“No choices. We must keep going forward and risking all.” Rahuna threw a small rock into the river. Raising his hands in a calming gesture, he turned to Andi. “Sanenre is deciding for us so Fortune will favor us.”
Sitting on her pack, Andi gave an unladylike snort. “Somehow I don’t find that reassuring at this stage.”
“We’ve managed so far,” Tom said. “All right, we have to lighten the load or the rafts’ll sink the minute they hit the water. These craft are rated for two fully kitted Special Forces operators, and we’re going to try transporting eight adults and a child, plus gear. Discard anything not essential to survival.” He turned back to confer with Mitch. “How’s it coming?”
“About ready to trigger the canisters, sir.” Setting two military-issue, black cylinders on the ground three yards apart, the sergeant made sure they were well balanced on the sloping rock beach. “I suggest you step back, ladies and gentlemen.”
He waited while Andi and the others got out of the danger zone, then pushed a button on the hand controller.
The transformation from cylinder to raft wasn’t dramatic, but it was fast. Andi watched closely as the two canisters morphed, section by section, into matching black rafts, high-sided, with bluntly V-shaped prows. All right, that does look like a sturdy design. Surely boats made for the Special Forces could take more punishment than a normal raft would ever be expected to endure. Military operators get the best gear available. Everyone knows that.
At the stern of each raft was a small, glossy black rectangle. Curious, she went to examine one more closely.
“Propulsion unit,” Mitch said when he noticed Andi eyeing the box. “The latest in military miniaturization of the standard ground vehicle power source. Top secret.”
“We need plenty of power to steer away from rocks and keep our way in the rapids.” Reassured, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“They have limited capacity. I hope we hit a smoother stretch of river soon.” Shading his eyes with one hand, Tom stared downriver. “Are there waterfalls?”
“Falls, no,” Andi said. “High potential for whitewater boating, yes. The Chikeeri was ranked as one of the most dangerous rivers in the Sector.”
The beach under her feet heaved in a series of moderate quakes. Andi struggled to stay upright on the slippery rocks. Abandoning the raft, Tom grabbed her. Gratefully, Andi clung to him while thunderous crashes echoed from the tunnel.
“Time to do this, people,” Tom said, releasing her. “I swear the whole place is self-destructing. All right—boat assignments. I’ll drive one. Mitch, you skipper the other. You’ll launch first. We’ll load Abukawal, Lysanda, Sadu and Rogers in with you.”
“At least the Chikeeri flows in the direction of the capital.” Andi made her voice light and happy in case anyone needed encouragement. “A boat trip saves us a lot of walking.”
“Yeah, that’s a positive, although I’m still hoping to find some transport.” Eyebrows knitted in a frown, Tom looked over his ragtag group. “Is Latvik’s broken arm set?”
Andi turned and saw the hapless soldier sitting against the embankment, white-faced and biting his lip. His broken arm was now encased in a protective cast, camouflage-colored to match his uniform. Giving his comrade a hand, Rogers reported, “He’s good to go, sir.”
“I’ll make it, sir, no worries.” Latvik’s face was set in grim lines, but he cradled his blaster in his good arm, ready for action.
“All right, then. No help for it,” Tom said. “We need to get going or starve to death on this beach. The most important thing to remember is pure and simple—hang on.” He stared over the foaming water. “The river’s going to try to drown us. Mitch and I’ll do our best to keep that from happening, but if you fall in, there’s not a whole hell of a lot we can do for you. You can’t fight the current, so if you do fall in, try to surf it.”
Andi watched the rushing river. There was quite a possibility of the boats coming to grief, particularly since they weren’t designed for whitewater. “What if the boat flips over?”
Tom grunted. He exchanged glances with Mitch, and both men shrugged. “Pray the boat doesn’t turn over, okay?” The captain bent to pick up one boat by the bow, Mitch moving to take the stern. As they trudged toward the river. Tom spoke over his shoulder. “All right, briefing finished. Let’s go.”
If Latvik can do it with a broken arm, I can do it. Andi nodded firmly to herself, walking after the men toward her assigned boat.
