The Bone Roses
Page 24
I shudder.
The somber violin continues to fill this corridor with its sorrowful whine. We only get a few steps beyond Henny’s tent when stronger lantern light floods the snow like one of those alarm beams Fort Angelus kept to signal intruders if you broke into the medical supply buildings.
I crouch down. Colton eyes me as if doubting my skills. My hand rises for silence and I slink to the light’s fringe and try for a look at what I’m up against.
He stands with his back to us, eyes closed, a strange, elaborate mahogany violin rests under his chin, held up by his left hand. A thin bow drags across its taut strings, producing the sound at the expert command of his right. His blond hair spills down his spine and he almost looks gentle in a way.
He’s still extremely dangerous though.
Xanthos stands nearby, his beautiful black neck arched, ears pricked forward. The stallion listens to the soulful, unspoken words drifting through the open-faced tent and for once, he looks peaceful like the young man playing the instrument.
It’s hard to believe the same hands crafting such sad and haunting beauty steal souls for the devil. I try not to let Henny’s words about his possible innocence too far into my soul. His rifle fits the only weapon with range enough to kill Matthew from that distance.
Too risky. I force myself to look away. The living come first. Sticking to the shadows, I prowl away from his tent and head to the right. My boots sink into unbroken snow as close to the tents as possible, almost completely muffling each retreating footstep.
Colton mimics the motion with a grin. Must’ve snuck out or into places before himself. Good—this could be to my advantage if he keeps playing along.
The tents seem to bow in a distinct arc, forming the thick, dark rings in the camp’s bulls-eye-like design. I make a mental note of it and keep moving.
Up ahead, a dark shape takes form in the dim lantern light. I freeze, one hand hovering less than an inch from a tent’s thick canvas, the other commanding Colton to halt.
He cranes his neck for a better look.
I squint and try to figure out what it is. Not moving. That doesn’t mean it needs to move to be threatening. Drawing slow breaths, I listen for signs of human activity.
The sound of heavy boots crunching through the snow, coupled with their jostling carbines reaches my ears.
Keeping to the generous shadows I advance toward the dark shape. Its thick, blocky hull barricades the entire “street” while canvas ripples in the wind. The wheel rims are packed with snow that the chains covering its tires drudged up. A supply truck . . . just my luck today.
K. C. soldiers scurry throughout the street, moving wooden crates from one tent to the truck’s bed. The wood is branded with the embellished running hare emblem. Two soldiers stand on the truck, hefting each crate up and stacking it so they can get as much as they possibly can onboard.
That’s not good for us. Ammunition likely. Lots of it too.
Another K. C. plops down a crate. A soldier emerges from the tent and waves his hand to the ones by the truck that they have what they need. One hops down and slams the tailgate shut, faceless helmet nodding to his comrade.
He hurries to the truck’s side door and climbs in. The engine sputters and turns over. A deep, brassy roar fills the street. Soldiers move from its path as the headlights flare to life and the front wheels turn.
My pulse quickens, lungs drawing in the crisp morning air. I bolt toward the truck from the right-hand side’s shadows and grab the tailgate. Slamming my feet against the trampled ground, I propel myself up and over the metal barrier.
“What the hell?” A soldier turns as I roll onto the wooden floor and swing my fist at him. He falls too fast to shout for help.
Colton lands on the floorboards beside me. He gives me a thumbs-up and ducks down. Looks like he’s at least helping with the escape—for now. God only knows if he can be trusted but right now I don’t have much choice.
The supply truck crunches over an icy road. Kingdom Corps crowd both sides. Each carbine glints under the hostile lantern light as their owners look onward in anticipation.
I’ve never seen so many of them in one place before. Not even Rondo had this many when Henny invaded and those streets were full of them. You can’t even see the tent poles they’re so close together.
The supply truck slows a short distance into its journey.
I crawl over the limp soldier and pry a small piece of heavy canvas back to see what’s out front. Looks like a convoy up ahead.
