by James Axler
Crouching in front of him, she could see by his blank eyes that he had already bought the farm, his life spilt onto the ground from a wound in his throat. His throat had been expertly sliced, right through cartilage and artery to the vertebrae, which showed through as Mildred tilted the head. His lifeblood had been pumped through the gaping wound in less time that it took them to locate and run to the sound of his scream.
It was then that the weapon caught Mildred’s eye—a leaf-bladed throwing knife had been embedded in the tree to one side of the corpse’s head.
Jak? It couldn’t be. But the knife…Mildred’s head whirled.
“Stay there and don’t move,” Markos’s voice commanded. Mildred turned sharply to see who had arrived on the scene. It was Ryan and Jak, with Elias close behind. Markos narrowed his eyes. “You’re here quickly,” he said with suspicion. “You don’t work near here.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Elias panted. “We heard the scream and are just the quickest.” He turned his attention. “The brother?”
Mildred shook her head. “No way. Sliced clean through.”
“I see no ax. The murderer must still have—” Markos began.
Mildred cut him short with a curt shake of the head. “This was no ax. Far too clean. Besides…” She pulled the leaf-bladed knife from the tree and held it out. She looked cold and hard into Jak’s eyes as she revealed the weapon. The albino returned her gaze with an equal iciness. Was he masking guilt or expressing disgust at the implied suggestion of her action? Mildred couldn’t tell.
“I have seen no workmanship of this kind here,” Markos said softly, taking the knife and examining it carefully. He kept his voice low as the clearing was now ringed by several workers from nearby, including the rest of the companions and some Pilatans who had responded to the cry of agony.
“You wouldn’t,” Mildred replied in the same soft tone as the sec boss. Markos followed her eyes and fixed his gaze on Jak.
“Now just wait a minute, Mildred,” Ryan said in a level voice. “Think about this.”
“No need think,” Jak said. “Lost two, three knives when we were taken. One of those.”
Markos raised an eyebrow. “And someone found it in the undergrowth on the other side of the island and brought it over here to do this?” he intoned sardonically.
Jak looked around him, aware of the sudden swell of voices. The Pilatans—not best disposed to the companions in any case—had turned hostile in a matter of moments. The other companions moved close around Jak, their body language subtly changing as they tensed for an attack.
“Wait!” Elias stepped into the clearing, turning to look at the gathered islanders. He turned back to Markos and Mildred, a look of contempt clouding his visage. “You really would condemn this man without thinking? Even you, who are supposed to be his friend?” he added directly to Mildred.
“The knife—” Markos said.
“No! That proves nothing,” Elias shouted. “You would not believe Jak’s friends, I know—but would you also accuse me of lying?”
“What do you mean?” Markos snapped.
“I mean I was with the pale ones from the time that you both left until this poor unfortunate screamed,” he said, gesturing to the corpse. “Jak could not have used the knife—nor any of his friends, for that matter—as they were in my sight the whole time. You will have to look elsewhere for your sacrificial lamb, my friend,” he added with heavy sarcasm.
“WHAT THE HELL HAVE WE become that Mildred is no longer one of us and doesn’t even trust us?” J.B. asked bitterly as they returned to work.
“Not her fault,” Jak replied.
“Jak’s right,” Elias added. “It was made to look like Jak. You have some pretty powerful enemies, ones who will got to the length of taking a discarded weapon and using it to incriminate you.”
Ryan nodded. “That’s what worries me. If you hadn’t been able to vouch for Jak’s whereabouts back there, I figure we would have had one hell of a fight on our hands. They wanted to lynch us.”
“Yeah, and in a way I don’t blame them,” Krysty said thoughtfully. “That would have been a pretty good argument against going to the mainland, if we were the example of what it was like.”
“How true, dear girl, but surely our priority should be to find whoever is responsible for such actions, lest the situation be allowed to worsen.”
