The next bullet found someone's head. It was a mess that splattered one of the Dogs in gore, and that was the end of Uncle's dear namesake. But the woman had forced Uncle's hand, charging with a raised farming implement whose dirt and blood-covered head was turned against the Hardholder. Whatever was in these people was something powerful, and reasoning with them in this state was not going to work out for anyone. Top Dog was at Uncle's shoulder, a pistol in one hand and a truncheon in the other.<br/><br/>"What's the word, Uncle?" Top Dog asked, eying all of the workers who were now advancing with their work tools and murder in their drugged-out, glassy eyes.