Conflict (Crossover Series), page 11
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Joe looked up as Larry entered the flickering firelight and sat with a grunt.
“Quiet. Brent’s on,” he said. “How’re the new kids?” “Shell shocked but resting.” Joe looked down at his hands. Open and closed them, relieved that the shaking had finally stopped. Would he ever get used to killing people? “The older boy, Daru, told me that they were attacked last year but escaped into the forest. The survivors, including his family, apparently figured that Tork’s men wouldn’t return. Not a good decision, in retrospect.”
“No way I’m letting those assholes abduct kids.” Larry’s flushed face strained with anger. “No fucking way.” “It would help if we knew why.” Joe looked toward the tent where Alta was bedding down the two new kids. “Neither her uncle, her father, or Alta believed what the White Clay warriors had told them.”
“You have any thoughts?” Kristi asked.
“If this Tork character is starting an empire, he may want pliable followers.” Joe shrugged. “Or slaves to reward his existing followers.”
“Whatever. It ain’t happening around me.” Larry leaned forward, staring into the embers.
“Not sure what we can do.” Joe picked up his coffee mug. A thin layer of ash floated on the cold dregs. “The luck thing is getting way stretched.”
“Whoever these jerks are, they’re going to figure out how to deal with our limited firepower.” Kristi sipped from her mug. “You guys ran them down in the open on the first day. And Joe only met two of them today. Both times aided by the element of surprise.”
“Why don’t they use bows and arrows?” Potts asked. “Not sure.” Joe tossed the remains of his coffee into the fire. “Maybe with food so plentiful they don’t need them for hunting. Why deal with warpage and broken bow strings when game is common enough to bag with atlatls and darts.”
“The atlatl is the spear thrower?”
“Yeah, the darts are basically light-weight spears.
But still deadly.”
“Whether they’re using arrows or darts, what happens if a larger group attacks with surprise on their side?” Potts flipped the remains of his own coffee into the fire, where they hissed into steam.
“We have Brent’s AR15, four hunting rifles and five revolvers.” Kristi hand slipped to the weapon at her wait. “Plus the flintlock and Alta’s Ruger.” She glanced at the children’s tent. “She’s doing real well with the children.” “We probably shouldn’t count on that flintlock.” Joe stood and stretched. “We aren’t going to do the present kids any good if we end up dead.” Damn, now he was responsible for thirteen children. Now they were.
“Joe’s right.” Potts looked at Larry. “We’ll save more if we can. But we need to concentrate on protecting the children we have.” He paused. “What about that canoe?” “Snark and I dragged it into the bushes and I muscled it upside down. Heavy. I covered it with branches and grasses.” Joe looked around the fire circle. “Maybe we’ll have an opportunity to go back and get it.”
He looked into the deepening night, listening for the sound of warriors in the underbrush. If they survived long enough.
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Tork made a show of his impatience by extending his hand to the sun as if checking the passage of time. Before him, the four warriors lay on the ground. Two now dead, two still living.
He dropped his arm and looked around. The Skullmen on either side of the Judgment Circle met his gaze. But behind them, sitting in a wide arc, the two-slash warriors dropped their gaze at his look. Let them fear his anger. He glanced to his right. Nist’s eyes met his. His old friend was fearless. And he knew Tork’s anger was both real and calculating.
Tork returned his attention to the men on the ground. Two had run from the raid uninjured. And they now lay without breath. He stared at their slack limbs and his face twisted into a scowl. The actions of such men could not be allowed to diminish his power.
Tork shifted his gaze to one of the two living men. “Saluno, the raids on the upper valley yielded many slaves with the loss of only five warriors. You raided three large villages and several smaller ones. So why is it that eleven of my warriors were defeated by two men while stopping to raid one small village on the return trip?”
The prone man looked up. The white clay slashes had smeared from his sweat. The wound in his upper arm had been bound and no longer bled red. “Demons, great Tork. I tell you by the womb of my mother, they were demons. One had 4 legs and our darts bounced off his body. The other killed with an extended hand and the sound of thunder.” He paused for a breath. “I ran when my arm was wounded by their power and I could no longer hold a club.”