“It is easier to say than to do,” Elias mused. “After all, many of the work parties are separated from each other, and it is easy to move about undetected in these woods. Come to that,” he added after a thoughtful pause, “do we know that Mildred and Markos had each other in sight the whole time?”
Ryan frowned. “You think that Markos may have had something to do with this?”
Elias shrugged. “He was quick enough to point the finger of suspicion, and was he not in charge of the party that took you prisoner on the far side of the island? What better opportunity to have retrieved the knife—perhaps only for a trophy or to study—or to know where such a weapon may be.”
It gave the companions pause for thought. If their enemy was the sec chief, then they would have to keep close counsel and watch one another with the utmost care.
The oppressive thought killed all conversation and each was lost in his or her own thoughts as they returned to felling trees. The work was hard and there was a plentiful supply of water. However, the humidity was such that they drank far more than intended, leaving them dry, as J.B. discovered when, with a loud curse, he turned the empty canteen upside down.
“Dark night, nothing about this pesthole is good.”
“River there,” Jak commented, indicating through the trees. “Mebbe fill canteen.”
“Is it drinkable down there?” Ryan asked Elias.
The dark giant shrugged. “It may be a little brackish with this density of wood—the river gets blocked too frequently to flow fresh—but it will still be drinkable.”
“Better than nothing,” the Armorer commented in a taciturn manner as he took the canteen and headed toward the river that ran parallel to the area being felled by the work parties. As he made his way through the trees, J.B. could hear the other tree fellers at work. But his attention wasn’t on his surroundings. Spinning around his head were thoughts that he didn’t want to consider. If they managed to get off this island in one piece, without either being chilled by separatists or lynched by those who felt they were responsible for the death, then it was highly possible that Mildred may part company with them. Although there was a part of the Armorer that could understand Mildred’s dilemma, for the most part he could only think of traveling on without her. It wasn’t something that he wished to contemplate. He wasn’t a man for expressing his feelings, but he had always assumed that she knew their depth. Perhaps he was wrong.
He had reached the bank of the river, which was little more than a stream, that ran sluggishly. He bent to scoop up a palmful of water to taste it and to appease the dryness in his throat. He grimaced as it hit his taste buds. It was sour and brackish, tainted by the leaves and twigs. But it wasn’t poisonous and better than nothing. J.B. uncorked the canteen and dipped it into the flowing stream.
It was as he lowered himself to his full extent to reach out to catch the water at its fullest flow that he heard the snap of a twig behind him. It was a sharp crack, suggesting a heavy footfall and no small animal following its own path.
Cursing to himself, the Armorer threw himself forward into the river. The realization that he had been so wrapped up in thought that he hadn’t been observing the slightest caution angered him. He couldn’t believe that he’d been so stupe, so soon after they had been under threat. He had to have been simple to track, and he was relieved that whoever was in his wake had been so careless as to give him unintentional warning. He gasped in as much breath as he had time before he hit the surface of the water, flat and hard. The leaves and branches stung with the force of his flattened impact, the surface hard to him like a stone being skimmed ac
ross it.
That wasn’t the only sting he felt. Before his ears were filled with water, he heard the harsh bark of a blaster. From the tone, he figured it was a Glock, and his stalker had time only to loose off a single shot. Just the one, but enough to catch him as he entered the water, a burning needle entering his hip. It felt like a graze. He had to have made the water in time to prevent a better shot. It still hurt like hell, though, the residual impact and the shock making him turn in the water. Somehow his glasses stayed on, although his battered fedora floated past his eyes as he rolled over. He felt his backside and legs hit the muddy bottom of the riverbed, soft and clinging. He kicked, churning up silt as he freed himself from the mud’s grip. He reached out and grabbed his hat, not wanting it to hit the surface.
The dirt in the water stung his eyes and he could only see light reflected against the opaque surface of the river. If he couldn’t see out past the scum and detritus on the surface, then it was a fair bet to assume that whoever was after him couldn’t see in past the same. So unless they wanted to take another random shot, he was safe for the time being.
