by James Axler
They pulled back into the woods, leaving the air filled with the stench of chilled flesh, blood and cordite. The raccoons emerging at the back were stayed by the smell of death that now formed a barrier of their chilled fellows between themselves and the retreating hunt party.
Horse and Riley finally stopped firing as they retreated farther down the path, the narrow way making it harder and harder to get a clean shot.
“Glad that’s over,” the blond sec man breathed when they felt they were safe.
“Yeah, but you know what? We’ve lost sight of the old man, the bitch and the little white fucker,” Horse murmured grimly. “Who knows where they are now…”
JAK FOUND IT EASY to outdistance Krysty and Doc. The old man was deliberately getting in Krysty’s way, making it seem as though it were his own enthusiasm for the hunt that caused his obstruction. The albino could hear the woman yelling abuse at the old man in her frustration, and Doc’s muted apologies as he gained the necessary distance.
He had two things to do. The first was to attain high ground to see if he could ascertain where Ryan and his mounted shadows were at the moment. It was important that he keep himself, Doc and Krysty apart from the one-eyed man until the time was right. The second was to find space from which he could double back and unite with Doc in an attempt to sway Krysty’s mind back to its old, and usual, state.
Jak could feel the ground beneath his feet move up on a slight incline and he figured that this was as good a time as any to make the first of those moves. He could hear his pursuers, and there was enough time for him to quickly ascend a tree to recce the area around. He picked the nearest trunk, glancing up and judging the height to be enough to take him onto the necessary high ground. With an ease born out of years, he shinned his way up the bole until he was hidden in the upper branches and their rich foliage.
It was getting hard to see now, as darkness was falling rapidly. But Jak’s red albino’s eyes were better suited to these conditions than to the harshness of bright sun, and it took but a moment for the pigmentless orbs to adjust to the reduced light. He could see the one-eyed man making his way through the undergrowth, traceable more for the three riders that followed than by his own trail. He was heading toward the area where the mutie raccoons were still snapping at the retreating party of horsemen. That should hold him up for a while.
Shifting in his perch, Jak could see Doc and Krysty getting closer. The old man was still in front, holding up her progress. Jak allowed himself a small smile. Time to get busy.
The albino moved toward them, using the branches of the trees to move from bole to bole, surprisingly weightless and quiet despite the heavy combat boots. He crossed over their heads without either noticing, Krysty too busy berating Doc for slowing her down.
With a lithe grace, Jak dropped from the trees at their rear, landing with a gentle thump on the forest floor. It may not have been enough for them to have heard him above their bickering, but Krysty’s mutie sense more than compensated for that. Even in the darkness, Jak could almost see the hair suddenly tighten and curl closer to her skull. She stopped in midrant and turned toward him.
“You little bastard, you really thought you could fool me?” she yelled. “You really thought I wouldn’t hear you?” She raised her Smith & Wesson, her finger tightening on the trigger, beginning to squeeze.
Jak stood impassive, even when the dark was filled with the flash of the detonation and the noise of the shot being fired. He knew it would go high and wide. He had total faith in Doc.
The old man didn’t let him down. Doc knocked Krysty’s arm up with a blurted, wordless, sound of anger. She whirled in surprise and anger, and caught the old man’s bony fist on the point of her jaw as he swung a haymaker at her. It was enough. Taken by surprise as she was and with no guard to speak of, the sudden and violent blow caused detonations of concussive sparks inside her head and she spun, unconscious before she hit the ground.
“Think that work for her like work for you?” Jak asked.
Doc looked up at him, not sure if there was a hint of ironic humor in Jak’s otherwise toneless voice. “I would not think so. But it does, at least, prevent her trying to chill you in the meantime,” he commented dryly.
The two men took hold of Krysty, Jak grabbing her ankles, and carried her off the narrow trail and into cover.
“Better bring her ’round quick. Not much time to waste,” Jak whispered.