“Stand,” Tork said.
The wounded warrior rose. After swaying for several breaths, he met Tork’s eyes. Maybe he wasn’t the best warrior, but he had fought. As he now fought to stand. “Go to your family. Return in a moon.”
Tork shifted his gaze to the last prone man. “Tusuto, why did you not help fight these strangers?” He felt a flash of annoyance as the man began to tremble.
“I was assigned to guard the boats. I heard thunder and started running up the trail. I met Saluno running toward me, bleeding from the lightning hole in his arm. Plus them.” His eyes flicked to the two dead bodies. “I led them back to the canoe and left with them after holing the other two canoes.”
Tork stared at the man for several heartbeats. Not so brave, but smart. He would also live. “Then what?”
“I paddled downriver. We were not able to catch up with the main group of warriors, even though they were burdened with captives. I used your token at the villages next to the rapids to hasten the portage and to demand additional paddlers for the last part of the journey.” He nodded his head toward to back of the crowd where the two conscripted paddlers watched with wide eyes.
Tork let his gaze drift around his village. When he, his mother, and Nist had arrived, four hands of the cycle of seasons ago, this had been a small isolated collection of huts along the great Salt Waters. Now those huts and vegetable plots along those waters extended as far as one could walk in one hand of time. Nothing could be allowed to slow his plans.
“Take four hands of warriors and Tusuto,”Tork said to Nist. “Return the paddlers to their villages along with a basket of dried fish and a handful of salt each. Then find and kill those two devils. Return with the young slaves.” “It shall be.” Nist lowered his head in a brief nod, his eyes never leaving Tork.
Tork smiled. Ever since Nist had rescued him and his mother, his friend had been at his side. And had never failed him. “Watch for the three small canoes still visiting the more isolated villages.”
Nist left, pointing to his selection of warriors. Tusuto rose and followed with eyes cast downward.
Tork watched them leave. Warriors and slaves. He needed more of both. Warriors to avenge his father’s death at the hands of the Kitzu. His muscles tensed at the thought of his former tribe. But, at the same time, a pang of homesickness flooded him at the memories of his childhood home by the three rivers from which they had fled.
He looked at his mother, who stood at his side. She seemed so stooped and small now. Once she had been as tall as the sky to his childish eyes. He needed more slaves for her burial mound. A mound that would surpass those of the Kitzu.
Tork wrenched his mind from the past. Those images only served to cloud his mind with anger. He would save that anger for the day he returned to the land of the three rivers. “Mother, what do you think of four legged demons and their thunder?”
The woman turned her milky eyes to him. “These demons have power. But they can die.”
“I also have power, Mother.” He banished worries about the mysterious wounds that these strangers had inflicted on his men. At least until Nist returned. “And I will not die until I have avenged the death of Father.” And until I have built you a magnificent burial mound, he promised silently.
Tork looked from his mother to the growing mound south of the village that overlooked the wide Salt Waters. If only she could see its preparation.
Chapter 18. Day 7
“Brent.” The voice broke through a confusion of fading images.
“What...” Brent rolled onto his back. Opened his eyes to a red tent. Not fire. A red LED flashlight. He rolled onto his left side to see Larry’s fatigue-lined face. “Can you cover the next watch?” Larry’s face disappeared behind a cavernous yawn. “I’m beat.”
More images flooded Brent’s mind. The ranch. The crossover. Alta’s village. A surge of homesickness swept through him. “I’m up. Give me a minute.”
The red light faded and the tent flap closed. Brent stared at the darkness for several heartbeats before crawling to his feet.
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Brent turned in place, his eyes sweeping the edges of their meadow. Several heat signatures suggested small mammals. He froze mid-breath as a deer sized blob stepped out of the covering vegetation. The blob froze then retreated into the forest.
Brent exhaled. The animal had probably smelled Zoey. He lowered the night vision binoculars and continued his long walk around camp.
