‘You bet,’ Mac said. ‘I thought that son of a bitch was up to something.’
Then the Thompson started grinding again. Slugs zipped through the room.
‘Look out! They’re coming!’ Mac bawled.
I could see figures running into the moonlight. They swerved to right and left, making it impossible to hold the rifle sights on them. Mac brought one down, but the other five got across the floor of the valley and disappeared into the bushes.
‘Not so good,’ I said, ducking down as slugs sent splinters from the window frame. ‘They’re over now. They can get right up to the door without us seeing them.’
‘They can’t get in,’ Mac said, ‘without getting shot up. Where’s Joe’s rum? I feel like another swig.’
He crawled over to Joe, turned him over and fetched out the flask from Joe’s hip pocket. As the Thompson stopped grinding, I raised my rifle and fired three quick shots into the bushes where the gun flashes had been.
There was a sudden movement. A man sprang out, holding the Thompson and went crashing down on his face.
‘Nice shooting,’ Mac said, who had returned to the window ‘Now if any of those rats want that
Tommy they’ll have to come out into the open for it’