Doc nodded and produced the canteen of water that they had each been given at the beginning of the hunt. Pausing only to take a mouthful for himself, then offering to Jak, he poured the remains over Krysty’s face. She spluttered and coughed as it went up her nose and down her throat, making her gag as it snapped her back to consciousness.
She opened her eyes, a sudden shock making them snap from hazy semiconsciousness to full alert.
“Doc! What—” she began as she tried to move up, only to find the old man pinning her shoulders while the albino had her legs secured.
“Krysty, listen to me, my dear,” Doc urged in a low, crooning voice. “Think about what you are doing. Why are you doing it?”
“Because…dammit, Doc, what are you doing? He’s there, the little fuck. You should have chilled him, you should have let me chill him.”
“Why?” he interrupted, still holding her down. “Think woman, why are we supposed to be doing it?”
“Because…because…” Her head was spinning. It ached from where Doc had hit her so hard and it ached for another reason. At the edges of her reason, there were nagging tendrils of doubt. Why was she chasing Jak? Why was she so keen to see him buy the farm? Because he had…What, exactly? What was he supposed to have done? Who had told her? Told her…Shit!
“Ethan,” she whispered, “he said—”
“He said we were to chill Jak,” Doc interjected, aware of the urgency of the situation. “He hypnotized us. But he is not as good as he thinks. The hold is not that strong, not if you fight it. And you must. We still have to fight back and find Mildred and dear John Barrymore.”
“Gaia,” Krysty whispered in awe, “what has that bastard done?”
“Nothing that cannot be remedied,” Doc whispered urgently. “But first we must get to Ryan, and bring him back.”
“What about the riders?” she asked as they allowed her to sit upright. “Surely they’re—”
“They got enough troubles,” Jak snapped. “Not our problem…yet. First get Ryan.”
“And I have no doubts that you know exactly where he is, dear boy,” Doc muttered.
Jak assented. “Follow…”
RYAN CAWDOR WAS almost frothing at the mouth with frustration. He was hyped up to chill, and so far had seen no action. The initial plan to form a pincer movement had come to nothing, and as the darkness fell over the forest it became more and more difficult to follow what exactly was going on elsewhere.
Whatever it was, it was a hell of a firefight that he was missing. He had heard the LeMat go off a couple of times, and some shots that he could identify as Krysty’s Smith & Wesson. There had also been some muffled reports that could have been the Magnum roar of Jak’s Colt Python, followed by the incessant chatter of SMG fire and the sound of mutie animals like those he could remember encountering on their journey to the ville.
Ryan’s head ached horribly and he felt confused when he thought of that. Jak had been with them then, so why had they not wanted to chill him? He had been their ally. What had changed, why did he feel the way he did?
It was hard for him to concentrate with these thoughts and also the comments of the riders on his trail buzzing around his head. The baron and the trader who were accompanying Ethan at his rear were less than pleased with the lack of action they were seeing and were blaming the one-eyed man. They were making jokes about his competence and asking if they could get their jack back if they saw no Jak.
In this confusion, it was difficult for Ryan to make the direction from which the hunt seemed to be preceding. He stoppe
d for a second, trying to get his bearings.
It was then that he heard a single report that rose above the chatter of SMG fire. It was the Smith & Wesson Model 640: he would know that sound anywhere.
He turned in the darkness, trying to pinpoint the direction of the sound. It seemed to be over to his left, about two o’clock. Ryan took the Steyr off his shoulder and racked a shell into the chamber.
“Looks like One-Eye’s finally looking to do some hunting,” the trader to his rear commented with a sardonic air.
“About time,” the baron agreed shortly.
Ethan held up his hand. “Please, please, I have great faith in Ryan,” he stated, but not without a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Ryan felt the beads of sweat on his face, felt his skin burn. There was something so very wrong with this, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something that was troubling him and stopping him doing the job as he should. But it wasn’t…No, it just wasn’t coming together. He turned and glared at the men behind him. He didn’t like being watched in this way and was aware that there was something so very wrong with what was happening.
