by J Gurley
“I’m afraid we may die here, Cathi Lorst, if your weapon is truly almost useless,” Grey Eagle told her. “We are greatly outnumbered.”
Two Clouds doubled over as a Marauder knife found his stomach, but he managed to kill his attacker. Though many Marauders lay on the ground, there were many more pressing the attack. With their limited cover, Grey Eagle knew they could not hold out long. It was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed behind their meager protective wall.
The group attacking them, Grey Eagle noted, as was the group at Colorado Springs, was better equipped, and better trained than most Marauders he had encountered. They wore cloth pants, sandals with leggings, and brightly colored, long-sleeved shirts. Their head coverings varied, but a thick leather skullcap was predominant. Each carried a bandolier of knives or bolts for crossbows across their chests. Many carried longbows and used them effectively from a distance as a trained unit, not the haphazard individual approach preferred by most Marauders.
Also, unlike most Marauders, they appeared well fed and unafraid. Two brave but foolhardy men tried to rush the wall, only to die under a withering hail of well-aimed arrows from the bows of Kena and White Elk, but arrows were running low. Soon, it would be hand-to-hand combat, and the defenders would have no chance against the Marauders’ greater numbers.
Grey Eagle had witnessed the horrors Marauders inflicted upon their captives. It remained indelibly imprinted upon his mind: a nightmare that would not fully fade upon awakening. “I will not let them take me alive,” he swore. “I will take the fight to them.”
His men nodded their agreement. He looked at Cathi and at Anderson, trying to judge their merit. The woman had joined the fight with the courage of a warrior. She bore herself proudly and determined. Of the dark-skinned man, he was unsure. He had been limping as he raced across the open ground to join them. He had heart, but he had not yet proven himself in battle. Now was as good a time as any.
“If you are truly from the stars, the Marauders will show you no mercy. They bear a deep and bitter hatred for the Scattered Ones, holding you to blame for Earth’s demise. I salute your courage and welcome your strength beside me. Come.”
Grey Eagle noted the look of disdain in the woman’s eyes. “I’ve had a taste of their hospitality,” she said. “I would rather die fighting than let them touch me again.”
Hramack looked at his father with dismay. “We have not accomplished our mission,” he said. Dying did not bother him as much as failing his people.
“Perhaps it was not Yarah’s will,” Kena answered, and then smiled at Hramack. “Yarah promises no one a long life. Come, my son. We will fight together.” He turned to Cathi. “I am sorry you meet this end with us. I wish I had more time to learn about you and your people. I pray to Yarah only that others of the Scattered Ones will come home. It is time. You have been away too long.”
She reached out and grasped Kena’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “They will come, Kena of Ningcha, soon.”
Kena smiled at her, laid aside his bow, and pulled his knife from his belt. He stood and yelled, “For Ningcha! For Yarah!”
Grey Eagle stood beside him. “For Pueblo Nuevo! For Tawa!”
Cathi stared at Kena. “For the Long John Baldry! For the Great Creator!”
Kena nodded to her. “Let us go, Cathi Lorst.”
*
Cathi was not quite ready to die. She did not pray for assistance or guidance. Unlike Kena with his strong belief in his Yarah, most Traders held no strong religious convictions. Choosing one religion over another among the plethora of religions in Trader space could be a detriment to trade agreements. Traders held themselves above the political and religious fray that had fractured so many worlds. Her upbringing on a small agricultural world had exposed her to her parents’ God and the Holy Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, but they had never prayed openly or attended the local church except on religious holidays. They had not forced their beliefs on her, and she had seen little use in an invisible deity. Now, like most Traders, she believed in a nebulous Great Creator of the Universe that allowed his creations to follow their own path without interference or assistance. She had never felt the need for anything more personal.
The one thing she was sure of was that she had been through too much to give up without a fight. This time, unlike the crash and the wretched journey across the wastes, she could put a face to her foe. She looked around, trying to assess the situation. It was evident the Marauders would soon overpower them. She checked her laser. It had enough charge for a single shot, not enough to make much of a difference against so many.
