At the high pitched and earsplitting sound, the creature hesitated. Mohawk lunged, and the monster's scream joined Wynne's.
The fight was on, but very little of it registered in Wynne's petrified brain. She was catatonic with fear and had no idea it was she who made the terrifying sound that echoed through the trees. Flesh, hide, and teeth became a swirling blur before her locked and open eyes. Something hit her and knocked her to the ground. The icy ropes of the panic that bound her shattered with her fall.
She stumbled to her feet. Without conscious consent, her body chose flight over fight. She turned and ran... straight into the gaping maw of a beast that had circled around behind them.
"No!"
Teeth, teeth, stop the teeth. Her mind could go no further than that. Stop the teeth. She swung, and swung again.
"No! No!"
She kept swinging. Her arms moved up and down, up and down, over and over to the rhythm of her cries.
"No! No! No!"
She swung until her arms felt weighted with lead. The fear of those jaws and the power of her will were the only things that kept them rising and falling.
Something captured her from behind and trapped her arms to her sides. She fought that, too. Strong arms lifted her off her feet, arms with hands. And a mouth. A mouth that wasn't ripping into her flesh and tearing her apart. A mouth that whispered warm and calming words against her ear.
"Kushma, it's over. You're safe."
His chest was heaving against her back. His heart was pounding in counterpoint to hers. As he held her, his lungs and heart slowed to a normal rhythm and her lungs and heart followed their insistent cadence. Tor. Tor. Tor.
"That's it, Princess. It's over. We're safe."
"Safe? She damned near killed me."
At the sound of Mohawk's grumbled complaint, the world came back into focus. He was sitting on the ground a few feet away. His hand was at his cheek, fingers pressing along the bones under his eye and the hairline by his ear. He worked his jaw before he spoke again.
"You're supposed to be the quiet one. Quiet my Hahnshin fartin' ass."
At her feet lay one of the monsters. Its hide was spattered with blood. The broad snout was canted to the side at an impossible angle, mouth open and tongue lolling over the lethal looking teeth. In death, the creature's mouth looked deformed. The upper and lower jaw didn't match. One of Mohawk's spears protruded from the monster's eye.
"You killed it," she said.
"Hell yes, I killed it. Don't sound so disappointed. Somebody had to put the fucking thing out of its misery." He continued to check for damage to his face. "Next time though, I think I'll stand back and let you finish what you started."
"Out of its misery? Mohawk, that thing wanted to eat us."
"After you got finished with it, that thing wasn't eating shit unless it came through a straw." He worked his jaw again as if trying to test its function. Satisfied it was working properly, he added, "Thing has my sympathy."
Still not comprehending, Wynne turned to Tor who'd released her once she was calm. He now stood a few feet away and he was grinning.
"You hit Mohawk when he got in your way."
"Never saw anything like it. You took that monster down with a hunk of meat. Near took me down with it." Mohawk started to rise.
Wynne reached out to help and only then realized she was still holding the gator tail. The hide was torn and ragged chunks of flesh were missing. She dropped it as if had burst into flames.
"I did?"
"You did," Tor agreed. He nodded at the dead animal. "You swing a mean tail, Princess."
"I, uh... it, uh...oh." Suddenly lightheaded, she began to sway. "I think I'd better sit down."
Her legs folded and she sat with a bone jarring thump.
Tor stooped down beside her. His hand supported her back. She would have toppled over without it.
"Breathe slow, Kushma, slow and steady until the feeling goes away. You'll be fine," he assured her. "It's only the letdown that comes after battle. It can happen to the best of warriors. You fought like one, you know."
Wynne nodded her head to show she understood, and then changed direction and shook her bowed head from side to side in shame. "No, I didn't. I ran."
Mohawk snorted. "Two steps isn't far. I've seen some run miles their first time out."
"There is no shame in that, Princess. You didn't faint," Tor added as if that was a consolation. "You did well, though next time we'll see you armed with more than a hunk of meat."