Hunt…That was what he needed to do. He needed to get moving, find his target. Identify and chill. From the sounds of mayhem that were echoing over the forest, he was sure that Jak was still alive and running. No one had managed to pin him down yet, even if they were on his tail.
It was time for Ryan to get in on the action.
With his target area identified, Ryan set off, carving a path into the undergrowth, heedless of whether Ethan and the other huntsmen would be able to follow. In fact, it would suit him fine if he was able to lose them. He could hear them, struggling in the confined spaces on their mounts, receding into the distance.
It would be just him and Jak: one-on-one.
“YOU SURE Ryan will come this way?” Krysty asked as they laid the trap.
“No other way he can get here,” Jak answered firmly. “He heard your shot and I saw him head in this direction.”
“It would, therefore, be a reasonable assumption,” Doc commented dryly. “But what about the riders on his storm?”
“What?” Krysty asked in astonishment.
Doc shook his head. “I am so sorry, I do not know where that came from. I meant, what about the three riders shadowing him?”
“Too dense for horses. They fall back, mebbe have give up,” Jak answered. “Now shut up and cover.”
It was a simple enough trap, and also stood a very good chance of not working, but it was all that they could do in the short time that they had. There was only one path that could be followed through this part of the woodlands, and the bracken and grasses covering the woodland floor provided thick cover that, in some places, was almost ankle deep. Which was perfect for their purpose.
Across the floor of the forest, running through the grass and bracken, Jak had tied a rope at a four-inch height, between two tree trunks. The rope was improvised from material torn from his shirt and his concern was that it would rip under pressure, rather than trip whoever ran into it, which was why they had built the second part of the trap. This was more vicious, and was only a last resort. They wanted to stun and capture the one-eyed man, not injure him.
A line of Jak’s knives, connected together by being pierced through the grain of a long, fallen branch, were laid across the path three yards past the rope. They were pointing up, and the three companions were smearing them with mud made from canteen water and dirt, then covering them with leaves so that they wouldn’t be visible. The razor-honed knives would go through Ryan’s heavy combat boots if he trod on them and stop him in his tracks. There was a three-yard gap to insure that if he fell at the first trap, he wouldn’t fall onto the knives and be injured.
Jak raised his head, his sharp hearing picking up their oncoming friend. “Ryan, this way,” he said shortly, gesturing for them to pull back into the shadows of the foliage.
“Lover, this way, he’s this way,” Krysty yelled as she went into hiding. If Ryan had any doubts about his direction, she should have settled them.
From their shelter, they could see him pound into view, his fierce, ice-blue orb blazing like a diamond in the restricted light. He was so hyped up that, if they couldn’t break the hypnotic hold, they would have to chill him to stop him.
Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.
Ryan was scanning the narrow way in front of him, looking for some kind of sign. He caught sight of the knives, one blade just poking out of the mud and leaves enough to attract attention. What the hell was going on? Fireblast, if he’d been fooled in some way. Ryan tried to slow down, but he wasn’t quite quick enough. His left foot caught in the concealed rope, the material stretching then ripping from one tree trunk, wrapping itself around his foot so that with every stumbling step he became more and more entangled. His momentum was such that he pitched forward face first.
He rolled onto his shoulder as he landed, aware that he had to fling himself to one side to prevent pitching into the knife trap. But on a path so narrow, this only sufficed to throw him against a tree trunk, his spine slamming against the hardwood, driving the breath from him. His head cracked against an edge of bark, glancing at the rounded edge of the wood. Stars exploded in front of his eyes and he found himself momentarily unsure as to who, where and what he was.
That moment was all the others needed. Rushing from their hiding places, the three companions swarmed over their leader, pinning him to the ground.
“Ryan, lover, it’s me,” Krysty yelled, her red tresses flopping into his face, filling his nose and mouth with her scent. “We need to talk—and you need to listen.”