Colton joins me, green eyes studying every soldier rallying for what appears to be morning inspections from their superiors and awaiting finalized orders from Henny.
The truck turns right and the street straightens.
A cold knot forms in my stomach. The bulls-eye’s center, where those terrifying catapults stood yesterday is little more than a thick river flooded with mobilizing, faceless helmets.
Machines like that don’t just up and vanish. With the thick treads, or what I glimpsed yesterday, they might be able to make it over the snowy ridges.
“What are you doing?” Colton grabs my elbow as I rifle through my satchel for the hunting knife.
“Investing in some life insurance.” I tie the scabbard to my woven rawhide belt and unsheathe the knife.
He cocks an eyebrow as if I didn’t even notice I have a rifle and he’s got a crossbow. Trust me, I noticed, but that won’t do me any good if those soldiers swarm.
The truck backfires and grinds to a crawl.
I reach out and steady myself. Just the truck slowing. Probably bottlenecked at a gate or something.
The crawling slows to a complete halt.
I tighten my grip on the knife handle as the first snarls and barks reach my ears.
Dog. Anything but a dog. Struggling to fight back terror, I lift the canvas only enough to glimpse a huge black wolf dog, teeth exposed and froth coating his wrinkled snout heading in our direction with a K. C. soldier holding its heavy chain in hand.
Chapter Forty
“Now or never, Frost Flea.” Colton’s eyes narrow.
“Are you crazy? I can’t outrun a dog.”
“Do you want to see your family again or not?”
I work the blade’s handle under my unsteady fingers. Cold sweat dampens the back of my neck. I bite my lip, nostrils flaring as the beast heads straight for this truck.
Soldiers move into position. The wolf dog storms past them. The soldier jerks the chain taut but the wolf dog drags him along for the ride. Its ears flatten against its skull, froth on its muzzle.
Colton eyes the approaching animal. “You’re thirty feet from the gate,” he whispers and brushes both hands together as if clacking two flint pieces to get a spark. “Straight shot to Rondo if you clear it.”
There’s no way . . .
He reaches a hand out, lightly touching my shoulder, a gentle yet confident look in his eyes that offers a fragile sense of reassurance. “It’ll be all right, Frost Flea, and I’ll be right behind you, promise. I don’t like this option any more than you do right now, but I believe you can make it out of here and back to Rondo. So let’s do this.”
Right behind me . . . I grip the knife and watch the dog slam its heavy paws into the snow. He stretches out as the truck pulls off the road. With a nod to Colton, I mentally choose my path. One shot at this. God willing, it’ll work.
Feral terror burns through my entire being. I reach for the canvas, bend my knees, and send up a prayer for protection. The dog gathers himself and leaps for the truck.
The canvas rips outward as the dog’s dagger teeth snap at empty air, inches from the fringes on my pant legs. My hands tremble, holding tightly to the material. Both legs swing wide up and over him. I release the canvas mid-jump, twisting around and catching a horizontal tent pole. The hunting knife stabs the snow and deep into canvas.
Everything shakes. Snow pours over me as I swing my legs back and pull with my arms, the momentum carrying me
upward to the tent’s steep A-frame.
I clear the bar and crash onto the sagging canvas roof. Sharp breaths burn my lungs. God I’m out of practice. The tent wobbles under the added weight.
Don’t collapse. Just don’t collapse. I don’t weigh much at all but these things are already strained as it is.
A bullet shoots up through the snow where my hand almost plants for a better stance. Soldiers rush the tent from below.
“Wait.” Colton shouts from behind the supply truck and brandishes his crossbow. “Don’t shoot. We need her alive.”
More soldiers flock in all directions. The tent’s canvas shreds and sinks under me as the tent crew opens fire.
My legs churn through the shifting snow, fighting for balance. I eye the next tent row and the razor-wire fence behind it, looking for the easiest route.
No way in Hell . . .
Oh yes way, the rustler in me urges as snow-covered sanctuary beckons three tents down this row where a supply truck sits trapped by the unfolding chaos.