"There better not be a next time." She looked around and counted three more dead dog-beasts. Suddenly alert, she whispered, "Where's the fifth?"
"Ran." Tor stood and extended his hand. "Which is what we need to do. Someone had to hear your screams."
"I screamed?"
"Thought you were singing that opera shit your sister makes me listen to." Mohawk, who'd given up on rising when she collapsed, now tried again with an agonized groan. Hand at the small of his back, he arched and stretched. "This is what comes from riding a desk. I'm out of shape."
Something about the dead animal attracted Tor's attention. He ran his hand over its shoulder, fingering it in much the same way as Mohawk inspected his face. He pulled the knife from his boot and began to cut.
Wynne winced and looked away. "I'm not carrying another hunk of animal," she said, though this one might be better since it didn't reek like the gator.
"This is how he protects the compound," Tor said. He held a metal disc about the size of a quarter in his hand. "These brutes were sent to hunt."
"Trackers." Mohawk took the offered disc, wiped it on his trousers, and put it in his pocket. "Guess we better keep the pack moving."
Tor cut the others out and, having no pockets, Wynne tucked hers in her bra.
Chapter 9
Finding someone in this jungle would be next to impossible, but Tor was taking no chances. He moved them off the direct route they'd followed and led them on a zigzagging trek north to circle the overgrown compound.
Mohawk trotted off to scout, but returned within minutes. He put his finger to his lips for silence and then held up three fingers. After pointing in the direction of the approaching danger, he pointed to himself and raised his hands in surrender.
"No," Wynne silently mouthed and shook her head for emphasis.
Tor raised his fist and nodded his assent. He handed Wynne his makeshift spear and the tail, and made a motion that clearly said, "Stay here."
Wynne's head kept shaking. There was no way she was staying behind, alone with mad gators, wild dogs, giant leg eating snakes, or whatever else this godforsaken place had to offer. She'd take her chances with the two legged beasts. Tor's glare and pointing finger didn't change her mind.
Mohawk gave them a short, impatient hiss and trotted away. Wynne followed. Tor captured her waist and set her behind him, but when she followed at his slower pace, he didn't try to stop her. When he held up his hand to signal a halt and stepped behind one of the broad leafed shrubs, she instantly obeyed. He pressed her shoulder until she squatted low enough to be completely hidden from view.
"Praise the gods you worship." Mohawk sounded out of breath and much too loud. "I thought I was alone on this fucking fleapit."
The answering laugh was malicious. "You are alone. We don't like intruders."
Wynne wanted to rise up to see what was happening, but she stayed where she was.
"Why are you here?" another voice cut in.
"Why the hell do you think? The escape pod..."
"Wouldn't bring you here unless it was programmed. Why are you here and where are the others?"
"I'm here because the fucking escape pod brought me here. I didn't know the others. I followed them, and I'm the only one left. One pod didn't make it. The other...those dogs found her... fucking monsters."
"The carnars? Yeah, they are. We only let them out to feed. We heard the screams." This was followed by a nasty snicker from one of the others to which the speaker r
esponded, "Shut up, asshole," before returning to Mohawk "You think we're stupid? You think we're going to buy your story that three pods from the Romer II just happened to end up here? Yeah, fuckhole, you forget those pods were marked. We know who you came with and you're going to end up just like him. Call it in, Sog. Tell Honarie we've got the last of 'em."
Sog did as told and relayed the message he received in reply. "Horny says don't bother to bring him in. We can take care of him here."
"That wouldn't be wise," Tor's voice cut in.
"'Bout time," Mohawk grumbled.
There was a gurgling choke, followed by a thud, a grunt, and Mohawk's distinctive growl which turned into a shout.
A pencil thin beam of red light streaked above Wynne's head and a bush several yards behind her cracked, sizzled, and burst into flame. She dove for the ground, but nothing more happened. The fight was over.
"Princess, are you all right?"
