He knew Zelnor’s admission was an apology of sorts, contrition for overstepping the line. A little punishment wouldn’t hurt the old fart, seeing Rongo would keep harping on the subject of Bannion’s differences from the rest of the clan until he ran it in the ground.
He switched to commander mode. “Take one trooper and watch our back-trail, if you please, sergeant.”
“Me?” Rongo protested. “What for? I should be out front leading. Send that girl, Kira Shandy. She can guard our rear. Probably be thrilled.”
“Back trail, mister. Consider it a position of honor.”
As if saying her name brought her, Kira Shandy appeared at Bannion’s side just as Rongo huffed a reply and swung his horse around. The young woman’s eyes bore dark rings beneath them, worry lay plain upon her pretty face.
“Mr. O’Quinn,” she said, “permission to ride ahead and look for Jacob Felix?”
“Denied. We’re staying together the rest of the way to headquarters. I don’t want anymore stragglers.” Without his being conscious of it, anger had crept into Bannion’s voice.
“I should’ve sent someone else.” Kira was staring straight ahead. “Someone with more experience. It’s just that Jacob—”
“You made the right decision. If he’s the best tracker in the unit, he’s the logical choice. Don’t beat yourself up, Miss Shandy.”
“But…his mother—” she faltered to a stop.
They all, Bannion realized, were writing the boy off. Maybe Zelnor was correct. Maybe Harrison Bell had— A sudden frisson caused him to sit forward in the saddle. He flung up a hand to stop Kira from speaking and, listening intently, scanned the silent woods around them, and the sky above, with a sharp eye.
“Ride to the head of the column,” he told Kira after a moment. “Now. At a canter. Weapons at the ready.”
“Sir?” Her tired eyes widened. “Mags?”
“Yes. Now.”
The girl loped off, crashing through the weeds at the side of the trail as she went around the column, raising not only dust, but the smells previously missing. Nog’s yellow teeth scratched the horse ahead of him as Bannion gigged him in the flanks. A silent arm gesture drew those behind him forward, warning them to keep up. Soon there would be screams, blood and death. He knew. The birds had told him.
***
“We should rig up a litter,” Lily said to Jacob. “He can’t walk.”
“If we’re carrying him, we can’t fight.” Jacob, his face too tired and drawn for a sixteen-year-old, stared out into the clearing in front of the cave. Light in the sky above the distant mountains raised a ragged silhouette, but here it was still dark and quiet. Too quiet? The birds, a comfortable nocturnal accompaniment, had fallen silent.
“Maybe we should just stay here.” Lily’s eyes scratched as though full of sand, the lack of sleep getting to her. On top of that, her innards still hurt, and so did her heart. But it was her mind that agonized, ran amok with bewilderment. Where was she? How had she gotten here? What the hell was going on? Had she gone out of her mind? The fire…what was she?
Drawing herself back from that particular edge, she made her argument. “We fought those things off before. Your people will be out looking for you, won’t they? Why not let them catch up to us?”
“They’ll be along,” Jacob said. “Which is why we need to go now. We got to warn them. Don’t want them riding into a trap.”
Riding into a trap. He sounded like a character out of one of the western novels her Grandpa used to spend his evenings reading. She liked the sound of cavalry to the rescue better than his take on the subject, but facts were facts.
“What makes you think we can avoid a trap? Aren’t they out there waiting for us?”
“Sure. But they think they have us bottled up. If we can just get out of here now, and into the woods, Sliver can smell them out and guide us through them. But not if we’re carrying a litter. We’ll be too noisy, too slow. Can’t tell where to put our feet.”
“Mr. Bell can’t possibly—” she began, only to have her opinion overridden.
“Jacob’s right. We can’t stay here.” Harrison Bell had awakened after all. “I can walk on my own. I’ll have to.”
Lily turned to look at him, seeing no more than an indistinct white face as he struggled to sit. From beside him, the dog stared at Lily as if distrustful of her. Probably still miffed over losing the pheasant.
“Well?” Bell extended his good arm. “Help me up. By the way, thank you for the loan of your coat, young lady. I expect you could’ve used it yourself, last night.”
She hurried forward to help him, noticing that Jacob never once took his eyes from the outside.