Getting the first raft into the river and holding it steady was a tricky chore. She stayed at a safe distance, biting her tongue against offering unnecessary advice. The current, even this close to shore, sucked at the boat. Mitch came close to falling into the river without the raft at one point, Tom jerking him to safety.
Abukawal took Sadu and, working with the sergeant, managed to lash the toddler in his carrier in the center of the heaving raft. Popping his thumb in his mouth, Sadu gazed around with wide-eyed interest, seeming undismayed by this new experience. Lysanda was next. She entered the raft without much protest, Abukawal addressing her in the sweetest of tones, coaxing her to sit next to Sadu as if this was some special treat arranged just for her today.
As soon as the first raft was loaded, Latvik slashed the sturdy tether keeping the boat snubbed to the beach. Eyes narrowed, holding her breath, hands clenched on the straps of her backpack, Andi observed the process, trying to figure out how to ride safely in her boat, when it was launched into the wild river.
To her surprise, watching Mitch’s raft, the ride was deceptively slow at first, until the current grabbed hold and jerked the boat toward the main channel, bobbing and bouncing in the swirling waters. From her vantage point still safely on the beach, Andi saw Mitch straining to remain in control of his craft. Then the boat was gone, swept out of sight around the next bend in the river.
This is going to be a wild ride. Andi took deep, calming breaths. Her stomach churned as she thought about being whirled helplessly in the midst of the turbulent river.
She jumped as Tom touched her shoulder, saying, “No help for it—let’s get our boat launched. Don’t want to get too far behind the others.” He had his eyes focused on the center of the torrent.
It was a struggle for Tom and Rahuna to maneuver the raft into the water. Andi helped as best she could, holding onto one of the ropes and struggling not to let the current rip the hawser away from her. The ground still trembled, with occasional violent spasms. Andi and Tom exchanged glances after one loud rumble. Unnerved by the bobbing of the raft, she clutched at him when he helped her step over the side. He kept his grip on her arm but pointed to the seat he wanted her to occupy. “Take the middle position. It’ll be safer.”
She looked over at Latvik, still on shore. “He’s got the broken arm. Let him have the center.”
“Now is not the time to argue with me. Get in the center seat.” Tom’s voice was low and sharp, his face set in grim lines.
She sat where ordered, clutching at the sides of the narrow raft for dear life. Latvik clambered aboard, followed by Rahuna. Working as a team, Andi and the cleric lashed gear Tom had decided was essential into place. When he’d seen the last item securely stowed, the captain stepped into the boat, slicing his combat knife through the tether in one smooth motion. He half fell into place in the stern, against the propulsion unit, as the current grabbed the raft and sent it twirling on its way.
Stark terror assaulted Andi as their boat left the beach. Despite Tom’s best efforts with the motor to keep the boat pointing ahead in the center of the river, the raft kept spinning like a top. Vertigo swept over Andi.
The river pushed the boat into crazy detours, catching it in rip currents and eddies before throwing it back to the main channel. Tom had to make split-second judgments about which side of the river to take and where to attack each set of rapids. During several stretches, their speed increased dramatically, and the boat flew above the river, before crashing into the water, drenching them
. Each time, the jolt of cold water across Andi’s body came as a shock, like a slap.
Once in a while she caught a glimpse of the other boat, way ahead of them on the Chikeeri. Gut twisting with worry, Andi tried to count the heads in the bobbing, plunging raft.
For the most part, she concentrated on hanging onto the boat and shaking the water out of her eyes after each wave.
The sound of the river was immense, deafening. Fifteen-foot waves reared up in spots, crashing against boulders too massive for the river to tear loose. Then came another of those terrifying, out of control slides down a chute, the raft turning sideways despite Tom’s frantic efforts to steer.
“Rocks, watch out!” Latvik yelled from his vantage point more toward the bow.
His voice was the last thing she heard before Andi flew through the air. Gasping reflexively at the shock as she landed in the frigid river, she took an inadvertent, choking gulp of water. Going all the way under, Andi panicked, thrashing, unable to tell which way was up in the churning water, unable to move her arms, her feet. I can’t breathe. Everything she tried was useless. Like any other piece of flotsam, the current controlled her.
