Grímnir strode along behind Dow with his hand resting gently on his chainsaw.
For all the wildness of his blows, Cam saw that the chainsaw never once threatened Dow, who stood shoulder to shoulder with him.
Grímnir fought with berserk frenzy, his chainsaw swinging left and right in tight arcs that chopped the Twisted away, ruthlessly tearing ravaged heads from stick thin necks.
One of the monsters managed to slip past the screeching chainsaw.
His chainsaw matched his shout, and the first of the creatures squealed as the toothed blade slammed through its arm and chest.
After a bit of messing about, Grímnir rigged a strap and buckle arrangement that supported the chainsaw satisfactorily.
The chainsaw blade settled into it easily, but the motor was too heavy to be supported.
The bag holding the chainsaw was slung casually over his left shoulder.
Then he spent several minutes looking for a sheath that was roughly the same shape and size as the chainsaw.
Grímnir started his chainsaw, and its cutting snarl roared through the dark room.
