Death Draws Five wc-17

by George R. R. Martin

  He shook John Fortune gently by the shoulder. The kid woke up immediately and only grumbled a little when Jerry told him that they had to get going.

  “I don’t know how they found us so fast,” Jerry said, “but they did. Maybe they have some precogs or telepaths or whatever working for them. At any rate, we gotta move.”

  “Where are we going?” the kid asked sleepily, putting on his jeans and his shoes and pulling the sweatshirt on over his head as Jerry directed.

  “For now, the woods.”

  “The woods?” He put the hood up over his head and drew the drawstrings tight, leaving only a bit of his face showing. It still glowed a little, but it was the best they could do. Jerry wished that he had a mask handy.

  “It’s our best bet. If we’re lucky, Dagon’s men will never find us.”

  “I hope someone will,” John Fortune muttered as they exited the cabin and plunged into the trees behind it.

  “Don’t worry,” Jerry said with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel. “It’s not like we’re headed off into the Amazon, or anything. I mean, we’re only about an hour, hour and a half north of the city.”

  He glanced back as the trees closed among them, hoping to God that they were doing the right thing.

  ♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

  Memphis

  The Angel sat in an uncomfortable chair in the Memphis airport. Soon it would close down around her and she would have to leave, find a hotel for the night, and come back in the morning.

  It had not been a good day. Her flight had been diverted to Memphis due to engine trouble. By the time they’d realized that they weren’t going to be able to fix it and get the plane back in the air, it was night.

  Their plane had been full, and hundreds of passengers scrambled to get the few available seats on the flights headed east. If Ray had been with her, he could have conceivably used his Secret Service pull and gotten them one of the coveted seats. As it was, she just had to wait and take her turn as it came up.

  She prayed it would come soon.

  ♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

  New Hampton: The Woods

  It was dark in the forest. Damn dark. The ground was uneven. Half-buried rocks lurked everywhere. Bushes and shrubs and fallen trees all clutched at their ankles and tripped up their feet. And there were mysterious sounds. Jerry had no idea what was making them. He didn’t think there were bears or wildcats in these woods, but he wasn’t sure. But men with guns were chasing him and John Fortune, and he was unarmed. In retrospect, Jerry thought, perhaps it would have been wiser to take the gun Pann had offered him. But he wasn’t the greatest marksman in the world. Probably not good enough to stand up to Dagon and his men. Running had been the wise course, the only proper action to take. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best he could come up with.

  “You all right, John?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The kid looked at him. Jerry couldn’t see much in the moonless night, but he could discern a glimmer of excitement on the boy’s features. To him, this was an adventure, exhilaration intruding upon what had been an otherwise terribly sheltered life. Jerry could understand that. But long experience had taught him that things that started out exciting sometimes ended in disaster, even for the good guys.

  “Jerry, what happened in Vegas, anyway? How’s my Mom?”

  They hadn’t had a chance to talk over the events of the previous days. Now was as good a time as any, but Jerry didn’t get into details. Actually, he didn’t know Peregrine’s fate anyway. He didn’t want to lie to the kid, but neither did he want to depress him unnecessarily.

  “So, my Mom’s all right, then?” John Fortune asked after Jerry told him a sanitized version of the battle at the Mirage, and how he had eventually rescued him from St. Dympna’s.

  “Maybe—watch out!”

  He grabbed John Fortune’s arm, steadying him, before he could trip over the fallen tree that blocked their path. They weren’t following an actual trail. They were just wandering aimlessly through trees. While that tactic might throw off pursuit for the moment, Jerry knew that it wasn’t a feasible long-term strategy. He didn’t know what kind of technology Dagon might have access to. Night scopes. Heat detection devices. If Dagon had anything high tech with him, or maybe some kind of ace, they were sunk. He could only hope that the attackers hadn’t planned on a night hunt through thick forest.

  “A road!” Jerry exclaimed as they stumbled out of the trees and onto a dirt path. “Thank God!”

  “It’s not much of a road,” John Fortune said.

  And it wasn’t. It was a simple dirt lane leading deeper into the woods.

