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Now only a few yards ahead of the Armorer and his party, Ryan and Krysty had come upon a small clearing in the trees, no more than a few square feet. It was, however, enough to lay Mildred down and for Doc to be placed beside her. The canopy of trees overhead gave them shelter, and despite the cold of night, it was still warm compared to conditions in the raft or on the beach. The one-eyed man became aware that he was shivering, his muscles locked into an almost continual spasm. They needed to stop, to build a fire, to mount a guard and to get themselves warm and dry. Maybe even some proper sleep. That was a thought that wrapped itself around his mind like a warm blanket.
“Stop here,” he rasped to Krysty, who nodded agreement. They placed Mildred on the soft floor of the woods and began to strip her.
“Pity we don’t have anything dry to cover her with,” Krysty huffed.
“Get some leaves, any bracken…just something to keep the warmth in,” Ryan replied, beginning to search the immediate area.
The others reached the clearing, J.B. signaling their arrival with a brief and sore-throated “Us, Ryan…”
The one-eyed man barely had the energy to acknowledge their arrival as the second group laid Doc down by Mildred. Taking a deep breath that rasped in his aching rib cage, he spoke in barely more than a whisper.
“Need to get a fire going, try to get warm, dry. Gather some wood. Blasters are useless, so need knives.”
Jak nodded, understanding immediately what Ryan meant. Hands dipping into the hidden recesses of his camou jacket, he produced two leaf-bladed throwing knives. One of these he kept in his own palm, the other he gave to Krysty. Now all of the companions that were conscious had a weapon of some sort that could work. And in the close quarters of the woodland, the knives and the panga sported by Ryan would be much more effective than any blaster that could alert an enemy of their position.
“Dean, Krysty, stay here and keep guard over Mildred and Doc. The rest of us will gather wood for the fire.”
And as the younger Cawdor and the red-haired woman took up defensive positions, the remaining three companions moved into the darkness to gather small wood and kindling for a fire. Even if it was kept small, it would still give away their position when lit, but at least they would be able to establish a solid line of defense.
Jak, despite the battering his wiry frame had taken, was recovering more quickly than the others and he moved with speed to gather firewood, his blazing red eyes scanning the darkness as his nose and ears tried to pick out the slightest sound to identify it. He was sure that there was something—someone—out there, but he couldn’t be sure what it may be. Whoever or whatever it was, it had a gift for concealment and disguise that made it a match for him. The albino youth gritted his teeth and judged the amount of wood he held—enough for a small fire on its own. He nodded briefly to himself. It was enough for him to get back to the clearing. There was safety in numbers, and it wasn’t through any kind of cowardice that he wanted to seek that. Rather, it was the knowledge that J.B. and Ryan were tired and may be carrying more injuries than himself.
For Jak had been able to tell that the Armorer had been limping, the legacy of a long-ago injury thanks to a mutie flying squirrel that had taken a chunk from his leg. It had torn into the muscle of his calf, making it a weak spot that would always succumb first in rough conditions. As for Ryan, the one-eyed man had moved in a way to suggest that movement from the waist up—even from breathing—was painful. Jak suspected that their leader had cracked at least a couple of ribs, and the pain and stiffness would make him much more vulnerable than usual.
While Jak ghosted his way back to the clearing, Ryan and J.B. were both struggling.
As the Armorer collected wood he grit his teeth, his calf muscle feeling as if it were on fire. It had begun as a dull ache and had increased as they had carried Doc through the woods. So much so that he had felt himself begin to drag the leg as he walked, the calf stiffening and refusing to respond before a dull ache began to suffuse it. When they had stopped, instead of a cessation of pain, it had begun to grow in intensity to the point where it now felt as if a red-hot knife had been pushed vertically through it. Sweat spangled his forehead, running salt into his eyes as he continued with his task as quickly as he could manage. He, too, was in a hurry to get back to the safety of numbers and an established camp, being only too aware of the vulnerable state in which he found himself.