She searched for a means to escape. The well-guarded entrance into the mountain was out of the question; they would be dead before they reached it. If they could reach the stairs, their height would provide an easily defendable position above the enemy. However, the path to the stairs lay straight through the middle of the enemy. She glanced at her laser again.
“Kena, you must trust me. I think I have a way out.”
“I don’t understand what you intend to do,” he told her, “but you must do it now.” He grabbed at Grey Eagle’s arm. He was already in a killing frenzy, his eyes glazed as he marched toward the enemy.
“Why do you stop me?” he growled at Kena.
“Because Cathi Lorst has a plan that might ensure our survival,” he yelled back.
Grey Eagle shook off Kena’s grip and roared like a wild animal. He did not retreat, but he did not charge. He stared at Cathi, waiting.
“If this works,” she said, “be ready to run that way, toward the stairs. They won’t expect that. We may have a chance.”
“They will cut us down like harvesting maize,” he snapped.
She feared he might be right. “Just run,” she said.
She activated the laser by pulling the double-pull trigger only slightly and watched the power indicator climb. She allowed it to pass well into the red danger zone before shoving a small stone into the trigger guard to prevent the trigger from automatically disengaging. Instead of firing or shutting down, the laser continued to build power. When it began to hum loudly, she threw it into the midst of the massing Marauders.
“Run,” she yelled.
To her immense relief, the others heeded her. The laser exploded a few seconds later in a great shower of rock and dirt, incinerating many of the Marauders in the sudden release of energy. The concussion knocked those not immediately vaporized to the ground, stunned and helpless. The remainder, thoroughly demoralized, retreated and scattered to the safety of the rocks. Partially hidden by the cloud of dust raised by the explosion, she led the others in a mad dash for the stairs. By the time the surviving Marauders had recovered from the initial shock of the surprise attack, the group was halfway to the stairs. However, their enemy had not given up the fight. Their lieutenants regrouped the scattered troops and renewed their pursuit.
Cathi scooped up a rock as she ran, pausing just long enough to toss it toward the nearest group of Marauders trying to cut off their escape. As she hoped, they thought the rock was another weapon and slowed, giving Grey Eagle’s men enough time to reach the stairs. As they climbed, they began raining arrows down on the pursuing Marauders. Seeing Anderson limping and lagging behind, she waited for him, pushing him up the stairs ahead of her.
As she bounded up the last flight of stairs two at a time, she felt a sharp prick in her right shoulder. She gasped in pain and stumbled, but recovered to struggle up the last steps. The expression of horror on Hramack’s face as he looked at her mystified her. She followed his fixed gaze to the metal tip of the Marauder arrow protruding from her chest, and then crumpled to the stairs. Her last thoughts were of the Long John Baldry.
25
Trapped
Hramack watched in horror as Cathi slumped unconscious into his arms, pierced by a Marauder’s arrow. She had saved them all with her quick thinking, scattering and disorienting the attacking Marauders with the unexpected explosion. The
stairs provided a secure, easily defendable position from which they could repel an attack. It was not until they were all safely inside the mountain facility and the door secured that she had given in to the pain of her wound and collapsed.
“Cathi!” he cried aloud, as he laid her gently on the floor. When he turned her limp body over, he saw that the arrow had penetrated her chest just below her left shoulder near her collarbone, lodging dangerously close to her heart. By the small amount of blood staining her clothing, it had not struck an artery, one small bit of luck, but blood continued to seep around the wooden shaft of the arrow.
“Can she be moved?” he heard someone ask. “What?” he muttered, irritated at the interruption. Of course, they couldn’t move her. Couldn’t they see she was severely injured? He probed the flesh around the arrow’s shaft, hoping his father could remove it safely. It would be a tricky procedure.