As he approached the hobbled horses, a dark form appeared at his leg, whimpering. Brent bent to scratch Zoey behind the ear. “That deer got you spooked?”
He raised the night vision binoculars again to his eyes. To the west, not yet illuminated by the slowly lightening eastern sky, the tents looked like red boulders. A bright spot hinted at the smoldering campfire. The horses stood between the tents and the destroyed village. Brent frowned. They were all facing south, toward the forest edge nearest the tents.
Should he wake the others? Could just be a wolf or even a large raccoon.
A low growl came from Zoey. Brent scanned the edge of the forest again through the binos. Now several blobs shifted position at the forest edge nearest the tents. Brent lowered the binos and glanced at the camp, its dim outline just now becoming visible in the pre-dawn light. Were all those Hollywood movies correct about dawn attacks?
Zoey stepped closer and looked back at the horses. She growled again, looking at the forest edge near the tents. Brent broke into a jog, swinging the AR15 up from his side and flipping off the safety. He hadn’t gotten more than a few yards when Zoey started barking.
He slowed. The blobs morphed into figures emerging from the forest. Shit.
The intruders broke into a sprint. Two veered off toward Brent. Both seemed to have clubs.
Brent fired. The shapes abruptly stopped at the sound.
Damn. Missed. The shapes continued their rush.
He opened his eyes wide, trying to resolve the nearest shape at the end of his barrel. He fired. The body jerked. Screamed.
Brent didn’t pause to confirm the hit. He moved the tip of the AR. Lined up the next blob and fired again. Another shape twitched and stumbled. Fell.
The dog’s barking increased to a frenzied pitch. Horses neighed. He heard screams.
Brent ran forward. Bodies streamed form the forest, converging on the tents. He stopped, aimed and fired. Other shots rang out. Then he fired again and again, his vision a blur of shadowy painted bodies and red. He paused to switch magazines. A flash of nearby motion. One warrior approached from his left at a dead run. Brent started to turn.
A rush of brown and white fur blurred in from the right. The man stumbled and fell, Zoey’s momentum rolling her off the man.
Brent pulled and released the charging handle. Fired point blank at the man at his feet.
The warrior’s face went wide-eyed as he stared down at his chest. Dark blood gushed in pulsating torrents, the edges tinged red in the new sun’s light. He stiffened then relaxed. The pulse of blood stilled.
There was silence but for the frantic barking as Zoey sprinted around the camp.
Brent tore his eyes from the man at his feet. Potts stood in the middle of camp, mouth open, rifle in his hands. Larry whirled in place between the tents and the forest, one hand holding a sword, the other an ax. Both dripped blood.
From between the tents, Kristi emerged, her rifle at her shoulder. She nodded. Brent waved back, his gut releasing tension he hadn’t had time to feel. She was safe. Alta appeared. Spinning around, her face taut with distress, she ran to the south side of the tents, away from the attack. She emerged from behind one of the tents, clinging to Joe, who was looking back toward the ground, right hand holding his pistol. Damn, Brent hadn’t even considered a flanking attack.
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Joe leaned over, his numb senses immune to the sight of the gaping wound.
“He’s just a child.” Kristi clamped a small artery then loosened the tourniquet. Her mouth tightened into a thin line.
“Yeah, just a kid with a big fucking club.” Larry knotted the rope binding the injured warrior’s feet together. “That ought to do until we decide to shoot him.” He stood and, shaking his head, walked away.
“What do you think?” Joe knelt on the other side of the prone body from Kristi and checked Larry’s knots that bound the injured warrior’s hand to his waist. Tight. They’d probably have to cut them apart.
“Muscles are torn, and the bone is chipped.” Kristi probed the wound with forceps. “He won’t be walking for a while. But he will walk.” She shook her head, sighing. “He’s so young. Still a teenager.”
Joe shifted his gaze from the wounded man to the camp. Larry was now tending the fire. Potts was sorting through supplies, getting breakfast ingredients together. The children were sitting silently around the cookfire, Alta’s arms around two of the younger ones. Beyond, near the edge of the clearing, Brent walked, his black gun hanging from its shoulder strap.