Ryan, on the other hand, couldn’t have hurried if he tried. Like the Armorer, he wanted to return to camp quickly, but the notion of rapid movement was, at the moment, quite alien. Every breath, every step, sent pains around his ribs and chest, shooting back and forth like snakes in long grass, never letting him know exactly where they would appear next. Bending to gather wood was an almost impossible task, and although he gathered some pieces, he soon gave up on that. It would be all he could do to get back to the others. Breathing as shallowly as possible to cut down on the pain of muscle movement around his ribs, he began to hobble back, taking small, quick steps to make as rapid a progress as possible with as little effort and pain.
Unlike Jak, both Ryan and J.B.—although keeping triple-red—were unaware of any presence around them, their own pain and difficulty misting their usually razor-sharp faculties.
It made the group relatively defenseless, especially as Mildred was still unconscious when Jak—the first back—reached the clearing.
“Me,” he said simply as he emerged from cover to join Krysty and Dean, dropping his load of firewood on the woodland floor. “Where others?”
“Not back yet,” Krysty replied.
Jak grimaced. “You notice?” he asked.
“Notice what?” Krysty countered.
“Ryan and J.B. both carrying injury—one leg, one ribs. Try to cover, carry on—but must hurt like fuck.”
Krysty trusted Jak’s judgment implicitly. It was typical of both men to try to work through their pain; but given the conditions under which the companions were trying to survive, it was better that Jak had made them aware of this. They would have to pull together more then ever.
Doc began to moan.
“He’s coming around,” Dean said, leaning over Doc as his eyes flickered open. They were unseeing, as though the old man was viewing a different world.
“Heavens to Betsy, is there no one who will rid me of this troublesome priest?” he asked in feeble tones. Then, surprising them, he shot bolt upright and spoke in loud, declamatory tones. “Are we not men? Do we seek to hide in the shadows and not to come into the open and declare ourselves? What is this that makes us skulk in the shadows? When they came, then came again, I said nothing. When they came for me, there was nobody left to save me. Oh, who will save the poor widow’s son? I do not wish to be split from breast to breast and have my entrails spilled across my shoulder, and yet…and yet…” As he repeated the phrase, his voice suddenly quietened and he sank back, eyes still open. “Oh my sweet Lord,” he continued softly, “what has happened to me?”
“It’d take too long to explain, Doc,” Krysty said softly, mopping his brow. “Just know that you’re pretty safe right now, and we’re about to build a fire and get warm. Do you remember being in the raft?”
“I think so,” he said gently, nodding with wide-eyed wonder like a child frightened of the dark and sensing a friendly hand in the blackness.
“Well, that was a rough ride, but we’re out of it now. Just got to dry off and get warm.”
Doc struggled up onto one elbow. “But the good Dr. Wyeth? What has happened to her? I know something must have, for she is always there when I am troubled in the soul and awaken from a nightmare.” He looked around, catching sight of the prone Mildred. “Is she…?”
“She’s alive, Doc, but unconscious,” Krysty answered, holding on to the hand with which he clung to her, tightly and as though his life were dependent upon it. “It’s important that we get this fire built.”
“What? Oh, yes, of course,” he said, suddenly snapping into reality and letting go her hand. “What must I do?”
“You stay there, Doc, while we do this,” Dean answered. “You’re still not a hundred percent and that was a hell of a trip. Just rest a moment.”
Doc nodded sagely. “You are a wise man, like your father, young master Cawdor.” He fell silent as he watched them.
The fire was soon built and Jak began to use a stick rubbed onto dry leaves in a channel cut into a larger branch by his knife. In the dark, the first sparks of fire and the smoldering of the leaves glowed dimly in the dark, brightening as Jak blew gently to fan the flame before transferring it to the pile they had constructed ready for burning.
As the fire took, all four of them suddenly became aware of the fact that J.B. and Ryan hadn’t yet appeared.
“Hot pipe, where are they?” Dean asked, a note of concern and worry creeping into his voice. “Mebbe we should try to search for them.”
Jak shook his head, his eyes like the embers in the center of the now-burning fire. “They not call for help, and not quick as usual. Wait for while. Light of fire guide them if they lose bearing.”