“My vest kept me warm,” she lied, drawing Bell to his feet. Warming her was the only thing it was good for, seeing it appeared to have lost the qualities that made it bulletproof. Gone flaccid, she wasn’t any too sure it could stop a butter knife, let alone one of those sharp-chiseled spears or an arrow. Looked like she might find out.
Standing on his own, Bell panted in short gasps. He propped himself against the cave wall, his eyes unfocused. Then he asked, “See anything, Jacob?”
“Nah. All quiet. I think they’re sleeping.”
“We’ll soon see.” Although Bell said nothing Lily could hear, in some way he called Sliver to him. “I’m sending the dog out. Let him get into the woods, then we’ll follow him. Bring my bow. I don’t want to leave it for a Mag to find. You ready?”
Lily zipped her coat, hooked Bell’s crossbow, now without bolts, to her belt, and took up the Arab’s knife. “I’m good.”
She didn’t see how the old man directed the dog. Osmosis, perhaps, but Sliver dashed out and across the clearing, his belly near the ground, his white-and-black colors blurring. At the edge he stopped, waiting for the people. Lily and Bell, his good arm across her left shoulder, staggered out next. Jacob, light as a ballet dancer and just as nimble, brought up the rear, his head constantly swiveling, trying to see all ways at once.
They couldn’t run. Lily hadn’t been prepared for Bell’s weight, and she thought he had underestimated his weakness. After a time that seemed everlasting, sheer determination got them into the trees beyond the cave.
Behind them, Jacob whispered, “We’re movin’ too slow. We gotta hurry.”
Bell managed to stay upright while Lily waited for her heartbeat to ease. “Straight through the woods,” he mouthed, at which Jacob nodded. A motion of Bell’s hand sent Sliver on ahead again. They followed.
This route was different from the one Lily had taken to the cave yesterday. There’d been a path from the other direction. Here, they cut through the woods, stumbling over downed logs hidden in tall grasses and dying weeds, catching their toes in animal burrows sprouting from the ground, avoiding snags and clusters of thorny wild rose bushes. It was hard work, and they weren’t up for it. Or only, perhaps, Jacob, who in his youth appeared bred for wilderness tactics.
Once the boy grabbed her arm, stopping her in mid-step. He squatted low, indicating she and Bell do the same. The maneuver almost brought them all down in a heap. But then she scarcely dared blink, for no more than twenty feet away four Mags snaked through the forest, headed in the same direction as they. The creatures made no attempt at silence, for which she was grateful.
In what appeared at first to be bad timing, Sliver chose that moment to show himself. One of the Mags pointed and said something. Another raised his spear, took a couple running steps, and cast it at the dog.
Lily gasped, choking back a scream. Only Bell’s soft, “shh,” prevented the outcry.
As it happened, no warning was necessary. As if he were afraid of the Mags, Sliver darted into the brush, the spear missing by a good four feet. Rushing ahead, the Mags gave chase, laughing now, and yelling, “Kill, kill. Debil dog.”
So, she thought, more than a little shocked, they did speak. Moreover, they spoke English—of a sort. What in God’s name were they? Where had they come from?
/> When the creatures were out of sight—if not out of hearing—Jacob scrambled to his feet, pulling Harrison Bell with him. The old man’s face was chalk white, but he was game to go on, grabbing hold of Lily once more and gesturing Jacob to take point.
“Go,” he murmured, “Go, go.” As if any of them needed urging. Sliver, in running away, had cleared a trail for them. Crouching low and trying to stay below the taller bushes, they lurched along. Perspiration poured down Lily’s face and between her breasts. Bell was sweating like a horse, his shirt wet where his underarm rested on her shoulder.
Ahead, a small clearing of about an acre beckoned. Jacob stopped at the edge and said, “I’ll go first. If nothing happens, when I’m about twenty yards out, you follow. I’ll cover you.”
Bell nodded. “Go.”
Lily’s heart thundered. Having never been so weak in her life, here she was trying, in effect, to carry the old man. Grateful for even so slight a respite as the time it took Jacob to reach his objective, she wheezed, realizing she was holding her breath.
