The bad news was that he was lagging behind. Pain and drugs, hunger and fatigue were taking a terrible toll on him. He’d have to hope for something to break the stalemate, or for one of the others to buy it and make it a simple fight. That might be too much to hope for.
Under the other distractions, Ferret kept wondering if gangrene or other rot was setting in. The nausea was getting worse. True, he’d experienced that before, sometimes to the point of gagging on his tongue as sleep and awake fought for control, but this felt different. He hoped it was environmental, with the odd gravity and light. He feared it was his own fate catching up.
Still, if the worst he could do was be a distraction until one or the other of those bloodsuckers killed the other, that would be a start. After that, he’d just have to see. Maybe he could get close enough for a crippling shot. If they all starved to death here, or got chewed by cockroaches, it would be hard on Ferret, but good for the human race.
He realized he wasn’t bothered by that outcome, and that realization scared him. It was ironic. He was more disturbed by his mindset change than by his impending death.
Taking another deep breath to relieve some of the pain in his chest, he pushed forward. The dark was his friend. Dagger was meat if he had anything to say about it.
“I suppose you think that was funny, Darhel?” Dagger rasped. His voice had a bite to it that indicated he was on the ragged edge of self control. He didn’t notice that himself. What he did notice was the indicators of something entering that thicket over there, and Darhel bloodstains. The cocky little bastard had now screwed up, and Dagger would kill him. Slowly, too.
“Funny, Dagger?” came the reply. “No, I thought the bare ground would make you feel more comfortable than all those spooky trees, so I led you to it. Why, did the herd of harmless grazers scare you?”
Dagger shut off his transmitter, checked it to be sure, then growled quietly, teeth clenched until his jaw turned white. He had to kill something, and he had to kill something right now. There! It was a foot-sized beetle, climbing up a tree a couple of meters away. He strode over, raised his rifle, and smashed the fucking thing flat with the butt. Goo squirted out the edges, and he smashed it again. The legs thrashed and wiggled as he smashed and smashed.
He was panting for breath, sheened with sweat and could feel his heart hammering in his chest and his pulse in his ears. But he was calm enough now to pay attention again. He looked around, partly in fear, though he denied it, and partly for intel, which he focused on.
There was a faint heat trail left here. The little fuck couldn’t be more than a klick ahead, maybe less. Forgetting his fear, forgetting stalking discipline, Dagger rushed forward. His phobia was still there, however, and it was causing him to be overeager. Closeness to the Darhel was companionship to the unconscious part of his mind. It meant he’d be safe.
He followed the blood and genetic trail, and could easily see the signs of passage. The Darhel not only had no idea how to sneak through the woods, he’d often picked some of the thickest crud to crawl through.
It should have made Dagger happy, but it didn’t. This incompetent little Elf was traipsing along like a child, and had been able to avoid Dagger for two days. It was pure luck, and it was insulting. He wasn’t going to allow the bastard to think he was better than Dagger. He was going to catch him and hurt him.
In fact, he was going to leave him here, crippled, to starve to death or be eaten by bugs. To hell with killing him. He’d do the Darhel the favor. Since it couldn’t kill him, he wouldn’t kill it. And he’d do the same for Ferret, too. One human to another. A smile crossed his face as he emerged from a tangle of vines and found clear forest floor.
He’d taken only three steps when his suit’s systems shrieked a warning in his ears.
He reacted from training and fear, and dropped flat. He just made it, but as he dove, he felt a vicious sting in his right calf. What the hell? He scrabbled for his pistol, never releasing his grip on his rifle, while spinning around on his back, his good leg propelling him. Wide-eyed in hysteria, pulse and respiration hammering at him, he sought the Darhel.
Nothing. Nothing here. But there was a smell of steaming wood and a report scrolling across his screen in symbols. It had been a directional projectile mine, and it had to have been set by the Darhel. It was low on the base of that tree, and its flechette actually might have hit hard enough to cripple him if he hadn’t been so fast.
Goddamn that Darhel! The little bastard should be dead! Dragging himself to a sitting position, he slapped a nano-bandage on the wound. It was only superficial, and if he’d got the patch on quickly enough, he should avoid most of the tautness that went with it.
But it did prove that he was close, and that the Darhel, coward that he was, couldn’t kill him directly. He got his hyperventilation under control. He had enough oxygen; he didn’t need to breathe for a few seconds. Only when he felt the breathing reflex resume its normal demands did he speak. “Hey, Darhel,” he said. “You missed.”
“How unfortunate, Dagger,” came the response. “I shall endeavor to learn from my mistakes.”
“You aren’t going to live to make any more, pal,” Dagger assured him. He felt confident again, and it had nothing to do with the rising gray of dawn.
“Well, thank you, Dagger, but with as long a life as Darhel can expect, some errors are inevitable. While superior beings, we are not perfect.”
It was obviously a deliberate misunderstanding and a goad. He didn’t want to listen to any more of that, so he shut off the communicator.
Ferret heard the crack of the flechette mine, and smiled. It was a distinctive sound, and it meant Dagger and Tirdal were mixing it up. Delightful. His nerves reached out for anything dangerous as he closed on the area. His infrared and Dagger’s would see each other at about the same range, but he was following. He also sealed his suit for the time being, no matter if he cooked like a pot of bubbling spaghetti sauce. He needed every advantage he could get for right now, no matter the cost. If he could get close enough for just a glimpse of Dagger, he’d try to stir him into a firefight in predawn dark.
It wasn’t long, though in the sweltering thickness of his closed suit it seemed like hours, before he came across the area where the mine had been emplaced. There was molecular residue and there were pheromones, and his tracker updated its records. Both Dagger and Tirdal had passed this way, and not too long ago. Dagger had thrashed around, but didn’t appear seriously injured, but there was residue that might indicate a surface wound. Tirdal, however, definitely was wounded. Blood was sufficiently present to register.
Now might be time to talk to both of them. Ferret opened a broadcast channel and said, “So, guys, what now? Dagger’s scared beyond reason, and Tirdal is bleeding. It looks like I’ve got all the advantages here.” He kept his voice cheerful, under tight control, so as not to betray the pain he was feeling. He hoped he wasn’t letting out any hints that sensat could pick up. So far, though, he seemed to have been safe. Tirdal really did need to be close to resolve details.
Tirdal replied first, “Well, Dagger, it appears you are fighting this alone. In fact, we all are. Two against whichever one makes the first critical mistake.”
Dagger replied, and quickly, “That will be you, Darhel. You’re the one bleeding.”
“You pin all your hopes on a minor wound,” Tirdal said, “and ignore the psychological issues. No, I think Ferret and I are in much better shape in the ways that matter.”
Ferret cut in, not wanting to be left out of this. He was not the plucky comic relief. “I may be the only one uninjured,” he put in. “Dagger appears to have taken some damage himself. I think your mine nailed him.”