by Socha, Walt
Brent urged Flicker forward until she started to lose her footing. Then he threw his rope. “Alita. Catch.”
She pulled Joe deeper and, grabbing the rope with one hand, twisted it once around him. “Pull.”
Brent headed Flicker back toward shore, passing Larry on Mojo in ankle keep water. Larry reached down and, one handed, lifted a bleeding Joe onto Mojo. Abandoning the rope, Brent swung a dripping and muddy Alita up behind him and glanced back at the islands. The white clay warriors had disappeared.
Once on shore, they urged the horses into a trot. In a minute, they passed Tanuhu and Niminu, both waving their bows in the air. As they broke from the trail into the clearing, Kristi’s voice cut through the air. “Canoes in the river.”
Around the east end of Bird Island canoes appeared, a continuous line of them, filled with warriors decorated with white clay. Their chants echoed over the water.
“Wait until they’re close,” Larry bellowed as he brought Mojo to a stop. “Take out the Skullmen first.”
Nikaku appeared as Brent dismounted and both helped lower Joe onto the ground with Alita hovering beside them. Kristi slipped between them and pressed a wad of gauze against the gash on the side of Joe’s head. “Alita, press here,” she said. “Don’t release pressure.” Kristi peered into Joe’s eyes. “Good.” She wound a bandage around Joe’s head, tucking in the end. “It’ll have to do for now. Try standing.” Kristi tucked the rest of the gauze into her shoulder bag.
Joe blinked and struggled to get to his feet.
“Kristi, get Alita into my jacket. She’s shivering.” Brent removed his jacket. “I’ll help Joe get into his own clothes.” As Brent helped Joe back into his jeans and shirt, Kristi helped Alita replace her dripping mud-covered shirt with Brent’s jacket. Brent told Joe briefly about the return of the guns. He nodded, his expression clear now.
Hopefully, he’d be okay to shoot. They needed his aim. “Kristi, help Alita get Joe to his position,” Brent said.
Kristi nodded and, with Alita’s help, guided Joe toward his barrier.
Brent turned in place. Nearby, Larry sat on Mojo scanning the river, his eyes half hidden behind his helmet. A few feet away and further up the bank, Potts stood, rifle in hand, his own eyes flicking from the downriver trail to the upriver one.
“Aim for the warriors with the most white clay first,” Larry repeated. “Brent, here’s another box of shells. Kristi, best get back to your position.”
Brent reached for the box and faced Alita. “Alita, still got that 22?”
She looked over her shoulder from Joe’s barrier and nodded, slapping her holster.
“Keep it,” Brent said. “Blow out any water that’s in it when you load. Nikaku, give her the 22 shells. Then get back to…” He reconsidered the positions of the blinds.
Kristi was fully armed now. “Best you stay with me at the center barrier. You can cover all of us better. Larry, got a weapon for Joe?”
Larry nudged Mojo toward Joe’s barrier, lifting the last rifle’s strap from around his pommel. “Here, I won’t need it. I got one of Samatu’s revolvers.”
“Thanks,” Joe said. “Shells?”
As Larry dug another box from his bag, Brent led Flicker to his barrier, donned his leather tunic, and checked his rifle. In the river, the lead warriors had passed the halfway point.
“Come on, motherfuckers!” Larry’s voice rang out over the war cries of Tork’s men.
Chapter 58. Day 203 - September 25
Potts could hear Larry calling for everyone to target the Skullmen. How the hell could he tell who they were? Eight. Nine. Oh shit. Twelve or thirteen canoes swept around the downstream side of the island. As they approached, the answer became obvious. Each canoe held about ten warriors, two of which wore white clay that covered most of their faces. The clear regions around the eyes and mouth gave them a skull-like appearance. The others only had two slashes of white on their cheeks.
Two of the canoes veered east, probably to land downriver, releasing their warriors to work their way overland. One turned west. The remaining canoes powered directly toward the clearing.
Potts glanced toward his station. Hatimu waved, palm up, signaling that no one was in sight. He nudged Osker toward his station.
“No one on the downriver trail,” Hatimu said, his face blank.
“I will join Kristi until warriors attack from that direction. Are you ready?”
“What do people in the Far Land do when facing death?”