Both knees quiver against the canvas in a tiring fight to keep both feet from being sucked down with the collapsing roof. The unstable surface trembles and shifts underfoot. I claw back to the center where the metal frame sways and manage to get a foot on each side’s secondary support beams.
Violent barking overpowers the shouting soldiers and uncontrolled gunfire. Snow fountains up, each bullet way too close as I make my way across the tents like walking a frozen tightrope.
The wolf dog bolts on the ground, taking out soldiers with his brute form as he runs alongside the tent. Damn. He’s fast. I force myself to move, eyeing the trapped supply truck. If I hit it just right, I can get to the other side and then the fence.
I swing the knife out for balance and leap.
Cold air rushes around me in a timbre of bullets as my boots strike the supply truck’s roof hard, sending shockwaves of pain through both knees.
The wolf dog plants all four legs onto the supply truck’s hood, jaws agape, leaping for me. He hits the metal and slides, reeling back and snapping at the fringes on my pant legs as I spring for second set of tents.
Both legs falter, and I reach my gloved hands up and grab wildly for anything to help me get completely onto the tents. My heels strike a helmet as a soldier grabs for my legs. I stab the knife down in a desperate effort to gain some leverage. The canvas tears; the blade finding leverage behind a horizontal support pole.
Come on. I struggle to haul myself up, but before I can, the left front pole caves, taking me with it.
Burning pain shoots up both arms and I drive a knee into the collapsing canvas for leverage as it hits the ground and throws me into the snow. The K. C. swarms the supply truck.
Not good. I roll under it, trying to keep the Damascus across my back from being caught in the undercarriage of the truck. The wolf dog snaps and digs into the snow, its foul breath flooding my nostrils. My hands shift the snow around in an attempt to form a barrier against him, crawling like hell for the closest tent. The truck’s wheels spin, chains rattling as the soldiers struggle to grab me.
I make for the nearest tent, taking hold of the heavy canvas and pulling with everything I have. The nails give, landing in the snow and allowing a small break for me to sneak through. I roll into the tent and scurry to my feet.
A soldier looks up, faceless eyes meeting my blue ones. His carbine falls with him as I lunge by, fleeing back toward the prison area. No sign of Colton. No signs of escape.
“What in the hell is going on here?” Henny’s voice carries over the chaos. I press my back to a tent and watch the soldiers flooding the street, headed for me.
Which way do I go? I watch Henny riding in this direction astride his beautiful stallion.
Stallion. My eyes focus on the animal and the saddle where the young blond man stands, rifle in one hand and reins in the other. God have mercy on my soul.
I run at him, throwing both hands up in the air and wielding the hunting knife. The stallion’s front hooves slam into the snow, its nose going straight up with a shrill squeal. In a flurry of raven mane and spooked horseflesh, the mighty animal shies.
Henny doesn’t have time to react as the stallion leaps out from under him. I reach up, giving him a good shove. The animal goes one way and his saddle slips, sending him the other. He lands in the snow, his Damascus torn from his hands.
Before he can shout for reinforcements I vault into the saddle and grab the reins. Xanthos leaps into a canter, slamming me against the saddle as I struggle to stay balanced. Soldiers hold their rifles ready, prepared to shoot but Henny’s frantic shouts prevent a barrage of bullets.
I eye the wolf dog headed straight for me and the gate thirty yards beyond it.
The powerful horse, stronger than even Tamblin, shifts under me, waiting to be put to good use. I flick the reins and stretch out across his sturdy neck. A soldier goes down, the stallion leaping over another and barreling with flared nostrils over the frantic soldiers trying to grab me and stop the horse. One grabs my leg. I pull the reins back and slam both heels into the stallion’s side. He goes up on his hindquarters and paws the air with mighty feathered hooves. Several soldiers fall to his wrath.
“Xanthos! Whoa!” Behind us, Henny shouts and frantically whistles. I see the stallion’s ears twitch as if listening.