But not for long. His descent had been too swift for him to do anything other than take a regular breath, and he could feel his lungs burn and burst. He had to let out air and somehow break surface enough to take in more oxygen. He spasmed and coughed, bubbles of carbon dioxide exploding from his nostrils and heading for the surface, giving away his position. He ignored the pain in his hip and the dark stream of blood that colored the water around him. If he was going to break surface soon, he needed to move so that he would be harder to resight and fire upon.
Following the flow of the river, he turned and kicked, propelling himself downstream until he had no choice but to surface and gasp more air into his lungs. He hoped that the others had heard the report of the Glock, and would have headed to the riverbank to investigate. They might not catch whoever had fired, but at least they would scare him away, leaving J.B. to escape the river in safety.
He could hear the blood pounding in his ears and see the black stars exploding in front of his eyes as he stroked, trying to keep low in the water. It was no good, he would have to surface now, before it was too late and his lungs exploded, expelling carbon dioxide and taking in the brackish water instead of fresh air.
Kicking up, careful not get his feet caught in the mud, J.B. broke surface, the air light and fresh after the heaviness of the water, his mouth hungrily sucking in air as his lungs shot through with the agonies of relief. He couldn’t tell how far downstream he had traveled, and right then he didn’t care. Neither was he mindful of the hidden marksman taking another shot at him. He could breathe again and that was all that mattered.
Spluttering, brackish water running from his nose, J.B. set his feet lightly on the bed of the river. It was chest-deep at that point and it buoyed him enough to prevent his heavy boots becoming bogged down in the mud. His ears popped as water ran from them, the sound now piercing and painfully clear and bright.
“J.B.! Fireblast, man, are you okay?”
Ryan was running along the riverbank, leaping over the foliage and twisted tree roots that sprung out into the water in his attempt to reach the Armorer. Krysty was close behind, her hair flailing free behind her, suggesting that the moment of real danger was past. Farther along the bank, back where he had dived into the river, J.B. could see Dean and Doc holding down a struggling man, while the giant Elias, and Jak—who looked even more deceptively small and frail next to the muscular Pilatan—stood guard, holding off a small cabal of wood cutters who were clustered around.
J.B., still clutching his fedora, struck out for the bank, hauling himself up with the help of the one-eyed man’s outstretched hand. As his right leg hit the bank, no longer supported by the water’s buoyancy, he felt a sharpness as pain seared through the muscle and the leg buckled beneath him.
“Fuck, that stings,” he hissed. “I figured the bastard caught me as I hit the water. My own fault. Should have heard him coming before, but—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Krysty said, joining Ryan in helping support J.B. as he took his weight off the damaged leg. “You need to get that dressed as soon as possible. We’ll have to get back to the ville.”
“If we can. They might have other ideas,” Ryan added, indicating the men gathered around the companions and the prone attacker.
As they approached, they could hear Elias trying to reason with the crowd.
“You do not have the ears of the deaf. You heard the shot for yourselves, and now one of the pale ones is missing, while we find this man with a blaster in his hands.”
“Where is this missing man?” one of the crowd demanded.
“Here,” J.B. yelled, “and that bastard shot was good enough to hurt.”
Jak and Elias turned to see the Armorer hobble back toward them with the help of Ryan and Krysty. A brief smile flickered across the albino’s face. It was soon erased by the words of the crowd.
“They chill one of ours, why shouldn’t they pay?”
Elias shook his head. “That is not right. You heard me say that I was with them when that murder occurred. Do you still not believe me? Truly, you have worse heads than the boar you closely resemble in temper.”
“John Barrymore, it is a relief to see you. I feared that perhaps we had lost you when there was no sign.”
“Just keeping my head down, Doc,” the Armorer deadpanned.