The albino youth was right. After a few tense minutes when no one dared to break the silence, first the Armorer and then the one-eyed man came into view. J.B. was limping heavily, and Ryan moved slowly, the pain of each step, each breath, showing on the lines etched on his face. The two men stopped and looked at each other as they entered the small clearing, wry grins appearing despite the pain.
“And I thought I had something to tell you,” J.B. said softly.
They made their way to the fire and settled uncomfortably.
“I’m going to see if there’s any painkillers in Mildred’s pockets,” Krysty said, rising to move over to the sodden jacket and rifling through the pockets to see what was left. To her surprise, many of the medical supplies were still within the capacious pockets, having stayed there despite the turbulence and immersion of the short voyage. As they were all vacuum-packed or shrink-wrapped to keep them sterile, it was only the outer coverings of the medical supplies that were wet. Some pills and dressings that had already been opened were ruined, but these were in the minority as Mildred had filled her pockets as much as possible before leaving the redoubt. Although the supplies she had carried in her satchel were forever lost, the supplies she’d stashed in her jacket pockets would do for the time being.
So Krysty was able to give J.B. and Ryan painkillers. She checked the Armorer’s calf, but there was no outward sign of injury. And as Ryan gritted his teeth and swore at the pain, she took a roll of sealed bandage, broke it open and began to bind his ribs. Like the one-eyed man himself, she and the rest of the group were only too well aware that he would be slowed up for some time, leaving him vulnerable. But at least his ribs would be secured as much as possible and they could begin to mend.
All the while Jak kept his attention divided between the group around the fire and the darkness beyond the clearing, trying to discern any movement and to identify the danger he knew was there.
“What is it?” Ryan asked simply.
Jak shook his head distractedly. “Dunno. Something, but good at keeping cover.”
Ryan sucked on his hollow tooth. “Okay, we’re not in any shape to go to it, so we have to let it come to us. I figure if nothing else, if it gets too close, at least Jak’ll be able to hear it coming, if not all of us. Stay triple-red. Meantime, we need to see what we can do about Mildred.”
The painkillers had begun to kick in and both Ryan and J.B. were able to move a little more freely without the harsh reminder of pain to bring their injuries to mind. The companions gathered around Mildred.
Krysty pulled back the doctor’s eyelid. The eyeball was still rolled back into her head, the pupil lost to view. She had no fever, and there was no cut anywhere on her head, just an egglike lump near the top of her skull, where she had hit the ocean with force. She was breathing regularly and easily now.
“Why won’t she come around?” J.B. asked of no one in particular.
“It is nothing more than a manifestation of concussion,” Doc said quietly. “There is nothing we can do, no matter how frustrating it may be, other than sit and wait.”
“Yeah, but how much time do we have?” Ryan countered.
Doc fixed him with a stare. “How much time does she need?”
“I don’t know,” Krysty said, “but I figure now is the time to risk something she once told me about—she’s been out too long.”
“What?” J.B. asked worriedly.
“Adrenaline. Just a little shot. It may just jolt her out of this.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Krysty shrugged. “We sit back and wait. Just the one shot, no more. That’s what she said.” Krysty opened Mildred’s shirt and pulled out one arm, the muscle still taut despite her state. The veins in the crook of her elbow stood out like a relief map.
Krysty wet her lips, dry with nerves. “Dean, look through Mildred’s pockets and try to find a shot of adrenaline. She must have some, otherwise she wouldn’t have told me about it or how to inject it. And let’s hope it wasn’t in her satchel.”
THE WARRIORS WERE SWIFT, silent and sure. This was their land and they knew every last inch of it. They picked their way across the foliage and roots in pitch black, using the darkness of their skins as extra camouflage. Their clothes were blacks, browns and muted shades of green, perfect camou for the woods in both light and dark. They carried their blasters across their backs and holstered, sure of themselves not to need them in hand at this time. The blasters were a motley collection of Glocks, Heckler & Kochs, and Colt handblasters that had been looted and garnered over the year before skydark by their ancestors, who had bargained and bartered for a stockpile of ammo that was still extant.