“Oh no you don’t.” I drive my heels into the commandeered animal’s sides again, steering him into the street and around the supply truck convoy in a strong canter. The wolf dog snaps at Xanthos’s hooves and falls with a yelp. I look back as soldiers shout and dive out of the horse’s path. The wolf dog lies motionless in the street.
The gates shift and crack, soldiers struggling to move the ice-crusted gates closed and fence us in. I urge Xanthos onward, feeling the powerful horse respond and lean forward.
He gathers himself and soars over two soldiers, striking the snow with a graceful bounce and carrying me away from the camp at full gallop.
Chapter Forty-One
The Northern Territory’s frigid air sears my lungs. I clutch my buckskin jacket in desperate hope it will at least make the pain and fear go away as the horse canters through the snow.
A wild, shrill whinny pierces the air. The stallion’s hindquarters dip under me and he spins on his haunches. The saddle slips at the abrupt halt. Before I can grab for his mane and urge him onward, he twists and whinnies into the darkness.
Cold, snowy earth catches me and I barely manage to roll out from under his hooves as he turns and gallops back the way we came as if figuring out that I’m not his rightful master. I don’t chase him, and press on for Rondo alone.
If the haunting, battery-powered glow washing across the valley catches up I really will be done for. Hundreds. Thousands of them organizing and blanketing the area.
The forest is dark and uninviting. It’s early, judging by the light spilling in from the east as it highlights the gray oaks and imposing tire tracks that carve up quite a bit of open land before turning along the old Kingdom roads. Those machines are moving on Rondo and more of them are probably preparing to flank us out by Addison’s farm.
God willing, the markings I put on those trees will buy us enough time. I’d give anything for the deer trails that begin where the Kingdom roads stop to be drifted shut and cluttered with fallen trees too.
Thick snow weighs my legs down with each tired step. I wade uphill until a fallen oak blocks the invisible deer trails and hook an arm over it, exhaustion threatening to make this the last place I ever see. It feels like an entire territory since Henny’s base. It’s only been a few miles. Lousy stallion. Couldn’t even get me back to Rondo before betraying me.
The satchel’s strap bites into my shoulder and feels a hundred pounds heavier than I remember. Been a long time since the Kingdom roughed me up this good.
The sound of footsteps struggling through the snow catches my attention and sends every instinct into overdrive. Labored breathing weaves around the oaks.
Something wooden shifts as leather flaps against someone’s hip. I press my back to the fallen log. The blade sweeps back through the air and halts at his throat.
“Unholy hell I need to teach you the word ‘hello’ sometime.” Colton holds a hand up and swings the crossbow over his shoulder. “Put it down. I’m here to help.”
“Thought you were one of the one’s wanting to shoot me.” I look up at him and draw the knife back. He caught up fast but I’d be lying if I wasn’t happy to see him. “Why are you really helping me?”
His eyes widen in the limited morning light.
“An honorable, slightly insane, rustler-warrior once showed the same mercy to me.” He pants and looks over his shoulder into the retreating darkness. “And I thought I’d return the favor. Stealing a horse—nice touch.”
Warrior . . . A smile twitches across my lips. Has a nice ring to it even if I’m really only a rustler who just wants to save my family.
“Lousy animal bailed on me. What about Henny?”
“On his way to officially purify Rondo. You better hurry if you want any chance.” Colton’s hand intertwines with mine. He drags me away from the fallen tree and points ahead to open ground destroyed by the Kingdom. “Lead the way, Frost Flea. Let’s get your family out of here.”
“And where in the hell do you think we’re going to go?” Dirt piles high around uprooted trees, most of the forest leveled by Kingdom machinery. At the center rises the chain-link fence, crowned in shiny new razor wire, stretching in both directions, harboring a sinister hum of electricity.
“Not my problem,” he says. “But figure something out. You’re the rustler.”
We break from the forest and into the mutilated no man’s land of the gully. Where to go? Where can we go?