“Well, if you’re willing, let’s fix him up.” Joe looked down at the man-child. “If nothing else, we can try to question him about what’s going on.” And he’d have one less nightmare. Visions of Larry plunging his sword into the fallen bodies on their first day still haunted his recent dreams.
“What did you find after…” Kristi sighed, setting the forceps on a clean piece of cloth. “After disposing of the bodies?” Kristi washed the wound with a squirt of antiseptic.
“Twelve dead.” Joe wondered how long her medical supplies would last. “Including two clubbed to death. Facing back toward river. The backs of their skulls were caved in.”
Kristi froze for a moment. “They ran? And were killed by their own warriors?” She set the antiseptic aside and picked up the forceps.
Joe shrugged. “Don’t know. But I’m guessing a bit less than half that same number retreated. And they traveled by canoes. One canoe was left behind, just downstream. It was big enough to hold a dozen men. They destroyed it. It’s not repairable.”
“How did we survive?” Kristi stopped probing the wound and looked up at Joe. “By the time I found my rifle, it was over.”
“Zoey alerted Brent. Larry was sleeping by the fire, fully clothed and with his weapons at his side. He took the few that got past Brent.”
“Alta was frantic until she saw you,” Kristi said.
Joe puffed out a breath. “Maybe she still thinks I’m the hero.” Joe glanced to the fire circle where Alta still comforted the children. “It was Brent and Larry who saved our asses.”
“But you’re the one that discovered the two warriors sneaking up on the back side of the tents.” Kristi looked up from the hole in the captive’s thigh. “How did you know?” “All the noise was only on one side of camp. It just felt wrong.” He shrugged. “A lucky feeling I guess.”
“Lucky?” Kristi regarded the fallen warrior boy. “We’re alive because of a lucky feeling?”
Chapter 19. Day 9
Joe pulled back on Snark’s reins as Brent trotted up alongside him on Flicker.
“I’m still in worry mode.” Brent slowed Flicker to a stop.
“It should take days before the attackers regroup.” Snark stopped at Joe’s second tug as he glanced at his friend. “What little I got out of Samatu indicates Tork’s base is on a large lake or sea at the mouth of this river. It’s at least three or four days travel one way.”
“At least you did get some information out of him before the painkillers wore off.” Brent’s brows furrowed, tension tightening his normally fluid motions. “But I still wonder if Larry’s not right about just killing our young captive.” He uncapped his water bottle and took a sip. “Kristi and Potts may know how to handle guns, but Larry’s the only one with actual combat experience. And we’ve now left them with a prisoner to deal with.”
“You did leave Larry with your AR15. That’s a hell of a combination.” Joe let out a noisy breath. “I could have come alone.”
“Yeah, like your downriver trip. Two dead warriors and two more children.” A faint smile lifted the ends of Brent’s mouth. “You’re way too dangerous to be left on your own.”
Joe shifted his attention back to the trail. The well- used path wove through the low, forested hills along the Long River, sometimes cutting inland, sometimes veering close to the river’s edge. Ahead, he could see the summit of a small rise.
Joe shifted his weight and Snark started forward. They had been traveling upriver for almost a full day, searching for a more secure location for a permanent camp away from Tork. They would have to find a place to spend the night soon.
As they topped the rise, Joe reined Snark to another stop. A small slide had cleared the ground to the right, opening a view of the river and the lands beyond. Low ridges, highlighted starkly by the late afternoon sun, scarred the horizon a dozen or so miles to the north. Openings in the forest canopy showed at scattered points along the river. None of the clearings showed smoke.
Brent reined Flicker alongside Joe once more. “I think I may know where we are.”
Joe shifted his gaze from the distant view to his friend. “I’m all ears.”
“I don’t know if I mentioned that I did my undergraduate Biology degree at UMD—University of Maryland—near Washington, DC.” Brent’s brow furrowed in thought. “Went on a few field trips up the Susquehanna River. It runs from Chesapeake Bay up into northeastern Pennsylvania.”
