That’s the way the director is visualizing it, so he wants me to get some shots to send back to him.” More gnomes stood. A living tunnel began to form. Because the shaman must have approved this stickman’s presence. How else would he know about their leader’s impending appearance?
“Excellent. Great.” Bergman worked himself to the corner of the bandstand closest to our exit as he snapped picture after picture. “Ope! I think I see the shaman coming! Already.” Bergman’s voice tried to strangle itself. He murmured, “Something’s wrong with this parade. The shaman’s standing on some kind of raft carried by uniformed guards, but he’s stiff and wobbly. Almost like a mannequin… Do they believe in freeze-drying their religious leaders?”
“We have no information that he has even been sick,” Vayl replied. “Proceed as planned.” Bergman gulped so loudly my ears popped. Then he yelled, “Everybody stand up straight! Yep, that means you people in the middle too. On your feet! Stand and face the shaman!” Even from our spot, a city block from freedom, I could hear the distant rumble of drums heralding the main man’s approach.
“RAFS! I mean, Astral!” Bergman yelled.
“What do you need?” I asked, using all my self-control to keep my voice at a whisper.
Some of the gnomes were frowning at him now. Moving toward the steps. Reaching up as if to grab him.
“A grenade would be ideal!”
“Astral, show me your location!” She stood in the entrance to our escape tunnel awaiting orders.
“Bergman, what’s her range?” I asked.
“About fifty yards.”
“Come to me, Astral. Run!”
Sooner than I’d expected a streak of black reached my feet and leaped into my arms, slamming into my chest like an oversized volleyball. I tucked her under my arm, feeling ridiculously Monty Pythonesque as I pointed her toward the front of the shaman’s parade, which had just come into view, a long row of guards carrying between them a cooking pot the size of a bathtub.
“Okay, girl, hawk a grenade as far as you can.”
I felt her entire body pulse, a repeated motion just like you’d expect a cat to make. Except her mouth didn’t yawn, releasing a rocket-propelled minibomb as I’d expected. I heard a thunk and looked down.
Astral had dumped a red metal sphere beside my right foot.
“Shit!” I dropped her, grabbed the grenade, and lofted it as hard and as far as I could. Fortunately my college track training hadn’t completely failed me, and the missile exploded in the air, raining shrapnel on the Ufranite guards below.
The sound itself, a whump so deafening I immediately glanced up to see if the ceiling was falling, terrified the gnomes into a stampede. Add to that the gong of the falling cauldron, the screams of the wounded, the wails of terrified women and children, and you have what Pete likes to call “a situation.”
“Bergman! Why didn’t you tell me the grenades came out her ass!”
“Where else would they launch from?”
“Where—where are you?” So I can show you exactly what I think you can do with your cat and her grenades?
“Where do you think? Booking down the tunnel! How come you’re still hanging around there?” Hard to stay pissed at a guy who asked such good questions.
I’d had to stop to launch Astral’s weapon, but I was pretty sure no one had seen me. Now I caught up to the line, still remarkably intact considering the smoke and noise. But disturbing in that Tabitha was hurrying ahead of her sons, not even glancing over her shoulder to make sure they were keeping up with her.
Only a few more steps and Vayl would be inside the tunnel. Which was a good thing, because our camo wouldn’t hold for much longer. With panicked gnomes running in random directions, he couldn’t direct their thoughts anymore. Which meant we could be spotted at—
“The prisoners are escaping!” shrilled one man, a pointy-headed, shaggy-haired example of why gnomes rarely marry outside their species. I stepped out of line to meet his rush, hoping Laal and Pajo were looking the other way as I drew my bolo.
While Vayl led the rest of our party into the tunnel, I confronted Pencil-head with a blade as long as his legs. Astral took her place next to me, arching her back and hissing as he drew his own weapon, a dagger that he spun in an intricate pattern designed to display his skill and intimidate me into making a mistake. I tossed my bolo into my left hand. Back into my right.
He snickered at my obvious lack of ability and lowered his arms. Just the mistake I was waiting for. I flung the blade just like I practiced every day on the range back in Ohio. It flew true, splitting his skull like a ripe cantaloupe. He dropped with the hilt of my great-great-granddad’s war knife sticking out from between his eyes. Unfortunately a couple of his buddies had heard his warning. And a few more saw him go down.
“Vayl,” I said as I sidled toward the exit, robokitty in tow. “I’ve got five, no make that six, gnomes in pursuit.” I pulled Grief, switched it into crossbow mode because I didn’t want to make another loud noise in a place where I could be buried alive. I paused to take a shot. “Make that five. They must not be able to afford to arm everybody the same because I don’t see rifles. All these goons have are knives and handguns.”
A shot pinged off the rock above my head.
“Are they sounding a general alarm?”
“Not yet. That last kill pissed them off too much. Plus, I think they know everybody else is too distracted with the explosion.”
“Can you hold them off until I get the boys out safely?”
“Sure.” Another shot slammed into the path behind me. Nope. And he probably knows that. But I’d be so pissed if he put my life ahead of those kids. And he knows that too.
“Bergman,” I said, forcing myself to breathe evenly because if I lost it now, I’d die. “How many of those grenades did you load into Astral?”
“Two,” he told me. “But, like I said before, they’re experimental. I was hoping we could try them out in a more controlled situation after the mission was over. I was amazed that one worked.” I wouldn’t go that far.
I squeezed off another bolt as the cat and I backed to the tunnel. One more down. The odds looked better, but these Ufranites weren’t giving up easily. Maybe they didn’t like the fact that we’d just tried to bury tiny bits of steel in their shaman’s face.
My remaining pursuers fell back, taking themselves out of range, though that meant they couldn’t hit me either. They fanned out, trying to surround me before I could reach my escape hatch. I could see the plan in their eyes. They knew how long Grief needed to reload now. The second I turned to run, the last three gnomes would rush me. As soon as they got into range, they’d open up with their overengineered handguns and pop me into the next world for good. With a sound only slightly louder than a Jack fart.
The two sides of me warred. I wanted so badly to escape the confines of the tunnels that my eyeballs were straining for natural light. If they could, they’d probably leap from their sockets and bounce down the path, leading the rest of my body to freedom. At the same time I felt insulted at the possibility of death by “poof.” When you get taken out, you kinda want it to happen with such an epic blast that people wish they were sitting on their toilets during the final kaboom. That way there’s less mess to clean up later on.
Okay, well, if this is it, I glanced down at the cat, let’s do it up right.
I said, “Astral, as soon as I shoot, launch a grenade in the same direction. Let’s think airtime this go-around, okay? Imagine it’s burrito night at Crindertab’s.” She responded with her accordion dance. I gave her to the count of three and shot at the gnome farthest from me. A beat later she raised her butt and heaved. This toss reminded me of a second-grader’s softball pitch. One that bounces before it hits the plate.