“Coming!” I leaned forward, butting with my head, both doubled fists working like pistons to clear a way to my companions.
“Nice work, Pete!” shouted Vic, as I joined them, breathless but triumphant. “Now for a break! Gun loaded?”
I snapped open the action and dropped in six cartridges.
“It is now. I’ll go ahead; you bring up the rear with Hope in the middle. Ready?”
“Let’s go!”
I plunged on, Hope’s fingers gripping my belt. Fresh multitudes were pouring up the ramp, brushing aside the five or six priests that had hurried there in an effort to stem the tide.
One of the priests saw us, and cried out shrilly to his companions. With one accord they came toward us, obviously intent upon blocking our way. I have never seen in any other eyes such anger and hatred as blazed in the eyes of those strange beings.
“Watch them, Pete!” roared Vic. “We can’t take chances!” His gun roared twice from behind me, and two of the priests fell writhing, to be instantly trampled into pulp. Another reached out long arms toward Hope, and I let him have it. There was nothing else to do. He went the way of the two others.
Twice again, before we reached the ramp they guarded, the angry attendants of the idol fell before our guns. Then, hurrying down ramp after ramp, corridor after corridor, fighting the rushing mob all the way, we came at last, shaking with weariness and gasping for breath, to the deserted streets of this black and terrible city.
“Are we free?” whispered Hope, holding tightly to my arm. “Are we really free?”