Leftwich walked into the gloomy interior.
Boone took a tentative step forward, and his hesitancy saved his life.
A burly man with curly black hair, dressed in a flowing black robe secured by a red sash, lunged from the shadows to the right of the doorway, in the act of swinging a short curved sword at the Cavalryman’s head. But the Gild member had misjudged his swing, excepting his adversary to be a full stride inside the door.
Framed in the doorway, Boone threw himself backwards, the sword arching past his face and deflecting off the Darter barrel. He took two strides and leveled the Darter as his assailant charged after him.
The assassin raised his sword for another stroke.
Boone fired from the hip. There was no retort, no recoil, but the Darter was supremely effective and exceedingly lethal.
The burly assassin twisted to the right as the explosive dart penetrated his pelvic wall above the crotch and detonated, showering his kidney, intestines, and black fabric outward. Screeching, he doubled over, his face inches from the Darter barrel.
Boone squeezed the trigger again.
A spume of crimson, flesh, and gray and white matter burst out of the top of the assassin’s cranium and he tottered backwards, flopping onto his back.
There was no sign of Leftwich.
Boone was about to plunge into the building after the devious killer when a pair of steely hands fastened onto his back, one at the waist and the other on the nape of his neck. He was savagely wrenched into the air and shaken like a child’s rag doll.
“Get the bastard, Nightshade!” Leftwich cried, emerging from the structure.
Boone was slammed onto the ground, onto his knees, and he attempted to turn, to bring the Darter to bear. But a dark gray hand appeared from his rear and yanked the rifle from his grasp.
“Waste him!” Leftwich shouted in delight.
Boone rose and spun, his hands diving for his Hombres, but as fast as he was his opponent was faster. And what an opponent! Oily black hair, hooked nose, slanted yellow orbs, and gray skin, all trademarks of a genetically altered being, a mutant.
Nightshade grabbed Boone around the waist, pinning the Cavalryman’s arms, and hoisted him into the air.
Boone struggled in vain to break free. The mutant was endowed with incredible brute force!
“Kill him!” Leftwich cackled.
“No!” thundered a new voice.
Boone saw a towering man with pale blue eyes and auburn hair come into his line of vision from the left.
“Why not, Kraken?” Leftwich asked the newcomer.
Kraken stared at Leftwich, his jaw muscles twitching. “Because I said so! Do you need a better reason?”
“No,” Leftwich responded meekly.
Kraken studied the figure in Nightshade’s clutches. “You’re a Cavalryman, aren’t you?”
Boone didn’t answer.
“Nightshade,” Kraken said.
The mutant applied pressure on Boone’s back, squeezing until Boone thought his spine was on the verge of snapping. Boone’s face reddened and he gasped for air.
“Enough,” Kraken stated.
Nightshade relaxed his brawny arms.
“Obstinacy will gain you nothing,” Kraken said to Boone. “Nightshade will break you like a twig if you don’t cooperate.” He paused. “Are you a Cavalryman?”
Boone nodded, striving to suppress an acute pain in his chest.
“What’s your name?” Kraken asked.
The information was hardly worth dying for. “Boone,” the Cavalryman replied.
“Ahh, yes. I’ve heard of you,” Kraken mentioned. “A competent man in your limited way. You’re Kilrane’s bodyguard, or at least one of them.” He gazed at the dead Gild member. “I might have granted you a quick death, but you’ve killed one of our brothers.”
“Let me have him!” Leftwich requested.
Kraken glanced at Leftwich in stern disapproval. “I noticed you managed to get yourself captured.”
Leftwich blanched. “He got the drop on me!”
“Obviously,” Kraken said.
“It won’t happen again,” Leftwich asserted.
“I hope not,” Kraken stated, “for your sake.” He looked at Boone.
“Considering the level of incompetence demonstrated by my colleagues on this assignment, perhaps I should change our name from the Gild to the Simpletons.”
Boone said nothing.
Kraken sighed. “A keen sense of humor is so seldom appreciated.” He gazed at Leftwich. “Go up on the roof and tell Charley to come down here.
We are going to move our temporary base of operations to another part of the park. This place is prone to too many unwelcome guests.”
Leftwich ran into the building.
“And now to decide your fate,” Kraken said to Boone. “Your killing of Farino necessitates a gruesome demise. The code of the Gild and all that.”
“Why do you want to kill the Federation delegates?” Boone ventured to ask.
“I head an organization of professional assassins,” Kraken replied. “The answer should be readily apparent.”
“Someone must have hired you,” Boone noted. “Who?”
Kraken grinned. “That information is classified.” He looked at Nightshade. “Do you think our saurian friend might enjoy some dessert?”
The mutant smirked.
“Bring him,” Kraken directed, walking to the north.
Nightshade carted the Cavalryman without appearing to exert himself.
“As I was saying,” Kraken said over his right shoulder, “your killing of our brother Farino necessitates a fitting death. The Gild firmly believes in the ancient adage of an eye for an eye. Since you used a Darter on Farino and blew him to pieces, so to speak, it is only fitting you suffer a similar fate.”
Boone was endeavoring to quell a rising tide of panic. He desperately wanted to pry himself loose from Nightshade’s grip, but the mutant’s arms were like bands of iron. His fingers were touching the grips on his Hombres, yet the revolvers might as well have been on the moon for all the good they were doing him. What use could they be if he couldn’t move his hands to draw them?
“The second day after we arrived in the park we discovered we had a next-door neighbor,” Kraken was saying. “You’ll be interested in meeting him, I’m sure. Or should I say meeting ‘it’?”
“They’ll come looking for me,” Boone stated.
Kraken chuckled. “Perhaps. But by the time they do, we won’t be here and you will be in the belly of Leviathan.”
“The belly of what?” Boone queried.
“Why, I’m surprised at you,” Kraken said as they rounded the northwest corner of the building and walked toward a marshy track to the northeast. “Haven’t you read the Holy Bible?”
“The Bible? I’ve read parts of it,” Boone stated. “What’s the Bible have to do with this?”
“Have you ever read Job?” Kraken inquired.
“Years ago,” Boone disclosed. “When I was a kid.”
“And you don’t remember Leviathan?” Kraken said mockingly. “Well, never fear. You’re about to have your memory refreshed.”
They traversed a field and reached the bank of a large pool of brackish water.
“This swamp encompasses several acres,” Kraken divulged. “The water is drainage from the lake over there.” He pointed to the east.
Boone glanced in the indicated direction and spotted a lake containing a big island.
“Do you see the island?” Kraken asked.
Boone nodded.
“The one you were seeking, the Warrior Hickok, is on that island,” Kraken said.
“How do you know I was looking for Hickok?” Boone questioned.
Kraken stared at the Cavalryman. “Please. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
He surveyed the bank. “I see Leviathan has disposed of poor Neborak. The beast might not be hungry again for some time, but I trust you won’t mind the wait?”