As she was pulled through the calmer waters after the end of the slide, Andi managed to surface for one huge breath of air, before she was shunted into some rocks. The painful collision stunned her, knocking most of the air out of her lungs. Grasping at the boulders with enough desperation to tear her nails, Andi could only win a moment’s freedom from the river’s plans for her. Rocks covered with a slimy funguslike growth defeated her attempts to find handholds. The pain in her hands was a distant thing, not important as she fought to live. Can’t hang on, nothing to grab.
Slipping down the side of the boulders, she was on her way again, bobbing in the freezing water for a minute or two, then spinning around, dragged under, held, released to grab a precious breath, pummeled by branches and other debris caught in the river’s inexorable grip. Andi heard shouts behind her. But there’s nothing anyone can do to help. He’d said so.
Smoother water over a sandbar gave her hope for a second, but her legs were too weak to hold against the current. She spun violently into an eddy, and a submerged brush dragged her under, wrapping itself around her body. Andi fought to kick her way clear, holding her breath as long as she could.
At the last second, as her lungs were ready to burst from her chest, the patch of brush tore loose from its roots. Andi shot to the surface. Air, thank the Lords.
Her arms were slabs of stone, impossible to lift. So cold. So freezing cold. Her vision in the brief seconds above the waves dimmed. She’d swallowed a lot of the icy water, trying to breathe in the few chances she’d gotten. But the cruel currents always dragged her under again. Damn it. The river isn’t giving me a fair chance—not any chance—to fight back and survive. Blinding pain burst in her head as she struck something submerged in the river. Tom, I love you. I wish we’d had more time—
Chapter Seven
Sand, gritty, cold, damp under her left cheek. Voices saying angry things above her head. Hands pulling and poking at her.
Leave me alone, she tried to say, but her voice was a husky rasp with no power to communicate.
As she was sinking back into unconsciousness, a cascade of cold water crashed over her. Am I still in the river? Panicking, struggling to rise, she screamed, a hoarse croaking voice all she had. Coarse, male laughter sounded all around her. Am I hallucinating?
Hands grabbed at her arms, bringing her to her feet, holding her upright as her legs buckled. She leaned over and vomited up a great gush of river water. Cursing, disgusted, the men let her fall to the sand while she retched. When there was no more water left in her stomach, Andi curled into a fetal position, protecting her aching guts. “Please, just leave me alone. Let me die in peace.”
“The river spirits dropped you on our beach alive, outworlder bitch. Therefore, you’re to be used for our purposes.” The harshly exulting stranger spoke the Naranti dialect. “Get her up. Keep her on her feet this time.”
Rough hands seized her elbows and shoulders, hauling Andi to a standing position as she swayed, weak in the knees. She realized she was barefoot, sandals lost in the river.
Exerting supreme effort, she opened her eyes to find a Naranti man standing right in front of her. Two other men held her, and a group of six more surrounded her on a strip of silvery beach at a bend in the river.
“Let me go, please.” Andi blinked, shook her head to clear the fog. Her vision was going dark again at the periphery. “I need help…”
“You need help all right.” The Naranti rebel facing her spat into the sand by her feet. “You and all your outworlder kind. We’ll take Zulaire back and throw you and the Obati into the fires of the sacrificial cauldrons. We’ll enslave the Shenti and force them to do what we command.”
I was better off drowning in the damn river than being captured by the rebels. The realization sent fear knifing through her body, dispelling the faintness.
“Enough conversation, bitch.” The man walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Bring her. Our leader will be pleased at what the river has given us today.”
After Andi had gone about three steps, wobbling like a drunken trooper, one of her captors scooped her up with a curse and carried her, slung over his shoulder like a sack of zinbital leaves. He trudged up a small hill from the tiny beach. Andi checked as best she could from her awkward vantage point, but there was no sign of anyone else from her party having washed up on the sand with her. I’m on my own, but at least no one else is going to be a prisoner.
After crossing the hill’s summit, her captors made good time on a dusty trail, soon reaching a small village. The man set Andi on her feet at the edge of the dwellings, telling her to walk now or else. Exerting all her willpower, Andi managed to keep up with the men on either side of her.