Joe looked up as Larry entered the flickering firelight and sat with a grunt.
“Quiet. Brent’s on,” he said. “How’re the new kids?” “Shell shocked but resting.” Joe looked down at his hands. Open and closed them, relieved that the shaking had finally stopped. Would he ever get used to killing people? “The older boy, Daru, told me that they were attacked last year but escaped into the forest. The survivors, including his family, apparently figured that Tork’s men wouldn’t return. Not a good decision, in retrospect.”
“No way I’m letting those assholes abduct kids.” Larry’s flushed face strained with anger. “No fucking way.” “It would help if we knew why.” Joe looked toward the tent where Alta was bedding down the two new kids. “Neither her uncle, her father, or Alta believed what the White Clay warriors had told them.”
“You have any thoughts?” Kristi asked.
“If this Tork character is starting an empire, he may want pliable followers.” Joe shrugged. “Or slaves to reward his existing followers.”
“Whatever. It ain’t happening around me.” Larry leaned forward, staring into the embers.
“Not sure what we can do.” Joe picked up his coffee mug. A thin layer of ash floated on the cold dregs. “The luck thing is getting way stretched.”
“Whoever these jerks are, they’re going to figure out how to deal with our limited firepower.” Kristi sipped from her mug. “You guys ran them down in the open on the first day. And Joe only met two of them today. Both times aided by the element of surprise.”
“Why don’t they use bows and arrows?” Potts asked. “Not sure.” Joe tossed the remains of his coffee into the fire. “Maybe with food so plentiful they don’t need them for hunting. Why deal with warpage and broken bow strings when game is common enough to bag with atlatls and darts.”
“The atlatl is the spear thrower?”
“Yeah, the darts are basically light-weight spears.
But still deadly.”
“Whether they’re using arrows or darts, what happens if a larger group attacks with surprise on their side?” Potts flipped the remains of his own coffee into the fire, where they hissed into steam.
“We have Brent’s AR15, four hunting rifles and five revolvers.” Kristi hand slipped to the weapon at her wait. “Plus the flintlock and Alta’s Ruger.” She glanced at the children’s tent. “She’s doing real well with the children.” “We probably shouldn’t count on that flintlock.” Joe stood and stretched. “We aren’t going to do the present kids any good if we end up dead.” Damn, now he was responsible for thirteen children. Now they were.
“Joe’s right.” Potts looked at Larry. “We’ll save more if we can. But we need to concentrate on protecting the children we have.” He paused. “What about that canoe?” “Snark and I dragged it into the bushes and I muscled it upside down. Heavy. I covered it with branches and grasses.” Joe looked around the fire circle. “Maybe we’ll have an opportunity to go back and get it.”
He looked into the deepening night, listening for the sound of warriors in the underbrush. If they survived long enough.
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Tork made a show of his impatience by extending his hand to the sun as if checking the passage of time. Before him, the four warriors lay on the ground. Two now dead, two still living.
He dropped his arm and looked around. The Skullmen on either side of the Judgment Circle met his gaze. But behind them, sitting in a wide arc, the two-slash warriors dropped their gaze at his look. Let them fear his anger. He glanced to his right. Nist’s eyes met his. His old friend was fearless. And he knew Tork’s anger was both real and calculating.
Tork returned his attention to the men on the ground. Two had run from the raid uninjured. And they now lay without breath. He stared at their slack limbs and his face twisted into a scowl. The actions of such men could not be allowed to diminish his power.
Tork shifted his gaze to one of the two living men. “Saluno, the raids on the upper valley yielded many slaves with the loss of only five warriors. You raided three large villages and several smaller ones. So why is it that eleven of my warriors were defeated by two men while stopping to raid one small village on the return trip?”
The prone man looked up. The white clay slashes had smeared from his sweat. The wound in his upper arm had been bound and no longer bled red. “Demons, great Tork. I tell you by the womb of my mother, they were demons. One had 4 legs and our darts bounced off his body. The other killed with an extended hand and the sound of thunder.” He paused for a breath. “I ran when my arm was wounded by their power and I could no longer hold a club.”