  “But it’s all we’ve got,” Jerry said, “and it’s got to lead somewhere.”

  “I’m kind of hot in this sweatshirt,” the kid said.

  “All the more reason to hurry. The sooner we get on down the road the sooner we find someplace we can relax. But you’ve got to leave that hood up for now, and keep your hands in your pockets. Otherwise you’ll betray our position by glowing like a king-sized firefly.”

  “I understand,” John Fortune said, “but I can sure use something to drink.”

  They went down the trail. It curved in lazy swathes through the forest, but it was smoothly surfaced gravel, without potholes or ruts, well-maintained, and nice and level. At least they didn’t have to worry about tripping over unseen branches anymore.

  “Hey!” John Fortune said. “A light.”

  Jerry nodded. He had spotted it himself. It was dim, rather diffuse. As they walked up the curved road they could see that it looked like a flashlight, or something of that relative size and power, sitting on the ground. It cast its light upon a wooden sign standing before an even smaller dirt lane, perhaps a driveway, diverging from the road. As they approached Jerry could see the figure of a small garden gnome leaning against the sign, as if he were guarding the turn-off.

  Jerry looked up at the sign. The small floodlight only illuminated part of it.

  “Nursery...” Jerry read aloud. He and John Fortune looked at each other.

  “Some kind of garden store?” the kid asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe they have a telephone. We can call for help.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What are you folks doing out in the woods so late at night?” a tiny voice asked.

  Jerry felt his heart surge up into his mouth. He grabbed John Fortune by the arm and yanked him backward, stepping in front of him. Jerry looked frantically in all directions.

  “Hey!” John Fortune said, peering around him. “It’s the garden gnome. It speaks.”

  “Of course I speak,” the gnome said. “Why the Hell not?”

  Jerry looked down at him. What he had thought was a two-foot high statue was a little man... or something resembling such. He had a fat, jolly face and a white, pointed chin beard, and wore garden-gnome type clothing.

  “Cool,” John Fortune said. “Do you live here?”

  “Sure do,” the gnome said. “I keep on eye on the place at night. You folks in trouble or something? I heard some gunshots earlier, but that’s not too unusual around here. At least in hunting season, which this ain’t.”

  “Uh—” Jerry began.

  “You bet,” John Fortune said. “Kidnappers are after me. They have guns, but we don’t.”

  “Kidnappers!” the gnome exclaimed.

  “Uh—” Jerry said.

  “Yep. I’m John Fortune. I just became an ace. My Mom’s Peregrine, the ace. You know, she has a TV show, Peregrine’s Perch, but she and my Dad also make movies.”

  “I guess you do need help,” the gnome said. He pressed a button on the floodlight control panel, then shut off the light.

  Jerry felt as if he were drowning in darkness. “What’d you do that for?”

  “No sense lighting up our location if guys with guns are looking for you.”

  “Good idea,” John Fortune said. “Are you going to help us?”

  “Sit tight,” the
gnome advised. “I rang for the boss. He’ll be here in a minute.”

  “The boss—” Jerry began.

  “He owns this land,” the gnome said, waving airily about. “And he don’t allow no hunting. Not even of kids.”

  They stood silent for what seemed a minute. Maybe two. “Where is he?” Jerry asked, getting impatient.

  “Right here,” a low, deep voice said, not six feet from Jerry’s side. A light suddenly flashed in his eyes, strong enough to almost blind him. He automatically threw up a hand and turned his head aside. The light went from Jerry’s face to John Fortune’s, who let out a plaintive, “Hey,” and blinked.

  “Say,” said the garden gnome, “you’re not the boss.”

  The man with the flashlight looked down, surprised. “Shut up,” he said when he saw who had spoken, “before I stomp you flat.”

  No doubt about it now, Jerry thought. Dagon’s men had found them, damn it. Again. They were infuriatingly competent. There were actually two of them this time. The man with the flashlight and a silent companion.

  “You won’t be talking so big in a minute or two, fella,” the gnome said.