They didn’t often encounter outsiders on the island. It was a difficult place to get to or to get away from. So their community had been insular, aware of the outside and yet protected from it. Their ancestors had soon become wise to the problems of inbreeding, so the community was kept small, the breeding between them strictly monitored to keep any such problems to a minimum. It could be done if a people had discipline, and a cause.
They had such.
Yet despite the lack of outsiders to test them, they were a disciplined and slick community. Much of their meat was farmed, but some came from the wildlife on the island. And that wildlife was as likely to be predator as prey. The outsiders had been lucky to arrive on that stretch of beach at that time of day.
Perhaps not so lucky.
The warriors usually hunted with knives or bow and arrow. Rarely did they use the precious ammo, except in their practice, kept to a carefully worked minimum. They were sharp with both forms of chilling.
So when word had reached the ville that there were strangers landed on the south shore, the warriors had soon been ready and had tracked the strangers, keeping their distance.
The outsiders hadn’t spotted them, although the albino had seemed aware of something out of the ordinary. The others seemed to pose little threat. Two of them seemed hurt, two were either young or female and two were unconscious. One of these had since come around, but the other was a sister, and was still out.
Why did they have her? What could they want with her?
The strangers had moved away from the fire they had built and were clustering around her. The woman was leaning over the sister, tearing at her clothing. She had already handled her in a way that was undignified, and they talked of her in coarse terms—their whole language and mode of speech coarse.
Barbarians. They could only mean the sister harm.
They ripped her clothing, and now one of them—the young one with curly hair, not the older curly haired, one-eyed stranger—was rummaging through a jacket, looking for something. He produced a package, which he unwrapped to reveal a needle.
They were going to use it on the sister.
The warriors exchanged hand signals, their eyes attuned to the darkness by long nights on patrol. They moved around to circle the clearing, their progress swift and silent. At a signal from their leader, repeated rapidly from man to man, they moved forward, blasters ready.
“WAIT!” JAK BARKED, suddenly turning as Krysty was about to plunge the needle into Mildred.
“What?” she snapped, feeling her hair tighten as danger suddenly signaled itself near.
“Men closing,” Jak returned, palming another knife so that he had one in each hand. “All around.”
“Fireblast,” Ryan cursed as he moved stiffly. His reactions were slowed, but then, so were the reactions of the others.
Before any of them had a chance to adopt a fighting stance, they were surrounded by warriors who emerged stealthily from cover. They were holding blasters. One of them stepped forward. More than six feet, broad and muscular, and with an air of authority, he was obviously the leader. When he spoke, it was in a rich, dark voice of deep timbre that carried that authority like a prize in front of him.
“Though the night is dark it seems that your purpose is like the day. You will leave the sister alone and move away from her. Any of a wish to linger too long will be like the pig who lingers too long near the butcher’s knife, and so does not live a life for long. Be aware and learn, my friends.”
Chapter Four
“No choice, I guess…We’ll have to let them take us,” Ryan said with weary resignation, dropping his panga.
The other companions acknowledged that, moving away from Mildred slowly. J.B. dropped his Tekna, but Jak was able to palm his knives into the hidden recesses of his camou jacket, so that he kept himself well-armed. He did, however, lose a knife as the one given to Krysty was taken from her by the opposing force as they moved in, as was Dean’s bowie. The warrior who took Krysty’s knife also dashed the syringe from her hand, stamping on it so that the adrenaline leaked uselessly into the earth.
“That was a really stupe thing to do,” Krysty said with deceptive calm, straining to keep her temper. “I only wanted to help Mildred.”
“So the sister’s name is Mildred…unusual,” the warrior leader said with a raised eyebrow. “As to your other point, truly it is as the winds that blow the clouds before the storm. They seek to deceive and it is only the harsh experience of time that teaches otherwise.”
“Please yourself, but wrapping it up in fancy talk isn’t going to change the fact that she’s been unconscious for some time and she needs help,” Krysty hissed vehemently.