“Stand,” Tork said.
The wounded warrior rose. After swaying for several breaths, he met Tork’s eyes. Maybe he wasn’t the best warrior, but he had fought. As he now fought to stand. “Go to your family. Return in a moon.”
Tork shifted his gaze to the last prone man. “Tusuto, why did you not help fight these strangers?” He felt a flash of annoyance as the man began to tremble.
“I was assigned to guard the boats. I heard thunder and started running up the trail. I met Saluno running toward me, bleeding from the lightning hole in his arm. Plus them.” His eyes flicked to the two dead bodies. “I led them back to the canoe and left with them after holing the other two canoes.”
Tork stared at the man for several heartbeats. Not so brave, but smart. He would also live. “Then what?”
“I paddled downriver. We were not able to catch up with the main group of warriors, even though they were burdened with captives. I used your token at the villages next to the rapids to hasten the portage and to demand additional paddlers for the last part of the journey.” He nodded his head toward to back of the crowd where the two conscripted paddlers watched with wide eyes.
Tork let his gaze drift around his village. When he, his mother, and Nist had arrived, four hands of the cycle of seasons ago, this had been a small isolated collection of huts along the great Salt Waters. Now those huts and vegetable plots along those waters extended as far as one could walk in one hand of time. Nothing could be allowed to slow his plans.
“Take four hands of warriors and Tusuto,”Tork said to Nist. “Return the paddlers to their villages along with a basket of dried fish and a handful of salt each. Then find and kill those two devils. Return with the young slaves.” “It shall be.” Nist lowered his head in a brief nod, his eyes never leaving Tork.
Tork smiled. Ever since Nist had rescued him and his mother, his friend had been at his side. And had never failed him. “Watch for the three small canoes still visiting the more isolated villages.”
Nist left, pointing to his selection of warriors. Tusuto rose and followed with eyes cast downward.
Tork watched them leave. Warriors and slaves. He needed more of both. Warriors to avenge his father’s death at the hands of the Kitzu. His muscles tensed at the thought of his former tribe. But, at the same time, a pang of homesickness flooded him at the memories of his childhood home by the three rivers from which they had fled.
He looked at his mother, who stood at his side. She seemed so stooped and small now. Once she had been as tall as the sky to his childish eyes. He needed more slaves for her burial mound. A mound that would surpass those of the Kitzu.
Tork wrenched his mind from the past. Those images only served to cloud his mind with anger. He would save that anger for the day he returned to the land of the three rivers. “Mother, what do you think of four legged demons and their thunder?”
The woman turned her milky eyes to him. “These demons have power. But they can die.”
“I also have power, Mother.” He banished worries about the mysterious wounds that these strangers had inflicted on his men. At least until Nist returned. “And I will not die until I have avenged the death of Father.” And until I have built you a magnificent burial mound, he promised silently.
Tork looked from his mother to the growing mound south of the village that overlooked the wide Salt Waters. If only she could see its preparation.
Chapter 18. Day 7
“Brent.” The voice broke through a confusion of fading images.
“What...” Brent rolled onto his back. Opened his eyes to a red tent. Not fire. A red LED flashlight. He rolled onto his left side to see Larry’s fatigue-lined face. “Can you cover the next watch?” Larry’s face disappeared behind a cavernous yawn. “I’m beat.”
More images flooded Brent’s mind. The ranch. The crossover. Alta’s village. A surge of homesickness swept through him. “I’m up. Give me a minute.”
The red light faded and the tent flap closed. Brent stared at the darkness for several heartbeats before crawling to his feet.
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Brent turned in place, his eyes sweeping the edges of their meadow. Several heat signatures suggested small mammals. He froze mid-breath as a deer sized blob stepped out of the covering vegetation. The blob froze then retreated into the forest.
Brent exhaled. The animal had probably smelled Zoey. He lowered the night vision binoculars and continued his long walk around camp.