Hearing tuned to her surroundings, voices and the sound of pounding feet warned her the Mags were only seconds behind them. Without waiting for Jacob to gesture to them, she took firm hold of Bell and plunged onward. Another of those uncanny trilling cries announced they’d been spotted. The center of her back quivered, waiting for one of the Mag’s primitive spears.
They reached Jacob without being hit, passing him without stopping. His bowstring twanged. Behind them, a shrill wail rose.
“Got her,” he grunted, and ran past them, stopped again, turned and loosed another arrow. “Sonuvabitch. Move, move!”
Bell stumbled, taking Lily to the ground with him, but immediately he clambered to his feet. “Drag me if you have to,” he panted. “But don’t leave me unless you kill me first.”
Shock ran along Lily’s nerves.“They’re closing in,” Jacob yelled. “Look out ahead.”
Lily took a firmer grip on the big knife, wishing with all her heart for a semi-auto AK-47 or even her Glock. This hand-to-hand crap was for the birds.
No sooner did that thought flash through her mind than, like a giant lizard, a being with sharpened teeth rose up in front of her. It had a three foot sword in its hand, and seemed intent on stabbing her. Sweat flicked from his forehead, his odor rank as any wild beast.
Letting Bell slide to the ground at her side, she stepped forward and crouched. The…the Mag…moved awkwardly, perhaps the fault of his oddly bowed legs. Lily feinted right, then dodged left. Darting closer, she slashing wildly with her foot-long blade. A deep gash opened across the being’s ribcage, and he emitted a startling, agonized screech. As he stumbled, sheer terror made Lily reach out and cut into his neck. Blood spurted with a coppery stench.
Without waiting to see if the Mag was dead, she grabbed Bell and hoisted him up again. Fresh blood welled from his wound, soaking through his bandage.
The clearing, she saw now, ended at the edge of the same creek that had run in front of the cave. At the realization, she became aware of Bell saying, “Cross. Not deep. Meadow on other side.”
“We’ll make it,” Jacob panted.
Using what must be a dwindling supply of energy, Bell managed to keep his legs moving. They slid down a soft, muddy bank, splashed through a foot or so of slow-moving water, and struggled up the steeper bank on the other side.
A Mag rose up almost at Lily’s feet. To her horror, this one was armed with a spear tipped with gleaming steel. He was not so strangely formed as the other had been which, seeing him weave out of reach of her flicking knife, made him all the more dangerous.
Sliver, darting out of the deep meadow grass, leapt for the Mag’s spear arm. Sharp teeth tore at the meat of its wrist. The Mag yelled, shook the dog away and in the same movement, switched the spear to his other hand. He prodded at Lily, his spear point locking with her knife blade.
His sharpened teeth showed in a grin as a twist of his wrist flicked the knife from her hand.
Holy crap! Where had Jacob disappeared to?
Lily’s heartbeat pulsed in her ears. She was aware of Bell crawling through the grass beside her, his hand patting the ground as he tried to find her knife. A little farther away, Sliver whimpered. Somewhere in the distance a horse neighed and people yelled. That weird, gurgling call the Mags made shivered around the field.
Her eyes locked with the Mag’s, his grin widening.
Disarmed. Defenseless. Powerless.
Bell yelled at her, something that made no sense. Run…ate? What?
She never knew what made her think she could do it, but as the spear jabbed toward her heart, she flung a handful of fear at the Mag. A handful of fear mixed with fury mixed with—fire. A splattering ball of fire that flashed in his face, searing his eyes and setting his hair aflame.
Suddenly Jacob was beside her; his bowstring thrummed and the burning Mag lay still and silent on the ground.
“Sonuvabitch!” Jacob stared at her, his mouth open.
Bell was up, Lily’s knife gripped in his fist. “C’mon,” he said, his whisper roaring as loud as a shout.
Jacob’s quiver was empty of arrows. He took over assisting Harrison Bell, leaving Lily to run elbow to elbow with him on one side of her.
“I hope you can you repeat that trick,” he said. “Look.”
Lily’s gaze followed where he pointed. Pouring out of the forest beyond the meadow were people on horseback. Armed people on horseback, carrying short spears and gleaming sword blades. Spears and swords? Sweet Jesus!
“The riders are my people..” Jacob sounded jubilant. “We’ve got to keep Mr. Bell safe until they reach us.”
