With a loud grunt, the razorback came down the near side of the mound to the water. Not twenty feet separated the beast from Fargo’s hiding place. He waited, every nerve raw.
Tilting its huge head, the boar sniffed some more. It seemed about to plunge in and come toward him when it suddenly turned.
It had seen the lights.
Surely not, Fargo thought. Surely it would realize what Gros Ville was. But if so, either it didn’t care—or in its perpetual fury it was so bloodthirsty that all it could think of was killing. Snorting, it barreled into the water, heading for the settlement.
Fargo had to warn them. He brought the pirogue into the open. Already the razorback was almost out of sight. Swiftly, he traded the paddle for the Henry, jammed the stock to his shoulder, and banged off three shots. He had no hope of killing it but that wasn’t his intention. He was trying to turn it, to make it come after him instead of attacking Gros Ville.
The razorback didn’t stop.
Fargo put down the rifle and paddled with all his might. He flew as fast as one man could but it wasn’t anywhere near fast enough. He hoped against hope that something would divert it, or that the smells and the sounds would cause it to retreat into the swamp. Most razorbacks would. But this one wasn’t like most. This one was a berserk killer, as mad as the Mad Indian. It wasn’t going to stop.
The Cajuns would be talking about this night for years to come.
Fargo still was hundreds of yards out when the first scream pierced the night. A scream followed by the boar’s shrill squeals. And then more screams, and shots, and the crash of a wall. A ruckus this side of bedlam. He saw figures running wildly about, saw muzzle flashes and heard men swear.
His shoulder throbbed and his arms ached but Fargo threw himself into stroking with renewed vigor. Flames lent incentive. A lamp or a lantern had been knocked over and one of the buildings was on fire. As dry as everything was, the fire would spread swiftly.
Fargo thought of Halette and Liana and Clovis, and swore. He was a stone’s throw from the shore when a small girl broke from between two buildings, screaming hysterically. For a few dreadful moments he thought it was Halette, but no, it was some other girl, and hard after her thundered the razorback. He grabbed the Henry.
A man appeared, standing straight and tall between the charging boar and the girl. Flickering light from the spreading fire revealed who it was.
“No!” Fargo yelled. “Get out of there!”
If Hetsutu heard, he gave no indication. Instead he raised his rifle and fired.
The razorback squealed but didn’t veer aside. Hetsutu fired again, and yet a third time, taking precise aim. But if his shots scored they had no effect.
“Run!”
Hetsutu tried to spring aside. He coiled his legs and leaped but he wasn’t more than a foot off the ground when the razorback rammed into him. Fargo expected to see him go flying, but no, one of the boar’s tusks hooked deep. The razorback stopped and tossed its head from side to side, squealing all the while.
There was nothing Fargo could do. He took a bead but he didn’t have a clear shot. He had to watch in helpless horror as the boar ripped and mangled Hetsutu.
Hetsutu never cried out. Limbs flapping, his body slid free and dropped.
Fargo heard the thud as clear as anything.
The girl had reached the canoes and the pirogues and had the presence of mind to climb into a canoe and flatten.
Snorting and sniffing, the razorback came after her.
Fargo sighted on its head. He was on the verge of firing when somewhere a woman screamed and the razorback wheeled and raced in her direction.
The pirogue crunched onto solid ground. Fargo dashed to the canoe to find the little girl quaking and sniffling, the whites of her eyes showing.
“Stay put. You’re as safe here as anywhere. I’ll come back for you.”
The girl said something in French.
“What?”
“The beast, monsieur! It killed my mother! It came through our wall as if the wall were made of paper!”
Fargo ran after it. He had no plan other than to try and keep it from killing anyone else. Suddenly he stopped.
Hetsutu’s ruptured body lay practically at his feet. Most of Hetsutu’s organs were no longer in the body. From the abdominal cavity oozed the intestines, like so many coils of a snake. Several ribs had been shattered and one poked through the flesh.
Fargo poured on speed. He came to the street, and to chaos run rampant.
Several buildings were aflame. People were running every which way, shouting and bawling and bellowing. Bodies lay sprawled in violent death. Two of the shacks had been flattened and from under the broken roof of one of them came the shrill sobs of a woman.
“Help me! Please help me!”
From under the other shack protruded a bloody arm.
A Cajun ran up, a man Fargo had never seen before, and clutched at his shirt. “Have you seen him?”
“Who?”
“My son. He is only six. He ran off and I can’t find him.”
Fargo shook his head and the distraught man ran off. That reminded him. He ran to the tavern. It appeared to be intact and wasn’t on fire. But the front door hung wide open.
Dashing in, Fargo cast about for Liana and the children. He called their names. Fear filled him when he got no answer.
Fargo ran back out. They had to be there somewhere. He took a few strides and was brought up short when a breathless Remy Cuvier materialized out of the smoke and the mayhem.
Remy was armed with a rifle and pistols. His eyes were bloodshot and he reeked of alcohol.
“Here you are! I have been looking for you and Namo and the Breed. Have you seen them?”
“Hetsutu is dead.”
Remy took a step back. “Non! Say it isn’t so.”
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
“He was my best friend. My right arm.”
“Namo is off in the swamp—”
“What’s that? The fool!”
“His kids are with the woman who owns the tavern—”
“Liana. Yes, I know her.”
“Help me find them.” Fargo made off up the street. Whether Remy did or didn’t tag along, he must make sure they were safe.
Flames engulfed a building on the right. A number of men were trying to put out the fire but the few buckets they had weren’t enough. A body lay so close to a burning wall that no one could risk pulling it away.
The body was Doucet’s. A tusk had ripped his jaw and part of his face off.
Fargo shouted Liana’s name. He shouted Halette’s. “Damn it. Where are they?”
“They could be anywhere.”
A cloud of smoke wafted over them. Fargo got it into his eyes and into his lungs. Coughing, he turned to one side.
“The beast! Look!”
The razorback was attacking another shack. In a mindless rage, it slammed into a plank wall again and again.
“Here is our chance to kill it!”
The boar chose that moment to turn—and saw them. Squealing fiercely, it charged.
“Oh hell!” Remy said.
14
Fargo and Remy both snapped up their rifles.
The razorback was closing rapidly when two Cajuns came running around the corner of a building, saw it, and opened fire. Instantly the razorback veered toward them. Fargo swore their shots hit it but the lead had no effect. With astounding speed the boar was on them. Those twin tusks ripped once, ripped twice, and writhing bodies were left in the beast’s wake.
Fargo went to shoot but the razorback raced around the corner and was gone.
“That thing is a devil!” Remy exclaimed.
Fargo was thinking of Liana and the children. There was no sign of them along the entire street. On a hunch, he ran back toward the tavern. All around was a riot of confusion as Cajuns fought fires or tended to screaming wounded or wept over dead ones. He heard the squeals of the razorback but from a ways off.