Potts grinned. “We deny it.” He glanced toward the oncoming canoes. “But maybe today, I will greet it.”
Hatimu gave Potts a long look before he returned the grin. “I am happy to greet death with you.” Hatimu faced the east road once more. “I will watch. And signal with the whistle if any warriors appear. Help the Sky Goddess.”
Potts trotted Osker to Kristi’s barrier. “I’ll join you here until Hatimu sees something.”
Kristi nodded, finished loading, and chambered a cartridge.
Potts dismounted and tied Osker next to Sweetpea. He returned to the barrier and sighted down the rifle. His pulse thumped in his ears. What was a burned out cook, a wannabe Buddhist, doing in a war?
He tried to keep the sights on a white face, but the distance was still too great and his hands shook.
At 100 yards, he started to make out individual faces. At 50 yards, the Skullman at the end of Potts’s sight opened his mouth. Potts pulled the trigger.
It didn’t move.
Potts froze. Was the rifle damaged? Should he run? He looked at the weapon in his hands. The safety was on. Sweating, he flipped the slide forward, rested the rifle on the barrier and sighted. He found his Skullman. He pulled the trigger, felt the kick. Looked up. He’d missed. No, one of the two-slash warriors had crumpled into the canoe behind the two Skullmen. His breakfast threaten to escape. He’d never before shot a human.
He levered in another round. Found his Skullman.
Pulled. Missed.
The men in the canoe shoved a body out of the canoe. The two Skullmen shouted at the remaining seven warriors, and the canoe leaped forward.
Potts wiped his right hand on his jeans, willing it to stop shaking. The canoe was 40 yards away. He could hear the cries of the warriors. The crack of gunshots.
He again sighted along the barrel, found a while clay skull in the lead canoe. Fired. The warrior staggered and fell back into the lead rower. The canoe slowed as the paddlers hesitated.
At his side, Kristi’s gun fired. Then again. Out in the water, the wounded Skullman slumped against the canoe’s prow while the other gestured at the two slash warriors. They leaned into their paddles.
Four whistles rent the air. Then drums. Haven was being attacked. Potts dared a glance over his shoulder to see Brent leap on Flicker and galloped toward Haven, leaving Nikaku with only a bow behind the center barrier. Over the screams and gunshots of battle, three sharp whistles sounded. Potts turned and saw Hatimu waving.
They were being flanked.
He glanced around the clearing. The others were oblivious to Hatimu’s warning. He could just see Larry and Mojo thundering down the river trail past Tanuhu and Niminu toward a distant group of approaching white clay warriors.
Potts brought his whistle to his lips and blew three times. “Kristi, I’m back to Hatimu.” He slung the rifle over his shoulders and hesitated next to Osker. Quicker to run. He untied the reins, slapped her rump, and ran. As he approached Hatimu’s position, he could see charging warriors no more than a hundred yards away.
Probably came ashore beyond the end of the downed tree barrier. Maybe they’d previously scouted it out?
“I’m here,” Potts said to Hatimu as he reached his friend and slid in behind the barrier, bringing up his rifle. A screaming face came into focus at the end of the barrel. He fired. Levered. Fired.
“Look out,” Hatimu shouted.
He looked up. Hatimu was drawing back an arrow, aiming to his right. He let it
fly as a war club hit him in the chest.
Beyond Hatimu, warriors climbed through the intertwined branches of the downed trees that lined this section of the trail. Potts swung his rifle around and fired. A warrior staggered. At his feet, Hatimu choked out a breath.
He levered and fired. Again. Click. When he lowered his rifle, three warriors lay, twisted among the branches.
War cries turned his head. From down the trail, a dozen or so warriors charged, mere yards away.
“Dammit.” Potts rose, blew his whistle, and fed a cartridge into the rifle; no time for more. Time slowed as he levered the shell into the rifle and brought it to his shoulder. He breathed in and concentrated as he breathed out. Felt the sun on his skin and smelled the rich scent of disturbed soil under his feet. He hoped Osker and Zoey would be okay.
He fired.
><><
Joe leaned against the log barrier, feeding cartridges into his rifle. There were too many. He felt Alita’s presence at his side firing the Ruger. He should have thought to send her back to the fort to lead the children away.