  “I said, shut up.” The man raised a hand canon with a gigantic bore, spotlighting the blinking gnome with his flashlight.

  “Hey—” Jerry said. He knew the man was going to shoot. Even a glancing hit would tear the gnome to pieces.

  From nowhere there was a sound in the night as if the mother of all mosquitoes buzzed past them. The tough guy with the pistol grunted, like someone punched him in the gut. He swayed on his feet, staring at the aluminum arrow shaft planted directly in the center of his chest.

  “Jesus Christ,” his companion said.

  The man with the flashlight looked at him. Jerry could see that the arrow had gone nearly all the way through his body. Half a foot protruded from his back and blood dripped off the razor-tipped four-bladed head.

  “Son of a bitch,” Dagon’s man said, and he fell on his flashlight, bringing darkness again to the night as his companion wildly sprayed bullets into the trees all around them. Jerry felt a shock burn across his forehead like a blow from a red hot poker. He fell to the ground and with a frantic last effort dragged a bewildered John Fortune down with him. He held him tightly, covering him with his own body as best he could as his consciousness faded away.

  Jerry woke with the feeling that he was being watched. Closely and relentlessly. He was in a strange but comfortable bed in an unfamiliar room. He was laying on his side, looking right at a wall so he couldn’t see much of the room, but Jerry was certain that he’d never been in it before.

  He turned suddenly away from the wall, and immediately regretted it. A wave of pain rushed through his head, accompanied by a swarming nausea that was even more distressing. He swallowed hard and put his hand to his forehead, which he discovered was swathed in a soft, thick bandage. He looked into the room and saw his audience and suppressed an urge to groan aloud.

  Two kids stood by his bedside staring at him. One was a boy, maybe ten. The other, a girl, was four or five years younger. Jerry wasn’t sure. He hadn’t had much experience with kids, other than John Fortune. The boy was tall and lean. He was blonde with delicate, almost elfin features. The girl was darker and stockier, but there was a certain familial resemblance between the two that marked them as brother and sister.

  The girl looked at him solemnly. “Make your face do that again,” she said to Jerry.

  “Do what?” Jerry was surprised that his voice sounded so weak and scratchy.

  “Go all funny and wriggly,” the girl said.

  “Jeez, shut up, will you?” her brother interrupted. “You’re not being very polite.”

  She made a face. “I’m telling Mom you’re harassing me.”

  The boy rolled his eyes. “Go ahead. Tell her our, uh, guest, is awake, too.”

  The girl ran from the room, yelling, “Mommmmmm!!!” in a voice loud enough to make Jerry wince.

  The boy seemed to notice his discomfort. “Sorry about that. She can be a real brat sometime.”

  Jerry suppressed his notion to nod. “Where am I?”

  “Our house,” the boy said, unconsciously uninformative. “Dad brought you home last night. He found you in the woods. Said you were shot in the head, but nothing important was hit.”

  Shot, Jerry thought. He remembered it all, suddenly. “Did he—was anyone else with me?”

  The boy shook his head.

  Jerry lurched upright, doing his best to ignore the whirling as the room pirouetted around him. John Fortune, he thought, was still out in the woods. Or—maybe Butcher Dagon had gotten him! He tried to stand, but couldn’t make it to his feet.

  “Give me a hand, would you—” he asked, reaching out for the boy, but a voice interrupted from the doorway.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Creighton.”

  Jerry swiveled his head drunkenly towards the doorway. The woman standing there smiled at him. The little girl was pressed against her legs, watching Jerry as solemnly as before.

  Jerry sat back weakly. “How’d you know my name?” he asked.

  She smiled. It looked good on her elegantly-featured face. She was tall, lean-hipped, and long-legged. Her hair was blonde, her eyes a light blue, and her cheekbones, mouth, and nose exquisite. She could have been a model. She was a little old for that game now, but her features were of a classic delicacy that aged well. Her shorts and sleeveless pullover revealed that she took great care of her body. She was lean and lithely muscular, despite the two kids, who had to be hers. Somehow, she seemed familiar. Maybe she was a model and he’d seen her picture somewhere. Maybe she’d even been in the movies.