“Indeed, and you were seeking to aid her purely from the milk of kindness that runs like that of the dark fruits during the summers. It is unknown for those of your kind to help a brother or a sister. The reverse, if the texts of history are to be believed. Your purpose is swathed in mystery like the darkness that enfolds us now. But that is of no matter.” He gestured with the H&K that he held across his chest, barrel down but with flexing biceps revealing a readiness to raise and fire. He continued. “Now we go. You will carry the sister between you. That will keep your hands occupied and accord her the respect she deserves.”
Looking around at the warriors, all of whom had blasters poised, and taking stock of their lack of weapons and the depleted physical condition in which at least half the group found themselves in, Ryan saw no reason to revise his original opinion.
“Let’s do it,” he said simply. “We’re in no state to take them on, and at least Mildred might get some kind of medical attention.”
“But—” Krysty began before casting her eye at the surrounding group of dark-skinned warriors. “Yeah, mebbe you’re right. We can sort this out later,” she said finally.
Under the direction of the warrior leader, the companions made a makeshift stretcher from their outer clothing and Mildred’s discarded jacket. It served a dual purpose: not only did they have something on which to carry the still-unconscious woman, but the lack of covering in the chill night left them shivering and cold to the bone. Now they were in even less of a condition to offer resistance.
The warrior leader nodded his approval at their efforts, eyeing Jak in a curious manner. As the companions moved Mildred onto the stretcher, he reached out to stop the albino.
“Wait, my friend. Tell me, why do you allow yourself to be a part of these people—you have difference and should not allow them to rule you.”
Jak flashed him a red-eyed glare that bespoke of a wish to do far more than just reply verbally, whilst being all the while aware that he could not endanger his comrades by so doing.
“No one rules me—they’re friends.” He spit. “All of them,” he added significantly.
The warrior leader shrugged. “Truly, we live in interesting times when such things can occur. The lamb and the lion lay down together, it can only result in bloodshed like the seas that surround us. A perplexing problem, one I gladly leave to others. My only concern is to see that the sister Mildred is attended to without further delay. Now move,” he added, gesturing with the H&K.
Jak returned to his comrades and they lifted Mildred. With an indication from the leader, they followed part of the warrior pack into the darkness of the woods, keeping close to see where their captors led them. The remainder of the pack followed. The companions knew that any attempt to break into the cover of the woods would be futile. Their blasters—useless though they were at that moment—were in the custody of the opposition. Any attempt to use the darkened woods as cover would mean leaving Mildred behind. Added to this, half of their group was in no state to make a break and the warriors knew the woodlands inside out where the companions would be moving blind. The familiarity of the warriors with the terrain was born out by the fact that the group in front of them moved through the densely packed terrain with a surefootedness that made it hard for the companions, made clumsy by the unconscious Mildred strung between them, to even follow, let alone think about escape. Besides which, they knew that the warriors had their blasters ready to punish any deviation from the route set by those in front.
The trek through the woods seemed to take forever. There was no light by which to see the path or to take landmarks by which to judge the passing of time and distance. There was only the painful stumble through the pitch-black to a destination that was, as yet, unknown to them. For Ryan and J.B. the trip was made less painful thanks to the narcotic effects of the painkillers they had taken earlier, yet still the long journey would be marked by a gradual return of the pain that cursed them earlier. And for Doc, the disorientation of such a journey in the darkness wasn’t helping him to retain the delicate hold on reality that he had attained since recovering consciousness.
In truth, it was only Dean, Jak and Krysty who were able to try to assess what was occurring around them and to try to work out where they were being taken. They had neither pain nor disorientation to fog their ability to analyze the situation. This much was clear—they had to be traveling into the island, as they had walked a greater distance from the clearing than that which they had traversed from the shore to reach their campsite. And, despite the amount of time it seemed to take, they hadn’t covered that great a distance. From their estimates earlier in the day, they knew that the island was no more than a few square miles in total. So it seemed that they weren’t traveling straight, which course may have been dictated by the growth of the woodland.
It had also been an uneventful march, which suggested that the wildlife to which the warrior leader had alluded was either in another part of the island or knew well enough by instinct to avoid the group of warriors as it made its way through the terrain.
“Is that light ahead, or is it dawn?” Krysty asked softly as a glow of illumination appeared ahead of them.
