and then the spackle are pouring outta the shadows like a flash flood- onto the path and running right at us- their weapons up and ready- `` hold , '' the mayor says to me , aiming his rifle- they keep surging onto the path- twenty , thirty , forty of 'em- and me and the mayor on our own- `` hold , '' he says again- their noise is filling the air- and they keep coming- keep coming till they 've got ta be in weapons ' range- and there 's a fizz as one of the white sticks is fired- `` viola ! ''