  “My husband owns the land the camp is on, so we have an intimate interest in what goes on there.”

  Jerry almost nodded again, but caught himself in time. So, he’d finally discovered the identity of the anonymous benefactor whom Father Squid always talked about. Or, he would when he actually met him.

  “The boy—” Jerry said, and she nodded.

  “I know. He’s still missing. My husband’s out looking for him now. Don’t worry. If anybody can find him, he will.”

  “I’ve got to get to a phone,” Jerry said with some urgency. He wondered how much he should tell her. “If you know my identity, then you must know that I’m a private detective. The boy is under my care. Someone attempted to kidnap him last night.”

  “We pieced together as much,” the woman said. “My husband... took care of the men who assaulted you last night. But the boy apparently slipped away while he was busy. Daniel couldn’t do much in the dark, but he went out at first light to try to track him.” She stopped and glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at Jerry. “I think I hear him coming in now. I hope he has good news.”

  I hope, Jerry thought.

  “Daddy!”

  The little girl transferred her grip from her mother’s thighs to the waist of the man who appeared suddenly, silently in the doorway. He was no taller than the woman who leaned over the child to embrace him as well. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed like the girl and his skin was tanned from long exposure to the sun. He put one hand on the little girl’s back and hugged her close, saying, “Hello, sweetie.”

  His hands were large and strong-looking and his arms muscled, not with the kind built by pumping iron but rather lean muscle won from hard physical labor. His face was weathered and harsh-featured, but its strong lines relaxed as he embraced his girl and leaned over her to briefly kiss his wife.

  “The boy?” Jerry asked, still uncertain if he should use Fortune’s real name.

  The man shook his head. “Vanished in the woods. I lost his trail where he stumbled on the county road. Couldn’t tell which way he went, right or left. But I’ve still got my people out looking for him. Don’t worry. He wasn’t wounded. And the men hunting you didn’t get him.”

  “How do you know?” Jerry asked.

  The man only looked at him. “I know.�
��

  Jerry cleared his throat. It didn’t seem reasonable to press the point.

  “I’m in your debt, mister...?”

  He reached down and picked up his daughter, holding her on his hip with one arm around her waist. “Brennan,” he said. “Daniel Brennan.” He put his other arm around the woman’s waist. “This is my wife. Jennifer Maloy Brennan.”

  “My mom’s an ace,” the little girl said.

  “Jeez.” The boy, silent until now, rolled his eyes. “You don’t go just telling people that.”

  Jennifer Maloy Brennan smiled. “We all have our little secrets. Don’t we, Mr. Creighton?”

  “Uh,” Jerry said.

  Brennan smiled at him. In other circumstances, Jerry could see how that smile could look disturbing. Dangerous, even. He felt that somehow, someway, he should know this man.

  “Would you like some breakfast, Mr. Creighton?” Jennifer Brennan asked.

  “Yes, I would, thanks,” Jerry said. “Mind if I change first?”

  The Brennans looked at each other, quizzically.

  “No, not at all,” Jennifer said.

  “Thanks. I’ll be along in a minute.”

  He had decided to get rid of the Dagon face. He’d had even worse luck than usual since acquiring it, and he definitely wanted to change it before running into Billy Ray again.

  ♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

  New Hampton: Camp Xavier Desmond

  Ray felt pretty good when he awoke, even though he’d only had a couple of hours of sleep in the guest cabin that had been turned into a command post in the effort to find John Fortune. He lay back in the bunk, thinking over the past night’s events.

  It had begun with promise that soon petered out into the drudgery of fruitless searching, though it had not been without its high points, especially the initial battle at the administration cabin.

  Pann, Starfin, and Schaeffer had been doing their best to hold the line against the Allumbrado assault team, though they were not the ideal combat force. The blind telepath was somewhat limited in his capabilities. Elmo, though very tough when he could get his hands on someone, had to face armed Allumbrados, and Pann, though competent with a gun couldn’t get his tinks to do anything more useful than occasionally momentarily blind an opponent by blinking brightly in their vicinity.