“He has had a blow on the head,” Doc commented, “which has possibly put him in a more receptive mood. Ryan, my friend, listen to me. We have been the victims of a most heinous trick.”
“Must…must get Jak…All his fault…” Ryan whispered, his voice a dry, dazed husk as he fought to regain senses that were swimming wildly around him, a sense of nausea rising in his gut.
Jak tensed when he heard this, ready for the worst. He had a firm grip of the one-eyed man’s legs, pinning him, keeping out of eyeline for the moment.
“What is all Jak’s fault?” Doc pressed. “Tell me, my friend, what is it that he has supposed to have done?”
“Nearly…nearly got us chilled…Got us hunting…Lost J.B. and Mildred…Lost Dean…”
“No, no, baby,” Krysty implored. “That was Ethan—the bastard who hypnotized us to hunt Jak. It’s not us who want this, it’s him. He’s got Mildred and J.B. He’s got us doing this. And Dean was gone before we got here. It was Sharona who took him, remember?”
Ryan looked at her, confusion and concussion battling for space in the ice-blue orb that refused to focus on her face. He knew that there was something wrong with what he was feeling, what he was thinking, but it was something that he found hard to pin down.
Ryan’s head reeled with more than just the trauma of the fall. There were other things spinning around his brain, things that he was finding it hard to understand, to take hold of…He caught sight of Jak, the albino’s head just visible as he held Ryan down. There was a sudden swell of anger within him, as though he would rise up and strike down the enemy; but this was suddenly replaced by a realization that the albino was acting in tandem with Doc and Krysty. They were together.
But surely…
“Fireblast! That sick fuck son of a gaudy whore!” Ryan exploded, his muscles knotting with the sudden rush of adrenaline, his strength—enhanced by his anger—enough to push Krysty and Doc away, so that his torso rose up, leaving only his legs pinned by Jak’s own wiry strength.
The albino looked up, coming into eye contact with the one-eyed man, ice-blue orb meeting twin red needle points.
“We’ll get the coldheart bastard for this,” Ryan whispered to Jak.
The albino’s impassive visage split into a grin and he released his grip. Ryan rose to his feet and grabbed the albino
by the shoulders, his imposing bulk dwarfing Jak.
“Where is he? We’ll get the bastard right now.”
“That way,” Jak said, indicating the direction in which Ryan had come, “and approaching fast. Figure we move quickly and we take them.”
“Sounds good to me. There’s nine of them, right?” Ryan questioned, and when the albino assented, added, “That’s only two apiece with one unlucky fuck left. That’s good odds in my book.”
THINGS HAD ALL GONE terribly wrong. What should have been the finest hunt he had staged, and the one that would begin to attract attention from across the Deathlands as the traders spread the word on their travels, was rapidly descending into a farce. Ethan was aware that the trader and baron at his side were becoming more and more impatient as he tried to locate where Ryan had vanished. The trail he had taken was proving hard for horses to follow, and it seemed that the harder they tried to plow through the undergrowth, the more it wanted to fight back and prevent them making any progress. All three men were now covered in scratches and bruises, and the two riders accompanying the Pleasantville baron were making it clear that it was not for such things that they had paid their jack.
“Okay, okay, so we can’t get any farther through here,” Ethan snapped after yet another complaint. “Look, we’ll pull back and circle around this copse, see if we can make it any easier from the other side. Anyway,” he added hopefully, “if the albino has been chased from both sides, then we may get to catch the action as he makes a break for it.”
The muttered comments of the two accompanying riders suggested that they didn’t share Ethan’s faith in getting some action. But they were tired and sore, and they welcomed the chance to pull out of the copse.
As the riders moved out, Ethan was astonished to see six horsemen heading toward him at a trot: Riley, Horse and the barons and traders they had been assigned to protect.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled, not realizing that—although his comment was directed at his own sec men—it would be taken the wrong way by those who had paid good jack for a hunt they were not getting to see.