I wandered off in search of Martin. He had settled himself against the bole of a tree on the opposite side of the meadow. He had borrowed a flashlight and a gun from Pete.
Pete was pacing the ground midway between Martin’s position and mine. He had just come back from his cruiser. “It’s just going to be us three tonight.”
“Were you expecting someone to help us?” I asked.
He nodded. “I was trying to get another warm body out here, but the consensus back at the cop shop seems to be that we can handle it. If something comes up, we’re supposed to call in. What I can’t get through their thick skulls is that if something comes up, we might be too busy for a nice, comfy chat. Not to mention that it’ll take time to get somebody out here.” He spat at the ground near his feet. “Idiots.”
I left him fuming to himself and went back to my position. Night fell. Time passed. I got bored. There was no one to talk to, nothing to read. Zilch to do. The one and only thing I was supposed to do was stay alert. There was no danger that I’d fall asleep, but my attention kept wandering.
Subjectively, it seemed quite some time before I heard anything. Even with my acute night vision, I was unable to see anything at first. A vague flicker, nothing more. I turned to look more closely, then heard the thin sound of a tiny twig snapping.
A bulky body slid between two trees and made its way towards—
Ianna! I’d been a fool not to anticipate the identity of the next victim! One by one, Boyce had been picking off those he knew, beginning with those closest to him. How could I have been so blind?
I ran, stepping as lightly as I could.
But even at a stealthy walking pace, Boyce’s longer legs were carrying him faster than I could go. He would reach her before 1 would. He was moving faster. I rushed forward, trading silence for more speed, trying to intercept him.
At the last instant, I realized that I had no plan for stopping him—a serious oversight that I solved by throwing myself in front of his feet, yelling at the top of my lung for Martin and Pete.
When his left foot hit my side, 1 had a brief glimpse of what a football must feel at kickoff. I felt my entire body flex, vainly trying to absorb the impact. Then I was lifted up, pushed by a size thirteen locomotive. I was still gaining altitude, surely traveling at escape velocity, when Boyce’s body, coming down, collapsed across me.
If a mountain had fallen on me, it couldn’t have hurt more. The only thing that saved me from certain death was that he fell across the lower half of my body, pinning me to the ground.
“Whuff!” Boyce grunted as he hit. Almost immediately, he braced his arms and did a pushup so violent that it threw him back into a crouching position. “You idiot!” he yelled. “Not me! Her!”
With that, he bounced to his feet and resumed running. I tried to call again for help, but discovered that inhaling cost more in pain than I could bear.
He made much more noise now as he ran, throwing caution to the wind. I watched as he ran towards Ianna, reaching out his arms to….
Slam into another figure who had materialized out of the darkness next to Ianna. Again, Boyce crashed to the ground, grappling with a shadow. An arm went up, came down, and Boyce howled. Again, the arm went up, but Boyce caught it and slowly, struggling, forced it down to the ground.
A terrible scream of rage and frustration rose into the night just as Pete ran up, flashlight beam jerking as he ran. I could see the glint of blued steel in the light as he yelled, “Stop! Nobody move!”
And there, in the pool of light, I saw the last thing I’d expected to see. Boyce Coleman, sitting astride his wife, Clarisse, her arm pinned to the ground over her head, still straining to plunge the knife into her husband.
As soon as Pete yelled she went limp, sobbing. Boyce reached up and gently plucked the knife from her hand, reaching up to hand it, handle first, to Pete. Blood was streaming down from a gaping wound in his shoulder, dripping onto his wife’s chest.
“Why, dammit? Why?” he demanded of her.
“I love you,” she cried.
“What? You killed my best friend because you love me?”
Martin ran up, flashlight bouncing. “Boyce! Waitaminnit! Clarisse?” His head jerked from one to the other.
Boyce turned and sat heavily on the ground, leaning back against the still sleeping Ianna’s flank. “Oh, man,” he said, clutching his shoulder. “Oh man, oh man, oh man.” He looked up at Pete and gestured with a bloody hand at Clarisse. “My wife. Oh, man.”
“Martin,” I gasped from where I lay. It was no more than a hoarse whisper, but it was enough.
His head snapped up. “Victor?” He jogged over and squatted next to me. “Anything broken?”
“Everything,” I wheezed. “Pick me up.”
Gently, he scooped me into his arms and carried me back. Every step he took jarred another bone loose from its moorings. If he were to carry me far, I felt that every joint in my body would separate. All I could do was buzz in time with his footfalls.
Martin, who knows that my muted uhzzz is equivalent to the human moan of agony, looked down at me.
“You going to make it?”
“I think I just shuffled off this mortal coil. Mind the first step, it’s a doozy.”
Boyce looked up at me and shook his head. “Just what are you made of, little fella? It felt like I hit a burlap sack full of rocks.”
“Gravel, now,” I assured him painfully. “Tiny, little, itty-bitty pieces of gravel. Next time I need to tackle you, I think I’ll hire a stunt double.”
“I know you suspected me, but it couldn’t have been me. I love these guys too much,” he said, running his clean hand across Ianna’s side, still holding his shoulder with the other.
“And isn’t that enough?” Clarisse shrieked suddenly. “That you love them? I could compete with another woman, but how was I supposed to compete with one of them? You’re married to me, not some damned alien! Always running off to play with your little buddies, never time for me, never once—”
“Why didn’t you say something, baby?” Boyce asked, his quiet tone a gentle counterpoint to her near hysteria. “I thought you liked Wheelau.”
“Liked him? I despised him! I hate every one of these stupid, faceless horses!”
He gaped. “Why didn’t you say something?” he asked again, but she had broken down into uncontrollable weeping and did not answer. He looked up at Pete imploringly, “What am I gonna do?”
“I think I’d start by having that arm stitched up,” Pete responded pragmatically. He reached down and offered his hand to help Boyce to his feet. “Let’s get you to a doctor.”
Boyce, now standing, leaned over and smoothed Ianna’s pelt where he’d been leaning against her. “I hope she’s all right.”
Which reminded me of something. “By the way, Boyce, Ianna told me to tell you hello when I saw you.”
He smiled sadly at me. “She didn’t believe it was me, did she?”
“No. She wouldn’t even consider it.”
“See? I told you these Erintie were better friends than humans.”
Pete looked around at the half-seen shapes scattered in the darkness around us. “If wealth is measured in friendships, I’d say you’re one of the richest men alive.”
Boyce stared down at his wife. “Yeah? Then why do I feel so empty?”
A few days later, Pete stopped by the office. “Did you fellows get your rent paid on time?”
Martin nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”