Standing by the battered Chevrolet four-by-four she had rented in Grand Forks, Hart waited. There was no one in sight but that rummy old sasquatch. She didn’t like meeting out in the open, but no building in the town had enough space to house the Dragon. This street was at least in a nearly deserted part of town. That made it better than most for her purpose. Anyone who saw the pair would be more than happy to stay out of their way or else be on shadow business of his own.
If Tessien came.
The night cooled rapidly. Just after moonrise, Hart began to contemplate crawling into the vehicle to start its heater. When a cool breeze sprang up, she almost did so. Then she caught the musty odor of feathers among the high desert scents.
The serpent landed, surprisingly quiet. Its length coiled about the Chevy and it placed its head on the hood. The truck’s suspension groaned. From the reek of blood on its breath, she knew that the Dragon had fed on its way back. It exuded satisfaction.
“It is done.”
“He’s really dead this time?”
“The machine is destroyed. There was no life within it.”
“Where did you catch them? Were there witnesses?”
“Three hours to the northeast. It was good land, wild. There are none to talk.”
“That’s wiz. No one to tattle to Mr. Drake about our little clean-up operation. If he knew Verner was running around this long, he’d pay handsomely for our hides.”
“He could do a lot more with mine than yours.”
“He’d still want them both.” She pushed at the feathered tail that barred her from the Chevy’s door. “Come on, let’s let back to civilization.”
The furry lump didn’t stir until the Dragon and the Elf had passed from sight. Then she stood, occasionally repeating the call for “Change?” as she shuffled away in the opposite direction. After a dozen blocks, she turned down an alley and approached a car, It was an expensive model, totally out of place among the debris of the alley. Showing uncharacteristic awareness for a being enslaved to alcohol, she scanned the area quickly. Satisfied that no one was watching, she palmed open the car’s lock and slipped inside.
The door closed, hiding her from prying eyes and ears. She stretched with a growl, working out the kinks left from her role as a drunk. She reached into the back and opened the refrigerator compartment, from which she fished a foil-wrapped package of meat. She munched on the contents while reflecting on what she had heard.
Once the hunt had gone up from the Sioux Wildcats encounter, it had become a distinct possibility that the Dragon would achieve its lethal results. Still, her master would disappointed, and if one was to be the bearer of disappointing news, it was preferable to have proof positive. She was always very thorough and that was good, for thoroughness was a survival necessity for her kind.
How to locate the kill? The Dragon’s report gave her general vector and an estimate of distance. She would still need to cover a bit of ground. A helicopter or a tilt-wing craft would be the most suitable search vehicle, allowing her to land in tight confines if necessary. Such a craft must be fast, though, with a higher cruising speed than the Dragon’s. She wanted to get there first in case Hart decided to check the site. There was also the matter of Sioux patrols. Not to mention the weather. Forecasts called for scattered thunderstorms. If the Sioux arrived before her or if one of the storms hit the area of interest, she might lose valuable evidence from which to draw her own conclusions. She picked up the telecom headset to make the arrangements.
35
Sun on his face finally woke Sam. He was stretched out on his back, snugged into a mold of his own body formed when the mud had dried to a hard, lumpy shell. At his first movement, a snake slithered away from the side of his body still in shadow, fleeing the formerly quiet heat source.
He tried to sit up, but the sharp pain in his side and the blaze in his skull stretched him out again. He lay gasping, trying to recall how it had come to be. Flashes of the wild ride in the storm came back, and he knew that the Little Eagle must have crashed, though he couldn’t actually remember it. Raising his head gingerly, he looked around with his good eye. The wreck was nowhere in sight. Only sun and shadow, mesas and hoodoos, sage and rock and sand.
The back of his head felt cool and damp. Fearing bleeding, he reached painfully back to touch it. But it was only water. His soaking from the night had been preserved under his body. He realized that what was left of his clothes were damp on the underside as well. Carefully and slowly, he rolled over onto his side, but his arms gave way. Sam fell face-down into the dirt, as waves of agony and nausea wracked his body. He retched emptily, then lay panting on his side, trying to recover some strength.
The sun had already climbed high into the sky, and his movements had put him fully in its light. At first the heat and dazzling brightness felt good, chasing away the chill and easing stiffened muscles. Before long, the sun became too hot for him to lie there much longer.
Rising dizzily to his feet, Sam pointed himself in the direction he happened to face and started walking. He limped awkwardly to favor his injured ankle, but each step brought new pain from his side. He had to keep moving, though. The hotter he got, the more he perspired and the salt in his sweat stung as it ran over raw wounds. Desperately wanting water, he plodded on, his holster slapping against a bruise that matched its shape exactly.
After a time, he found a place where the sun-baked clay of last night’s mud was disturbed and broken up. Pawprints in the dirt circled the spot. There were other marks as well, but the only other ones he could make out were a trail of footprints, Human footprints. He stared at them for a time, his brain in a fog. More to rouse himself than because of any plan, he decided to follow the footprints.
He had settled into a rhythm of gasps and winces when he felt a wetness running down his leg. Touching it left his fingers daubed with blood; the wound in his side had reopened. Well, he was following somebody. They would help him. He’d catch up soon.
After a time, he came to a place where the sun-baked clay that had been last night’s mud was disturbed and broken up. Pawprints in the dirt circled the spot. There were other marks as well, Human footprints. He found himself staring at those prints, slowly realizing that they were his own.
Losing it, he thought, Going to walk in circles ’till I drop. Need to see where I am, find some way out of this maze before it’s too late.
A rocky prominence dominated the landscape in front of him. Unlike most of the others he had seen, this one seemed to have a gentle talus slope. He might be able to climb it. From the top, he’d be able to see when he was going. He stumbled toward it.
By the time he reached it, Sam had forgotten why he was headed that way. The crumbly talus made him stumble painfully but he pressed on, driven by the need to go forward. He reached the rock face. It rose tall and forbidding above him, no longer appearing an easy climb. As he tilted his head back to stare at its height, dizziness sent colors swirling across his vision. He grabbed the rock and hugged himself to it to keep from falling.