“Can we move her?” Grey Eagle shook Hramack’s shoulder to get his attention and repeated his question. “We cannot remain here. We can secure the door against those outside, but not against the ones inside the building. If they manage to surround us, they can starve us out. We must beat them to the control center or to the lake – some place we can more easily defend.”
The worried Nuevo Pueblan’s words finally got through to him. Hramack looked up from his examination of Cathi’s wound and saw the look of concern on Grey Eagle’s face. He knew Grey Eagle was right in his assessment of the situation. They were at risk here, but any rough treatment could move the arrow deeper into her body and nick an artery.
“She could die,” he said.
Grey Eagle’s voice was calm, but Hramack could hear the underlying fear and pain in it. “We could all die. I have lost two men already. Another two are badly wounded.”
Hearing this, Hramack searched the group for his father. He had been so intent on examining Cathi’s injury that he had forgotten the others. Kena was busy tending to the wounds of Strong Arm. Others lay sprawled on the floor, injured or exhausted, Two Clouds among them. They could not face another attack.
Anderson, who had been kneeling beside his stricken lieutenant, holding her hand, spoke up. “There are sleds here that travel much faster than we can walk. There should be one around here somewhere. We can place the wounded on them and beat the Marauders to the control room.”
“Yes, that will work. Can you find them?” Hramack asked.
Anderson turned to Grey Eagle. “If you will let me have two of your men, I’m sure we can find them. There should be a transport bay nearby since this is a main entrance to the facility.”“Please hurry then,” Hramack pleaded.
Grey Eagle nodded his assent and pointed to two of his men. Anderson led them at a trot down the long corridor. Hramack noticed the severity of Anderson’s pronounced limp, but dismissed it as he focused his attention on Cathi. Kena had not noticed Cathi’s collapse until he saw Hramack’s stricken face. He left Strong Arm’s bandage hanging loose and joined his son. He knelt beside her, pulled up her eyelids, and stared at her fixed and dilated pupils. He checked her pulse and frowned.
“She is going into shock. I must remove the arrow as quickly as possible, but she must lie quietly for some time afterwards. We must find a secure position.” Hramack watched intently as his father probed the shaft with his fingertips and searched for signs of internal bleeding. “Go see to the others,” Kena told him.
Hramack was reluctant to leave her, but he could do nothing more for her. Her life was now in the skilled hands of his father. He finished binding Strong Arm’s wound. An arrow had penetrated completely through his bicep during the battle. True to his name, Strong Arm had simply snapped off the arrow’s point, yanked the shaft of the arrow from his arm, and continued fighting. He had lost some blood, but he had the constitution of a bull and he would recover quickly. Hramack had seen him carry twice the weight of any other man during the journey and felt certain he was in no immediate danger.
Two Clouds looked up at him and grinned, holding a bandage to a wound in his side. “I moved too slowly. The knife went in deep, but he will wound no one else.”
Hramack pulled up his friend’s bandage, pleased to see that the wound, though deep, had struck no vital organs. “You will live,” he pronounced.
“It does not feel like it. My belly burns as if I swallowed hot coals. Give me a sip of water.”
“No water for a belly wound.” He poured water onto a rag, wiped it over Two Clouds’ face, and wet his lips, then wadded a handful of dried pei leaves, dampened them with water, and pushed them into the wound. Two Clouds squirmed but did not cry out. “I have nothing for the pain. The pei will stop the bleeding and prevent infection. It will itch like the devil’s own fingers, but leave it in place.”
Two Clouds lay back down and closed his eyes.
Hramack expressed his concern for Cathi to his father. “Will she live?”
Kena looked up at his son, his poignant expression conveying
more than his words. “I don’t know. She is very weak. She needs
blood.”
Kena bound her wounds carefully and applied a poultice of pei leaves around the arrow’s shaft, but she had already lost a great deal of blood. Her breathing became shallow and rapid. The long, difficult journey from their crashed shuttle had already taken a toll on her strength. Lack of food and dehydration only exacerbated matters.
