The youngsters will find me if I can stay free long enough. Riker had to believe that. It was the only thing giving him hope to continue.
Behind him, a musket boomed. Something hard and fast slashed leaves inches above Riker’s head. A second musket fired, and a waterspout appeared beside the dugout, splashing his check.
Riker snarled with frustration. He wasn’t going to outdistance them on the river. He had a steering arm. They had paddles, plunging their crafts faster.
I’m too old for these games. My lungs are on fire and I’m tired. I wish I’d stolen a flintlock.
Riker twisted his body to move his steering oar, aiming the dugout for the nearest shore. The whitewater shoved his craft, and he failed to spy a hidden rock in his path. Wood splintered as the dugout struck the river stone. Rushing water shoved hard. It lifted the back end of the boat, catapulting Riker over the rock, hurling him into the air and against the shore. He hit, grunting, with his legs dangling in the water. The raging current began to tug him in.
Making a mewling noise, Riker scrambled, slithering higher. Mud stained his overalls. Branches scratched his face and gray hair. Insects whirled around him. He hated their squishy forms.
“There, boys!” a Scorpion shouted. “The weasel is running onto land. We almost have him.”
Riker’s lips peeled back. His body felt aflame with aches and pains. He wheezed, as his lungs seemed to fill with fluid.
Keep moving. Trust the captain to produce another miracle. He needs me. I know he does. No one else has ever kept him grounded to reality as I do. The man believes he can do anything that he sets his mind to. He’s quite mad.
The sergeant slipped and slid on wet moss. From the river behind him, another flintlock boomed. The wooden pellet slashed his side, ripping the fabric of his overall and spilling blood.
That would stir the insects.
Riker snarled again. He lowered his head and recklessly plunged through the growth. He was so tired, so spent, that it was impossible to think. At this point, it would be good to simply lie down and go to sleep.
They’ll eat your flesh, Treggason. Think about that, my boy.
Riker widened his good eye and wheezed. That proved to be too much. He coughed explosively, spitting red gunk onto nearby fronds. He bent over and continued to cough.
“Hear him, boys! There’s a crawly that can’t run far. I say we cut off his arm and legs and eat his flesh while he’s watching. That’s always good for a few laughs.”
Riker made a fist, and rage washed through him. He had more sense than Captain Maddox, though. Fighting the gang one to six would lead to his quick defeat. He had to keep running. He had to spin this out for as long as he could.
The sergeant began to walk, easing past branches and over-stepping rotted wood that would have made enough noise to give him away. Refusing to cough, he made grunting sounds as his chest heaved. Let them earn his flesh. Let them become infested with lowlander spores to make them puke.
Soon, pain and effort merged into a confused blur. With everything in him, Riker tried to concentrate. For a second, he halted and looked up. He could have sworn he just heard the hum of a flitter.
Captain Maddox?
No. He must have started to hallucinate. Riker turned back. He could hear the others beating the bushes for him. They were angry.
The sergeant managed a painful smile. A slimy substance had already begun to attach to his teeth. Given time, the gunk would rot them right out of his gums. Using a forefinger, he wiped away slime, brushing the substance on a leaf. He kept moving, but now he staggered.
“Do you hear that?” a Scorpion shouted.
Riker shivered. The red rot had taken hold. He must have a higher fever than before.
“He’s close, boys. I can feel it in my gut. Do you hear my stomach rumble with desire?”
Scorpions laughed, sounding more like hyenas than men.
Now Riker ran. It was like that of a wounded moose plunging into the forest. Behind him, a chorus of shouts and wild whoops told him they had found his trail again.
Once again, the flitter sound filled Riker with wild hope. Had he run long enough to give the captain time?
Sergeant Riker silently jeered himself as a hopeless romantic. He must believe in impossible causes just as the captain did. The young officer had infected him with his insane optimism. They had worked together for a year. It had been the most eventful time of Riker’s life. He was sorry to die on this Godforsaken planet. Without him as a tether to reality, Captain Maddox would take matters too far and kill himself in the line of duty.
“Run, Weasel!” a Scorpion shouted.
Riker glanced back. He saw a native in a loincloth, with a wet rag over his face like an old-time Western outlaw. The man carried a long-barreled flintlock in one hand. He had a pack on his back, while oil glistened on his skin. The oil helped to keep vile lowlander spores off his body.
The man knelt, raised the flintlock and let the hammer fall.
Time seemed to slow down for Sergeant Riker. The striking of flint against the pan produced an explosion of gunpowder. Where on this plant had they found the needed substances?
It didn’t matter. A hard knot of wood struck Riker’s back. It pitched him forward off his feet, so he crashed face-first against the soil. Pain made him writhe on the ground. He tried to get up, but failed. His limbs were refusing to move.
The snap and crunch of branches told him Scorpions approached. He heard their mocking laughter. No, no, he couldn’t let them feast on his flesh.
“Maddox,” he wheezed. “Can you hear me?”
“He’s praying,” a Scorpion said.
“Let’s drag him to that rock. We can use it to hack off his legs easier.”
“Are we going to eat him here?”
“I’m not dragging his carcass upstream.”
“Sheds will be angry with you.”
“What are you saying? You want to carry him?”
“No.”
“So why are you talking about Sheds?”
“You know why. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
Riker had almost lost consciousness. He knew about Sheds too. The man was huge and strong, and he ruled the Scorpions with savage brutality. The others feared his wrath. The chief had a grim garden of planted people festering with horrible diseases. Sheds liked to wander through his garden, taunting the inmates of his own private hell.
“Should we carry this crawly back then?”
No one spoke.
“Or should we eat him here?”
Again no one spoke.
“Hey, you,” a Scorpion said, prodding Riker in the side. “Can you walk?”
Riker tried to stand, but slid back onto his stomach.
“We’ll eat him,” the same Scorpion said. “Blue, you and Fetch drag him to the rock. I’m going to do the hacking.”
Riker didn’t fight as they dragged his body over the damp ground. They used his legs. He was trying to drum up enough strength to make a last fight of it. The wooden pellet in his back kept leeching the last of his willpower, though.
I never thought it would end like this. I wonder what happened to Captain Maddox. Why did I hear the hum of a flitter? I suppose I’ll never know.
“Here we go,” a Scorpion said. “Prop him up.”
Men grabbed Riker’s torso. They heaved, and Riker’s back exploded with pain as they laid him on the rock.
His good eye opened, and he struck with everything he had, punching a Scorpion in the gut. It ended up being little more than a shove. The native stumbled back, though.