Achilles did likewise. “Go on ahead of me!” he urged.
“Be serious,” Blade replied.
“You can run faster than I can. They might need you,” Achilles said.
“Priscilla could be in trouble.”
“We’ll stick together.”
“But Priscilla—”
“Just move it!” Blade snapped. He scanned the field to the right and the left, relieved to note none of the creatures were trying to overtake them.
But there was still the one to their rear. He looked back again, and felt momentarily disconcerted at discovering the thing had vanished.
What was going on?
A minute elapsed without incident and they reached the base of the hill safely.
“Cover my back!” Blade ordered, and sped toward the summit, fearing he would find the worst, afraid everyone would be dead. He swept over the rim and crouched, the Commando tucked against his right side, ready to combat all comers.
But there was no one to fight.
Not a soul was in sight. Hickok, Geronimo, Priscilla, and Eagle Feather were all gone. Only the fire still pulsed with a life of its own, its fingers of flame dancing heavenward.
“Where are they?”
Blade looked at the novice, who stood on the crest, and shook his head.
“They took Priscilla?”
“They took everybody,” Blade corrected him. A glint of firelight off a gleaming object in the grass near the fire drew his attention. He hastened over and bent down to find both of Hickok’s Pythons lying on the ground.
The presence of the revolvers filled him with anxiety; Hickok never went anywhere without those guns. There was even a joke currently making the rounds, started by Geronimo, to the effect that the gunfighter even wore his prized Colts when he made whoopee.
Achilles walked to the fire, evidently stunned by the disappearances.
“They took everybody?” he repealed absently.
“Check for weapons,” Blade directed.
“What?”
“Weapons, man. Weapons. The creatures didn’t take the weapons. We’ll need every one we can find.”
“Right away,” Achilles said, grateful for the chance to do something, anything, so he wouldn’t need to dwell on Priscilla’s probable fate.
Blade picked up the Pythons and stuck them under his belt. Nearby he found the Henry and slung the rifle over his left shoulder.
“Here’s the FNC and Geronimo’s Arminius,” Achilles announced, waving the firearms.
“You’ll have to carry them,” Hade stated. He started to make a circuit around the fire, moving in ever-widening circles as he searched for weapons and clues to the direction the attackers had taken.
Achilles walked in a zigzag pattern to the north. He spotted a long object partly concealed by the grass and stooped down to grab it. A brief inspection sufficed to reveal the object was a Winchester with a shattered stock. “Hey, took at this,” he declared.
Blade stepped over and took the gun. He examined the stock for a few seconds, then hefted the rifle. “This is Eagle Feather’s. Interesting, isn’t it, that they threw all the guns away.”
“How so?”
“Guns are at a premium everywhere. If human raiders had been responsible for this ambush, they would have taken all the guns and left bodies. But these Bear People, these mutations, obviously couldn’t care less about weapons. They prefer to rely on their mutant abilities, on their strength and speed.”
“Maybe the things are too stupid to know how to operate a firearm,” Achilles speculated.
“Maybe, but somehow I doubt it,” Blade said. He tossed the Winchester aside.
“Shouldn’t we take it with us?” Achilles asked. “The stock can always be repaired.”
“I know, but we’ll have our hands full as it is,” Blade replied. “We’ll cover the Winchester with deer hide and come back for it after we find out what’s happened to the others,” Blade proposed, and surveyed the summit.
“Wait a minute. Where’s the buck?”
“What?”
“The mule deer Eagle Feather shot. The buck was carved up for supper.
There was a lot left over,” Blade observed. “Where did the carcass go?”
Achilles looked around. “They took it.”
Frowning, Blade moved closer to the fire. “We’ll spend the rest of the night here. I’ll take the first watch.”
“We’re not going after them?”
Blade glanced at the novice. “Which way would we go?”
Bafflement etched Achilles’ features. He turned to the north, then the south. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
“There’s nothing we can do until daylight,” Blade said. “We can’t track them at night. At first light we’ll scour the hill and the plain for sign. If we’re lucky, we’ll find tracks.”
“And if we don’t discover any tracks?”
“Then we’ll have no way of knowing the direction they took,” Blade answered, his broad shoulders drooping, “and we may never see Hickok and Geronimo again.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Strange.
He couldn’t remember a mountain falling on him, and yet that was exactly how he felt.
Every muscle in his body ached. He seemed to be one large bruise, from the hairs on his head to the tips of his toes. What could have happened?
His mind was sluggish, his memory fuzzy. Had his missus gotten ticked off because he’d let the kids play World War Three in the living room again?
Somebody had sure stomped him, but good.
He became conscious of a peculiar swaying movement and felt cool air on his cheeks and brow.
Where was be, anyway?
A rank odor assailed his nostrils. He became aware of being bent in half at the waist. When he opened his eyes, he thought for a moment he must be dreaming.
Why was he lying on a hairy rug?
Better yet, why was the rug moving?
Suddenly insight dawned and he recalled the battle on the hill. The blamed critters must have captured him!
How embarrassing!
Well at least he should look at the bright side. He was still alive. So to speak. He attempted to move his dangling arms and found his wrists had been securely bound.
Figured.
He realized he had been draped over someone’s shoulder. Correction.
Make that something’s shoulder. The creatures were carting him somewhere. Why? What did they have in mind? He wondered about the others. Were they still alive too, or had the critters killed them?
What should he do next?
He could feel an arm encircling his waist. By kicking and lunging forward, he might be able to break loose. Might. Whatever was carrying him must be immensely strong, if the ease with which the thing conveyed his 180 pounds served as any indication.
Someone groaned.
He twisted his head, listening carefully. Far overhead, the starry firmament stretched into infinity. So it was still night, and he probably hadn’t been unconscious very long.
The groan was repeated.
Relief made him smile. Would the creatures object if he spoke? There was only one way to find out. “Pard, is that you?”
“Hickok?”
“Yep. Are you okay?”
“Something is carrying me.”
“You Injuns never fail to amaze me with your powers of observation.”
“Suck eggs.”
A new voice interrupted their conversation. “Hickok! Geronimo! It’s me, Priscilla.”
“Where’s Eagle Feather?” Hickok inquired, but he never received an answer.
“Shut your mouth!” someone commanded in a gruff, raspy tone. “The next one of you scum who talks will have his tongue ripped out!”
Hickok almost told the speaker to go to hell, instead, he fell silent and pondered his predicament. There was no sense in trying to escape until he knew what was going on, so he resigned himself to playing along for the time being. But sooner or later he would have a reckoning with the critters that clobbered him. Provided they didn’t kill him first.