“She has a medical kit in her backpack,” Hramack said. “Perhaps something in it will help.”
He removed the kit and opened it. The medicine vials were empty, but the marvelous miniature devices inside fascinated him. His father picked up a flat screen and attempted to decipher its function. Switching it on, it displayed a flickering image of the bones in his hand. He pressed it to her chest. The x-ray scanner was unreliable, damaged in the crash, but it indicated the arrow had nicked a rib upon entry, probably deflecting it from the heart. The metal point lay dangerously close to the thoracoacromial artery. Removing the arrow would be a dangerous procedure. He could easily sever the artery. If so, she would bleed to death before he could repair it.
Hramack found a thermal scanner and passed it over her body. Her temperature was rising even though her skin felt clammy to the touch: sure signs of shock. Several sealed foil pouches in the kit contained freeze-dried plasma, but with no sterile water to reconstitute it or the time to boil it to sterilize it, Kena added water from the canteen.
At Hramack’s disapproving look, he said, “I can worry about infection later. Without plasma and whole blood, she will die within an hour.”
Hramack took the package from Kena’s hand and thrust the needle into the vein of her left arm. His father could manufacture plasma in a crude manner using whole blood and a centrifuge, but it remained fresh for only a few weeks. Easily storable, freeze-dried plasma could have saved the lives of many villagers over the years. Hramack wondered how many more such wonders the newcomers possessed.
Kena managed to stop the bleeding, but the plasma could not replace the copious amount of blood she had already lost. For all he knew, she could be losing more each minute from internal injuries. Simply replacing her vital fluids was not enough. She needed fresh whole blood. Her medical kit contained a cross-match kit requiring only a drop of blood from each donor. None from Pueblo Nuevo matched her A-negative blood type. Of all those in the group, only his and Hramack’s blood matched closely enough to be of any use to her, and then only by using anti-rejection suppressants he found in the med kit. Hramack allowed his father to take a half-liter of his blood, even though it left him giddy and weak. He watched the blood flowing into her veins but saw no improvement in her condition.
Kena continued to fret over her. Turning to Hramack, he said, “It is not enough. She needs more blood. Her pulse is growing weaker. You must take blood from me.”
“Father,” Hramack cautioned, you are very weak. We all are. The small amount of blood I gave her left me reeling, and I’m young and strong. If you give blood, what
am I to do if you pass out?”
“If we do nothing, she will die. I must take the risk. You remember what I have taught you. I trust you. Trust in yourself.”
Hramack’s doubt about his ability rose in his throat to leave a sour taste in his mouth. Fear of failure haunted him always. Now, his father was putting him to the test. “I don’t have your skills,” he protested. “My hands are clumsy, and my mind is like a sieve.”
Kena reached out and grabbed Hramack’s hands, squeezing gently. “Nonsense, my son. These hands are capable of great wonders. They remember what your mind forgets. You are a Healer in your heart. Let your heart guide your hands.”
“I’ll try,” Hramack whispered. As frightened as he was, he could not disappoint his father.
He carefully inserted the needle into his father’s arm, found the vein, and sighed in relief as Kena’s blood began to fill the empty plasma bag. Once it was full, slowly, drop-by-drop, they transferred the precious blood to the woman from the stars. Hramack prayed it would be enough.
*
Grey Eagle kept vigil at a small window by the barricaded door, waiting both for the return of his men and any sign of improvement from the woman. He was eager to be away. The Marauders had not yet attempted to attack up the bottleneck of the stairs, nor were they visible on the plain below. This concerned him. It was probable that they had entered the facility and were even now on their way to press the attack from behind them. He hated the idea of dividing his men, but the female could not walk and carrying her could kill her. Kena thought she was important, and he could not bring himself to sacrifice her while there was still hope. Such wounds seldom healed. He had seen strong men die from less. Kena would be a great Healer indeed, if he saved her life.