“I don’t want to spoil the moment, but I figure we’d better get J.B.’s leg looked at as soon as possible,” Ryan broke in. “We need to get back to the ville, and take him with us,” he added, indicating the man still being held down by Dean and Doc.
“Why should you have any help when our people are left to buy the farm?” asked one of the crowd, a hard-faced man whose eyes were alive with hate. “One of our people is chilled by a weapon of yours, and our ville is in the hands of one who allows herself to be defiled by you. It is a pity that he did not drown.”
Ryan felt J.B. stiffen at this reference to himself and Mildred, and stayed his friend with an increase of pressure in his grip on the Armorer’s shoulder. “Easy, J.B. Don’t let him rile you,” he whispered.
Elias spit on the ground in front of him with contempt. “Is that all you can think of, when we are at a crucial moment in the history of our people? You should be left here to rot when the rest of us move on.” He turned and took the Glock from where it lay on the ground, then swung around to face the group in front of him. “I will carry this blaster, so that even you cannot protest about the weapon being in the hands of the pale ones. We will leave now and head back to the ville. You—” he inclined his head briefly to the man on the ground “—will come with us, and if you try to escape I will blast you myself. Come, let us go.”
As Elias leveled the blaster at them, the crowd of disgruntled Pilatans moved back to allow the companions and their captive to pass through. Dean had the Pilatan captive’s arm up behind him in a hammerlock, with Doc at his side, one of Jak’s knives in the older man’s grasp, poised for the captive’s ribs to strike if necessary. Jak led the way, and behind Dean, Doc and the captive came J.B., supported by Ryan and Krysty. The Armorer gritted his teeth and tried to put as much weight as possible on his leg to save the energy of the duo who supported him—there was some way to go before they reached the ville. The wound, which stretched from his thigh up to his hip, was still bleeding, and he could feel his leg starting to stiffen. It wasn’t deep, but this was partly why the wound refused to stop bleeding, despite the effort Krysty had made to pack it to staunch the flow.
Elias covered them, walking backward, until they had rounded a bend in the path and it was no longer possible to see the Pilatans gathered by the riverbank. The giant turned so that he could walk in a more regular manner, but still kept vigilant for attack from the rear or the sides.
“Don’t need to tell you, I know, but keep your ears open, Jak. I don’t think we can trust them,” he said.
“Alre
ady there,” the albino replied. He had a leaf-bladed knife in each hand and was alert for the slightest sound.
“This is really gonna let the shit hit the wall,” J.B. said through gritted teeth as they progressed. “What the fuck will Markos and Mildred make of this one?”
COMPLETELY UNAWARE at that moment of what was going on in the woods, the sec boss and Mildred were about to part company. After leaving the wood-felling sites, they had walked down to the beach where work was progressing on the refashioning of the boats. From here, they had moved into the ville itself, where there were moves afoot to pack up as much of the ville as possible for transportation while still keeping it running until such time came for them to depart. Both at the beach and in the ville, Mildred was aware that there were sections of the community that resented her presence as an overseer and were more inclined to talk to the sec boss than they were to her directly. She wondered if Sineta would have been wiser to make the round of the works herself with the sec boss rather than send Mildred, for the doctor had heard some talk among sections of the populace concerning herself and J.B., and also talk of resentment that such a mere interloper should be acting as a liaison between the baron and the Pilatans.
They couldn’t know the truth. Barras was approaching the end of his life. Despite the painkillers she had given him, Mildred had known from the first that the baron’s condition was critical. What had surprised her was the sudden worsening of that condition. It was as though the old man had been grimly hanging on, waiting for the deadlock in his people to be broken. The arrival of Mildred and the rest of the companions had been the catalyst and now action had finally been taken. With nothing left to live for, and the knowledge that any attempt to move him would hasten his demise, the old baron had let go and was rapidly approaching the crisis point. So his daughter was spending as much time with him as possible, deputing Mildred to fulfill her tasks. But the people couldn’t be told, as they couldn’t be distracted from their purpose at this time.