As he approached the hobbled horses, a dark form appeared at his leg, whimpering. Brent bent to scratch Zoey behind the ear. “That deer got you spooked?”
He raised the night vision binoculars again to his eyes. To the west, not yet illuminated by the slowly lightening eastern sky, the tents looked like red boulders. A bright spot hinted at the smoldering campfire. The horses stood between the tents and the destroyed village. Brent frowned. They were all facing south, toward the forest edge nearest the tents.
Should he wake the others? Could just be a wolf or even a large raccoon.
A low growl came from Zoey. Brent scanned the edge of the forest again through the binos. Now several blobs shifted position at the forest edge nearest the tents. Brent lowered the binos and glanced at the camp, its dim outline just now becoming visible in the pre-dawn light. Were all those Hollywood movies correct about dawn attacks?
Zoey stepped closer and looked back at the horses. She growled again, looking at the forest edge near the tents. Brent broke into a jog, swinging the AR15 up from his side and flipping off the safety. He hadn’t gotten more than a few yards when Zoey started barking.
He slowed. The blobs morphed into figures emerging from the forest. Shit.
The intruders broke into a sprint. Two veered off toward Brent. Both seemed to have clubs.
Brent fired. The shapes abruptly stopped at the sound.
Damn. Missed. The shapes continued their rush.
He opened his eyes wide, trying to resolve the nearest shape at the end of his barrel. He fired. The body jerked. Screamed.
Brent didn’t pause to confirm the hit. He moved the tip of the AR. Lined up the next blob and fired again. Another shape twitched and stumbled. Fell.
The dog’s barking increased to a frenzied pitch. Horses neighed. He heard screams.
Brent ran forward. Bodies streamed form the forest, converging on the tents. He stopped, aimed and fired. Other shots rang out. Then he fired again and again, his vision a blur of shadowy painted bodies and red. He paused to switch magazines. A flash of nearby motion. One warrior approached from his left at a dead run. Brent started to turn.
A rush of brown and white fur blurred in from the right. The man stumbled and fell, Zoey’s momentum rolling her off the man.
Brent pulled and released the charging handle. Fired point blank at the man at his feet.
The warrior’s face went wide-eyed as he stared down at his chest. Dark blood gushed in pulsating torrents, the edges tinged red in the new sun’s light. He stiffened then relaxed. The pulse of blood stilled.
There was silence but for the frantic barking as Zoey sprinted around the camp.
Brent tore his eyes from the man at his feet. Potts stood in the middle of camp, mouth open, rifle in his hands. Larry whirled in place between the tents and the forest, one hand holding a sword, the other an ax. Both dripped blood.
From between the tents, Kristi emerged, her rifle at her shoulder. She nodded. Brent waved back, his gut releasing tension he hadn’t had time to feel. She was safe. Alta appeared. Spinning around, her face taut with distress, she ran to the south side of the tents, away from the attack. She emerged from behind one of the tents, clinging to Joe, who was looking back toward the ground, right hand holding his pistol. Damn, Brent hadn’t even considered a flanking attack.
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Joe leaned over, his numb senses immune to the sight of the gaping wound.
“He’s just a child.” Kristi clamped a small artery then loosened the tourniquet. Her mouth tightened into a thin line.
“Yeah, just a kid with a big fucking club.” Larry knotted the rope binding the injured warrior’s feet together. “That ought to do until we decide to shoot him.” He stood and, shaking his head, walked away.
“What do you think?” Joe knelt on the other side of the prone body from Kristi and checked Larry’s knots that bound the injured warrior’s hand to his waist. Tight. They’d probably have to cut them apart.
“Muscles are torn, and the bone is chipped.” Kristi probed the wound with forceps. “He won’t be walking for a while. But he will walk.” She shook her head, sighing. “He’s so young. Still a teenager.”
Joe shifted his gaze from the wounded man to the camp. Larry was now tending the fire. Potts was sorting through supplies, getting breakfast ingredients together. The children were sitting silently around the cookfire, Alta’s arms around two of the younger ones. Beyond, near the edge of the clearing, Brent walked, his black gun hanging from its shoulder strap.