The village lay deserted except for a sizable throng of armed Naranti. The fighters crowded around, bumping into her, calling out lewd suggestions, asking questions of the patrol that had captured her. The leader of her little procession ignored all distractions, heading straight for a house at the far edge of the town.
Taking quick glances, Andi realized this settlement had suffered something similar to the fate of the one she’d been in on their first day after the massacre. A number of the houses were burned. There were no bodies, so she hoped the residents of this place had received warning in time to escape.
Leading her to the porch of the most imposing house, the squad leader grabbed Andi’s wrist to pull her after him. “Wait here,” he instructed his companions over his shoulder. The other rebels stayed in the street, amusing themselves with more ribald suggestions for Andi’s eventual fate. Don’t listen to them, don’t hear the words, can’t let it affect me the way the men want it to. I’ve got to stay calm. If I’m going to get out of this alive, I have to be able to think.
Dragging Andi across the porch, stumbling as she went, he flung open the door so he could make a grand entrance with his prisoner. “See what the spirits have cast up from the river, my leader.”
A crowd of men turned to stare at her with varying degrees of annoyance, surprise, and disdain. She stood as straight and tall as she could, but her knees were still rubbery. Breathe, just concentrate on breathing right now.
“See what I’ve brought.” Perhaps unsatisfied with his comrades’ lukewarm reaction, her captor yanked her forward another few steps, toward the heavy wooden table dominating the center of the room.
The crowd shuffled apart. His back to them, a man was studying a sheaf of papers and maps laid out on the table. After a long minute, he directed his attention to her in a disinterested fashion.
Iraku.
Trying not to throw up again, Andi swayed and closed her eyes for a moment.
Taking a moment to stack his files neatly, the Naranti elder left the table and swaggered over to her. He still had the insolent manner she remembered so well from her days at the Tonkiln estate
.
“Miss Markriss.” Iraku drew the syllables of her name out, obviously savoring the fact that she was his captive. “You survived the fire.”
Anger burned through her dazed wits. “Too bad you found a way out, Iraku. You deserved to roast in the four hells for what you did to those poor, defenseless people.”
Betraying absolutely no emotion, Iraku slapped Andi across the face, rocking her head back. She sank to her knees on the uneven wooden floor, cheek numb, eye socket aching from the force of the blow. Eyes watering, she tasted blood on her lips.
Iraku seized her by the shoulders, leaning down to put his face level with hers as he shouted, “You know nothing of what I did, of what I am doing, for the good of Zulaire, for the honor of the Naranti Clan. Do not speak your ignorant outworlder thoughts to me, do you understand?” His long fingers dug into her upper arms so hard his nails broke her skin.
Straightening as best she could, Andi kept her eyes lowered and nodded even as her skin crawled at his repulsive touch. Arguing with him right now isn’t going to keep me alive to fight another day.
Releasing her, Iraku threw his arms out wide, inviting the others to share his good mood. He laughed and spun around in an impromptu dance. The crowd joined in his mirth, probably not comprehending what pleased their leader so much about a bedraggled outworlder female. “This, this is excellent. The prisoner will provide another key piece in the puzzle we weave for the stupid Shenti, arrogant Obati and their outworlder allies. You’ve done well, men. Tie her up and put her on the couch in the next room. Post a guard.” Iraku walked back to the table. Almost as an afterthought, he said, “Gag her. Outworlders can be most persuasive, and this one talks entirely too much.”
The men hauled her to her feet and tied her hands behind her back before taking her to the designated couch jammed into an alcove at the rear of the room. Forcing her to lie down, the guard made a mocking ceremony of adjusting a pillow under her head while Andi glared at him, cursing him and his descendants for the next ten generations in fluent Zulairian. The rebel—whom she recognized now as one of the servants from the Tonkiln household—took his belt off to bind her ankles tight before forcing his rolled-up bandanna into her mouth to serve as the gag. The taste and feel of the cloth made her retch. She struggled not to throw up, afraid of choking.
Escape From Zulaire Page 17