What did he mean? People didn’t ride horses into battle. This wasn’t the freaking Nineteenth Century. The cavalry rode in Humvees nowadays. Nevertheless, the squeal of horses and the pounding of their hooves took the place of racing engines.
Squinting into the light, she wondered when day had broken. As soon as they’d passed out of the tree belt, she supposed, because now the sun shone down on the broad meadow spread in front of them. The meadow was filled with tall, drying grasses, a field of overgrown hay. Dew frosted grass steamed lightly under the golden glow. It smelled of autumn.
But she hadn’t time to think of that. Jacob had shown her a more pressing problem. The stirring of the tall grasses didn’t come from a freshened morning breeze. No. It came from the gangling brown bodies of a dozen or more Mags wiggling through the grass separating them from the riders. The mutant’s movement startled at least a hundred birds, starlings or the like, into the morning sky, all of them calling warning to the others. As though a signal had been passed, the Mags leapt to their feet, no longer silent.
Jacob looked at her. “I sure hope you have some more of those fireballs up your sleeve, Lily Turnbow.”
Chapter 9
Bannion O’Quinn urged his troops forward, their horses galloping over the uneven terrain at greater speed than prudence decreed. Bannion put his trust in the shrieking flights of birds swooping across the sky over toward headquarters. They’d find trouble there, he knew, not along the road.
When they reached the edge of the meadow, he threw up his hand to halt the riders, holding them until the last patroller caught up. From atop Nog, he had a clear view of the far edge of the meadow where a fight raged between three of his people and a plentiful scattering of Mags. His three fought silently, the mutants yipped like coyotes.
Rongo reined in beside him. “That’s Bell and Felix,” he said, squinting into the distance, “but who’s that with them?”
Drawing his cavalry style saber from its sheath, Bannion shook his head. “Damned if I know. Looks like whoever it is, is fighting like a tiger.” He knotted the reins and let them fall loose on Nog’s neck. A quick inspection showed the patrollers armed and ready.
“Watch the deep grass,” he reminded the young troops. “Mags will be hiding there. Get our people away first thing. They’re top priority even before fin
ishing off the enemy. Kira, take Felix up behind you. Rongo, grab Bell. House, you get the other one. If one of you falls, next person in line takes over. Got that?”
Heads nodded.
“Let’s go. At a run.” Pressure from his left knee spun Nog; a toe in the ribs urged the horse into a sprint, the time-honored breeding program of the O’Quinns proving the quarter horse, mustang cross a good one as they burst from the belt of trees into the meadow. A hidden flock of quail exploded almost under their feet, causing the horses to shy and the troop’s planned order to straggle. Bannion heard one of the patrollers curse.
Fifty yards into the meadow, he saw Jacob Felix push Bell onto the stranger’s shoulder while the boy tackled the mutant leading the attack.
“Kira,” he shouted, pointing, and the girl followed him as Nog bore down on the struggling pair. Faster, faster, for God’s sake. His patrollers broke into two groups, a few following him, the rest following Rongo and House.
He sensed when Kira’s horse broke stride as they caught up with a female Mag. Kira’s blade slashed out. The Mag screamed and went down, rolling into the bloodied weeds. Kira and her horse, unscathed by the encounter, rode on.
Nog charged ahead until Bannion dragged at the reins and the horse sat on its haunches, sliding to a stop in the dry grass beside the kid. Felix, in danger of loosing this combat, struggled beneath a wiry Mag trying to scalp him. Writhing like a rattlesnake, the boy stabbed at the mutant’s eyes with his belt knife. Putting up a fierce fight, he kept the Mag at a distance despite the blood coursing down his face from a cut along his hairline.
A scar to be proud of, Bannion thought before the tip of his saber sliced through the Mag’s spinal cord, preventing any worse damage to the boy. And then Kira was there, reaching for the kid’s outstretched hand and yanking him to his feet. Although he must have been almost blinded by blood from his forehead, he managed to spring up behind his rescuer.
Already on the hunt for his next foe, Bannion spun Nog again. A quick glance showed Rongo and House riding side-by-side, the girl Bevee following close behind House as they raced toward Harrison Bell and the stranger.
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