Joe risked a glance as he inserted the eighth round. In the middle of the clearing, Brent knelt next to his barrier, rifle at his shoulders, Flicker dancing in agitation beside him, her heavy leather armor flapping. On the other side of Brent’s barrier, Nikaku knelt, firing arrow after arrow.
Beyond Brent, Kristi and Potts stood, firing over their own barrier.
Four blasts of a whistle cut through the air. Followed by four drum beats. Haven’s fort was under attack.
“Brent,” Joe screamed. In his peripheral vision, he caught a blur of motion as Brent mounted Flicker and raced away from the river and toward Haven. He risked another glance but Larry wasn’t in sight.
Empty canoes dotted the shore, the swarm of warriors now halfway up the short bank, some throwing atlatl darts. Three whistles cut through the screams of warriors and the sharp reports of the rifles. Joe glanced left. Potts was running toward Hatimu at the far end of the clearing.
Beyond, he could make out a mass of warriors on the path running in their direction.
The snap of Alita’s Ruger turned Joe’s attention back to the river. He levered and fired at the mass of warriors charging up the bank.
A long drawn out whistle sounded over the screams and gunshots. A fleeting glance revealed Potts falling under swinging clubs.
><><
Kristi froze. The fort was under attack, Potts was down, and the warriors on the trail were closing in. She glanced toward the river; most of the attackers were heading toward the center blind where Nikaku held his position alone.
She turned back toward the river trail; she could only cover her position. Kristi raised the rifle to her shoulder, and sighted. Fired. Her hands moved in a lethal rhythm, levering and firing.
She wouldn’t be taken again.
Click. No time to reload. She dropped the rifle and pulled out the revolver. Faces outlined in white clay filled her vision.
Chapter 59. Day 203 - September 25
Fear boiled in Brent’s mind as he kicked Flicker into a gallop, slipping the empty Winchester into its sheath. They didn’t slow as they passed Daru holding spare mounts, but a passing glance showed Brent the boy’s fear and confusion.
In seconds they passed the turnoff to the tower and flew over Salamander Creek and into Haven. Breaking out of the trees along the creek, Brent saw two club wielding Skullmen being hoisted onto the forts walls by several two-slash warriors. Another group of warriors hacked at the gate’s leather hinges with knives.
Brent nudged Flicker directly at the warriors as he drew his revolver.
As the Skullmen swung their legs across the spiked tips of the upright logs forming the walls, Flicker’s hoof- beats alerted them to Brent’s presence. The warriors on the ground turned to face Brent.
He fired. One of the Skullmen on the wall fell backwards into the fort. The other jumped, jerking in mid-air as Brent’s second shot connected.
Brent nudged Flicker to the right as he continued firing at the rushing warriors. As Flicker circled around the fire circle and kitchen shelter, Brent holstered the empty revolver and started feeding cartridges into the Winchester.
A dart flashed through the edge of his vision and Flicker jerked then reared, screaming. Brent kicked his boots out of the stirrups and slipped off. He hit the ground and rolled, rifle cradled in his arms, a few shells spilling from his pockets.
He rose, slipped two more cartridges into the rifle’s loading gate and lifted it to his shoulder. A half-dozen warriors filled his vision beyond Flicker’s thrashing body. He fired. Dodged a spear. Fired again and again.
A spear brushed his leg as he stepped. He tripped. He hit the ground and rolled to face the warriors who were now just a few yards away with raised clubs. He fired three more times.
A horse filled his vision. “Behind you.” The horse danced as Daru let fly an arrow.
Brent turned. From behind one of the huts, two warriors appeared, holding spear throwers, arms cocked back. Brent fired as they threw. One of the warriors lurched as something slammed into Brent’s right thigh. He dropped to his left side, twisting to keep the rifle clear. Fired. An intense heat began to spread through his leg, pulsing in time to his heartbeat. The second warrior collapsed.
Brent fought to clear his vision as he fumbled more cartridges into his rifle. A few strides away, Daru shot arrow after arrow into the prone bodies as his horse performed an agitated ballet. Two bodies twitched in response. In front of the fort’s open gate, Sesapa pulled a sword out of the body of one of the warriors. At her side, Ganu stood, arrow fitted to his bow; the eleven-year-old’s face was a mask of terror, but his hands were steady as he searched for targets. Beyond him, a screaming Canisa repeatedly smashed the head of each fallen warrior with one of their clubs.