"No," she wanted to say. "I'm not all right. I'm stuck on an island where everything wants to kill me. My clothes are filthy and I stink to high heaven. I'm tired and frightened and I want to go home." She wanted to say it, but didn't.
"I'm okay," she called back instead.
Her voice shook, but there was nothing she could do about that. Her whole body was shaking. She pushed up from the ground and Tor was there to help her to her feet.
"Are you sure?" he asked while he lifted her chin with his knuckle. His eyes sought her reassurance.
She nodded slightly, but couldn't look away.
"She's alive and they aren't," Mohawk said putting their situation in gruff perspective. "That makes her all right. Now quit romancing the girl and get over here and help."
Wynne blinked and looked downward to break the hold Tor's eyes had on her own.
"He was just being kind," she defended, though what she saw in his eyes was more than practical concern and what she felt looking into them was more than reassurance.
Mohawk was squatting beside one of the bodies, going through the dead man's pockets. He already had a knife and one of the laser-like weapons tucked into his belt. He pulled out a disc similar to the ones they'd cut from the carnars and a thick, black square that Wynne knew was a credit tag. She'd had one in her purse, a gift from her sister to buy what she needed on her voyage. It was similar to the old pre-loaded credit cards on earth and used in the same way. With a grunt of satisfaction, the Perithian stuffed it in his own pocket.
"Mohawk! You can't take his money."
"Why not? He doesn't need it anymore and we will, once we're off this dung heap."
He moved to the next body while Tor searched the one nearest them. This one was small and slightly built with a long, narrow face and a long, sharp nose that matched. He reminded her of the ferret.
"Is that what you meant with the hand?" she asked as Tor patted down the body.
"What hand?" He pulled a silver object the shape of a small bullet from the victim's ear, wiped it off on the man's shirt, and plugged it into his own ear.
"The hand," she said impatiently. How could he forget such a gruesome thing? "Green, black fingernails, you used it to open the door on the Romer. You said the owner didn't need it anymore."
"He didn't." Tor looked up at her and grinned before going back to work. He tapped his ear twice and nodded. "The other group is coming in. If we're lucky, we might be able to cut them off." He pocketed a credit tag as well and then began tugging off the man's knee high leather boots. He held one up, checked its size against her foot, and tossed it to her. "Try it on."
"I'm not wearing a dead man's boots," she protested.
"Why not? He doesn't need them anymore, and those dainty things you're wearing aren't good for anything but showing off your pretty ankles."
Wynne smiled at both the compliment and her foolish refusal. New shoes were impossible to find back home and the low heeled pumps she wore were secondhand. It was likely that their previous owner was dead, too. And he was right, the pumps weren't meant for walking over rough ground and she'd already twisted her foot painfully several times.
The boots' leather was soft and supple, and within minutes conformed to the shape of her ankles and calves. They were a little too long in the foot, but with the pointed toes, she needed the extra length. All in all, they were an excellent fit. She lifted her skirt to show them off.
Tor nodded. "Grakin skin. It stretches or shrinks to the size of the wearer. They cost a fortune."
"And your life if you try to smuggle a live one off the planet. Knew a guy who tried," Mohawk added with a shrug. "If you two are finished with the fashion foo-foo, we need to get moving. Toss those carnar trackers over here. We'll use the new ones. There's no point giving Horny a heads up that this crew's not moving."
Tor led the way, though once they lost sight of the dome, Wynne had no idea how he knew which way to turn. The undergrowth became denser, the trees more closely packed. Every movement of brush, every rustle of leaves startled her and made her look cautiously for the cause. She carried the gator tail in front of her like a shield. The smell no longer bothered her.
The men found this amusing.
"You have a blazer," Tor said of the weapon she now carried in her pocket along with a small knife in its leather sheath. "Much more effective than rotting meat."
"Says you." She clutched the thing to her as if he might try to take it away. She didn't care what they thought. With the exception of the carnars, she believed the smelly thing kept them safe.
