“My research!” Dr. Scott made as if to push past Clem and run back to the house, but Reggie grabbed the sleeve of his lab coat and held him back.
Through the barn door, they could see thick black smoke rolling out through the broken windows of the ranch house.
“Must a’ been an incendiary shell,” Clem said as he slammed the barn door shut.
“But they weren’t firing incendiaries—” Dr. Scott’s words were interrupted by the deafening drumbeat of machinegun fire. A line of bullet holes opened in the side of the barn just above their heads. One of the barn’s support pillars disintegrated into splinters, causing boards to drop from the ceiling. The roof sagged and the bright Tijuana sunlight streamed in through the new gap over their heads.
The three of them dove to the ground and crawled to the back of the barn, next to the line of buckets of offal destined to feed Dr. Scott’s mutant chickens. Nearby, those same creatures slashed their toothy beaks through the bars of their pen and howled in a manner fitting for the dinosaurs they had been reverse-evolved to resemble.
“Where’s the pilot?” Reggie demanded.
“Saw her runnin’ to the plane,” Clem moaned. “She’s probably gonna skedaddle and leave us here.”
A metallic fist burst through the wall of the barn. Its fingers opened and then the hand pulled back to rip gap even wider.
“We don’t have much time!” Dr. Scott wailed. “What can we do?”
Reggie lifted his fedora to wipe the sweat off his forehead. There were no doors on the ground level except the one that the bipedal panzer was battering down. They would have a better chance of flapping their arms and flying out through the gap in the roof than they would trying to run past that thing. They needed another option, and they needed it fast.
Suddenly, Reggie grabbed a bucket of slop, waved away the cloud of flies and peered inside. He curled up his nose as he smelled it, but when he looked at his companions he had a twinkle in his eyes.
“You got a plan?” Clem asked.
“I got a plan,” Reggie answered.