Zoey’s frantic barking cut through the shouts and cries.
To the left of Sesapa, Flicker screamed as she struggled to get to her feet, two darts protruding from her belly. Bloody froth dribbled from her mouth.
Brent pulled the trigger and Flicker collapsed into silence.
“Sesapa,” Daru screamed over his shoulder as he dismounted at Brent’s side. “You must go back,” he said to Brent, voice trembling. “Hold your leg.”
With tears blurring his vision, Brent squeezed his thigh with both hands as Daru, with Sesapa’s help, jerked out the dart. Brent screamed in spite of himself. Blood spurted, pulsed, and then the flow slowed. No artery was cut. Damn. He might live yet.
Sesapa unsheathed a knife and cut off the lower strip of her leather skirt.
As she wrapped his thigh tightly, Brent fed cartridges into the rifle with trembling fingers.
Daru held out the reins of his horse. “They are still fighting.” Shots and screams echoed from the river.
Chapter 60. Day 203 - September 25
The wall of warriors closed, yards away. Joe pulled the trigger. Click. He dropped the rifle and lifted the bow. Fitted an arrow. Drew and let it fly at a wall of faces.
A flash of steel as Mojo crashed through the line and disappeared.
Joe loosed another arrow. The Ruger spat. The line broke, the surviving warriors running toward the river.
><><
Kristi fired. A face outlined in white jerked in pain. Click. Two raised clubs filled her vision as her hand reached for her bow.
A body crashed into the two warriors, and they rolled to the ground in front of her. A third white clay warrior appeared and lifted his club. And screamed as a swinging sword severed his arm. The sword slashed twice more at the warriors at Kristi’s feet. Mojo’s kicking hooves stirred the air in front of her then disappeared.
Silence.
At her feet, Nikaku rose to his feet, his left hand squeezed around a long gash in his right arm, his dangling right hand holding a dripping knife. Around him, three warriors lay unmoving.
At the east end of the clearing, maybe fifty yards away, a half-dozen warriors stoo
d, eyes staring from sweating white slashed faces. Behind them, spread out along the trail, lay bodies twisted in death. Two were Potts and Hatimu, their heads misshaped and no longer bleeding. On the riverbank, only three warriors still stood. Faces only wearing two white slashes. Behind them, a dozen warriors frantically pushed canoes back into deeper water.
Bodies littered the gravel shoreline.
Silence continued for several more heartbeats. “Hold off.” Joe’s voice carried over the quiet murmuring of the river. “They’re sick.”
“Skullmen?” Larry voice strained with emotion.
Kristi glanced along the bank. Larry and Mojo now stood in front of Joe and Alita. Larry held a dripping sword in his left hand, ax in his right.
“Execute.” Joe’s voice sounded dull, weary with pain. Kristi looked down the bank. Only faces with two slashes returned her gaze. No, one Skullman crawled toward the shore, blood pulsing from a shoulder wound.
Her heart skipped a beat. It was Nist. Kristi took a step forward.
“Don’t.” Larry’s voice sounded far away.
She walked down the bank, feeding shells into the revolver’s cylinder as she stepped around and over twisted bodies. The remaining warriors backed up, leaving a growing void around her.
Mojo’s hoofbeats sounded behind her.
When she was five paces from Nist, she raised the gun and blew a hole in his other shoulder. He collapsed into the river, and then crabbed his way back to the shore with his legs. Raising his head, he looked up at Kristi. His pain-contorted face filled her vision. Background sounds dimmed.
“You are with child.” His harsh voice twisted in pain and rage. “Tork’s manhood is empty. It is my child you carry. My gift to you.”
Kristi stared, and resisted the impulse to rub her exposed abdomen, the stretched skin cooled by the slight breeze flowing over the water. This was the father? No child should have such a man as a father. No child of hers would.
Kristi looked down. Nist’s head was bowed in pain, his movements slow and jerky. Hate faded, replaced by a cold clinical evaluation of her child’s future. She walked closer and stopped at the edge of the red water. She fired again, and the front of Nist’s lowered head exploded into a spray of brain and bone. One less risk to her child’s future. Kristi straightened as a terrible tension dissipated.