“Well, if you’re willing, let’s fix him up.” Joe looked down at the man-child. “If nothing else, we can try to question him about what’s going on.” And he’d have one less nightmare. Visions of Larry plunging his sword into the fallen bodies on their first day still haunted his recent dreams.
“What did you find after…” Kristi sighed, setting the forceps on a clean piece of cloth. “After disposing of the bodies?” Kristi washed the wound with a squirt of antiseptic.
“Twelve dead.” Joe wondered how long her medical supplies would last. “Including two clubbed to death. Facing back toward river. The backs of their skulls were caved in.”
Kristi froze for a moment. “They ran? And were killed by their own warriors?” She set the antiseptic aside and picked up the forceps.
Joe shrugged. “Don’t know. But I’m guessing a bit less than half that same number retreated. And they traveled by canoes. One canoe was left behind, just downstream. It was big enough to hold a dozen men. They destroyed it. It’s not repairable.”
“How did we survive?” Kristi stopped probing the wound and looked up at Joe. “By the time I found my rifle, it was over.”
“Zoey alerted Brent. Larry was sleeping by the fire, fully clothed and with his weapons at his side. He took the few that got past Brent.”
“Alta was frantic until she saw you,” Kristi said.
Joe puffed out a breath. “Maybe she still thinks I’m the hero.” Joe glanced to the fire circle where Alta still comforted the children. “It was Brent and Larry who saved our asses.”
“But you’re the one that discovered the two warriors sneaking up on the back side of the tents.” Kristi looked up from the hole in the captive’s thigh. “How did you know?” “All the noise was only on one side of camp. It just felt wrong.” He shrugged. “A lucky feeling I guess.”
“Lucky?” Kristi regarded the fallen warrior boy. “We’re alive because of a lucky feeling?”
Chapter 19. Day 9
Joe pulled back on Snark’s reins as Brent trotted up alongside him on Flicker.
“I’m still in worry mode.” Brent slowed Flicker to a stop.
“It should take days before the attackers regroup.” Snark stopped at Joe’s second tug as he glanced at his friend. “What little I got out of Samatu indicates Tork’s base is on a large lake or sea at the mouth of this river. It’s at least three or four days travel one way.”
“At least you did get some information out of him before the painkillers wore off.” Brent’s brows furrowed, tension tightening his normally fluid motions. “But I still wonder if Larry’s not right about just killing our young captive.” He uncapped his water bottle and took a sip. “Kristi and Potts may know how to handle guns, but Larry’s the only one with actual combat experience. And we’ve now left them with a prisoner to deal with.”
“You did leave Larry with your AR15. That’s a hell of a combination.” Joe let out a noisy breath. “I could have come alone.”
“Yeah, like your downriver trip. Two dead warriors and two more children.” A faint smile lifted the ends of Brent’s mouth. “You’re way too dangerous to be left on your own.”
Joe shifted his attention back to the trail. The well- used path wove through the low, forested hills along the Long River, sometimes cutting inland, sometimes veering close to the river’s edge. Ahead, he could see the summit of a small rise.
Joe shifted his weight and Snark started forward. They had been traveling upriver for almost a full day, searching for a more secure location for a permanent camp away from Tork. They would have to find a place to spend the night soon.
As they topped the rise, Joe reined Snark to another stop. A small slide had cleared the ground to the right, opening a view of the river and the lands beyond. Low ridges, highlighted starkly by the late afternoon sun, scarred the horizon a dozen or so miles to the north. Openings in the forest canopy showed at scattered points along the river. None of the clearings showed smoke.
Brent reined Flicker alongside Joe once more. “I think I may know where we are.”
Joe shifted his gaze from the distant view to his friend. “I’m all ears.”
“I don’t know if I mentioned that I did my undergraduate Biology degree at UMD—University of Maryland—near Washington, DC.” Brent’s brow furrowed in thought. “Went on a few field trips up the Susquehanna River. It runs from Chesapeake Bay up into northeastern Pennsylvania.”