Mohawk directed their attention to a snake hanging indolent from a branch. Its pointy head and beady eyes lazily followed them as they detoured around it. The reptile didn't seem to care, but Wynne checked regularly behind them just to make sure.
Tor used the time to instruct them in what to do once inside the dome that served as a landing and launching platform for smaller spacecraft.
"There was an old Hopper in there when I was here, a three-seater, and easy to fly. Don't push it and it will get you where you want to go. Loading it in the chute will be the hard part," he told Mohawk. "If she's not cocked and energized, you'll have to use the sling to get her up."
Mohawk nodded as if he knew what all that meant.
Tor made them memorize the coordinates for Celos, the closest habitable place on the closer of two habitable planets in the solar system.
"Once you're in orbit, the space station will contact you. Tell them you need a tow. They'll bring you in. You stay on the station. They won't like it, but you insist. Celos is not a place for Wynne."
"And where will you be while all this is going on?" Wynne asked.
"Taking care of business."
She didn't like the looks that passed between the two men or when Mohawk nodded as if they'd come to some silent decision.
"We'll keep your name out of it," the Perithian said solemnly.
"Why? Tor saved us. Mohawk, you'll tell them that, won't you?"
"He didn't save you, Wynne. He took you. They'll see everything he's done so far as saving his own neck and salvaging what he could. His ship's still out there and so are those women."
"But it isn't true," she protested, but even as she said the words, she knew there was no proof. She had doubted him, too.
Tor, in the lead of their small party, didn't look back. "Isn't it? It was my ship that docked with The Romer II, my man they'll find dead on the deck along with two of the Romer crew. He was dressed like the raiders. Everyone knows Digger is," he paused to quietly change tenses, "was the Sky Hawk's First Mate." The next pause was a beat longer. "And my friend."
Wynne saw his back straighten as his lungs expanded with a breath much deeper than he needed to continue. He held it in for a moment before he went on. "My mark will be everywhere on that deck and the name of everyone who didn't make it off in time will be on my head."
There was nothing more to say, no way to refute the evidence. They walked along in silence while Wynne thought of the two dead and bloodied crew members and the man
who'd been shot in the back by a weapon like the one she now carried in her pocket.
After what seemed like forever, they came to a wide path that had once been a road. Chunks of pavement showed through the covering of vines and low growing plants. Here and there, small trees pushed their way up to the sun. At the sound of voices, Tor raised his hand to signal they should stop and take cover in the undergrowth.
The speakers were making no effort to keep their voices low. They were too far away to understand the words, but by the sound of the laughter, they were getting ready to party.
With another motion to follow, Tor broke into a fast jog until they'd put some extra distance between them and their followers. When they stopped, they could see the vine covered walls through the heavy growth of trees.
"You take the other side of the road," Tor whispered to Mohawk. "We'll catch them in a crossfire."
"Wait," Wynne hissed. She caught Mohawk's arm as he began to move. "How do we get into the compound?"
"Over the wall," Mohawk told her. "It should be easy enough to climb."
Tor shook his head. "There's a gate."
"What kind?" Wynne asked. The question had been niggling in the back of her mind since Tor showed her the dome and the walled surround. "Manual or electric? Automatic I mean, you know, powered somehow," she corrected since she'd never heard the word 'electric' used by anyone other than humans.
Tor didn't answer. His gaze had moved beyond her. He was thinking.
"What keeps the monsters out? What keeps Honarie safe from another massacre?" she pressed. "If we can climb over that wall, so can some of the monsters. Climb or slither through it. Something else is keeping them out. Does that something cover the gate too?"
"The carnars," Mohawk suggested, thinking now, too. "They had tracking implants. They come from the compound."
"So what protects the compound when they let them out to feed?" she asked. "And how do they call them back?"
"There's only one left," Mohawk reasoned.
"That we know of."
Tor (Women of Earth Book 2) Page 8
