably. I watched his hand trying to gather together the ragged edges, like the remnants of a torn and bloodied butcher's sack. He screamed, released my neck, and then clutched at his abdomen. We hit a bump and he tumbled off the ramp. The last I remember of him was his cackling terror as he cartwheeled bloodily down the road.
I climbed back into the transport, heard a horn honk and turned around. A long dull Chrysler dropped back from where it had kept pace on our right. Elmo waved through the windshield. I waved back, and then staggered up to Julie.
"Excellent, Ms. Hawksbridge." I reeled against the bulkhead dripping blood. My head spun. "My driver has finally caught up with us. If you wouldn't mind applying the brakes."