Francisco wondered what kind of horror it would take to reduce this very tough little lady to tears.
Lucille squeezed her shoulder gently. "Go ahead and cry, hon, it's all right to cry now... ."
Francisco felt helpless as the girl turned and sobbed in Lucille's arms. She clung to the older woman's blouse like a child and hid her face. Janet turned away, her own cheeks wet. Francisco rummaged through the contents of his bag, but found nothing remotely resembling a sedative. It was Demerol, surgical anesthetic, or nothing.
Francisco didn't want to waste the surgical supplies unless it were a dire emergency—like drugging the guards and finding out where they kept their recall device. Gradually the young woman's sobs quieted. She lay still in Lucille's arms for a while longer, then slowly pulled herself together again.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I hate snivelly women..."
Lucille dried the girl's face with a corner of the blanket and smiled warmly. "Somehow I don't think this qualifies as snivelling."
The uncertain look she gave Lucille tore at Francisco's heart.
"Who are all you people?" she asked, still sniffling. "And what are you doing in Alaska in 28,000 b.c.? Besides being hostages, I mean."
Lucy's eyes widened. "Good Lord, girl, you're quick for somebody in as much pain as you are."
The young woman shrugged it off, winced and found a more comfortable position. "You didn't answer my question."
"My name is Lucille Collins. You've met Frank. This is Janet Firelli. My son Danny is out in the kitchen getting some dinner together for us. That little boy over there is Zac Hughes. His appendix was almost ready to burst this morning. That's why they brought Frank through in the first place. When they thought they didn't need him anymore..." Her voice faltered.
Janet said harshly, "They took him outside to shoot him. Next thing we know, they're back with you. Then all hell sort of broke loose." She scowled at the guards. "That creep is Nelson. One of Carreras' men. They keep switching off our guards so none of 'em start sympathizing too much with us."
Nelson just grunted. Then stalked out of the room, bellowing for Joey. The slim girl watched him go through slitted eyes. "Yes. I've met him before, although I didn't know his name. He and Tony drugged me. They dropped me into a place and time I shouldn't have lived through." She shivered. "I got lucky."
Janet closed her hand over the girl's. "Our other guard, there, the one with the lump on his head, is Bill. We never know their last names. Anyway, Lucille hit him over the head with a chair during the confusion."
The girl stared at Lucille. Then grinned. Her whole face lit up. For just a moment, her eyes sparkled and Francisco realized she was beautiful. "Way to go!" she said happily. "Anything we do to 'em, they deserve. And then some."
"Anyway," Lucille added, "Joey's up on the roof plugging the holes Nelson shot into it. Joey's our other guard."
"Well, that tells me who all of you are," she said, "but it doesn't answer why you're hostages. Unless, of course, idiot, it's got to do with the time travel thing Carreras is into, doesn't it? Why you people, specifically?"
Everybody hesitated.
Lucille finally said, "Yes, we're hostages. My husband is the chief military officer and engineer on a classified project. Carreras runs it now. Janet's mother and Zac's grandfather are the head physicists."
"I wondered about that," she mused. "So did..." She paled. "Never mind."
Francisco wondered who had died. And why she seemed to want to keep that person's identity secret.
"My name's Sibyl," she said at length. "Sibyl Johnson. Tony Bartlett... Well, I'm not sure if that was his real last name or not, since Interpol couldn't trace it. He used me as a scapegoat to steal some antiquities from a dig at Herculaneum, one of the cities Vesuvius buried in a.d. 79."
Francisco's blood chilled. "That's what blasted through the portal?"
She nodded grimly. "I was a graduate student in anthropology. Tony used me as a front to locate the stuff in the present, then kidnapped me and used me as payment to buy the stuff in the past. Then left me to die."
"So you're the one who stabbed him?" Francisco asked quietly.
She stared.
"He came through with you, on a horse. You crawled off to the side and got clear. He went down right in the middle of it. He didn't live long."
Unholy joy lit her green eyes.
Francisco looked away. "It wasn't a pretty sight."
Her voice was icy. "I hope he died hard. Real hard."
"He did. He was still alive when we got to him."
She turned her face away. "Sorry if it shocks you," she muttered.
Unexpectedly, Lucille said, "Don't apologize. And it doesn't shock me."
Sibyl groped for and squeezed her hand. Janet reached out and squeezed her shoulder in silent support.
Francisco decided the time was right to go check on Danny. His background had not quite prepared him for what he'd just witnessed in these women. Francisco realized Sibyl Johnson wasn't the only one who had recently lost a certain innocence. He wondered whether it was a loss worth mourning.
God help Carreras if those three ever got hold of him. Given his own near brush with death, that was something he'd give a great deal to see.
Chapter Nineteen
For one, awful moment, Dan Collins thought McKee would shoot him out of hand. He didn't go crazy wild. He just went very still, with the silent deadliness of a viper poised to strike. He stared down at Dan, eyes narrowed. His fingers tightened slightly on the M16 he'd been holding casually trained on Dan's belly... .
Then he was moving, almost faster than Dan could follow. He grabbed Dan by the front of his parka and hauled him to his feet, then grunted and heaved him up into a fireman's carry. Dan's breath whistled out sharply. His aching head spun. He landed in a heap sideways on the passenger's seat of the truck and lay still. At least McKee hadn't left him to freeze to death in the snow... .
McKee climbed behind the wheel and slammed the door shut, then propped the M16s between himself and the door. Dan grimaced. Did McKee think he could take the stupid things away from him and use them? With his hands manacled behind him?
The knowledge he'd failed at his one pitiful chance threatened to crush him. Lucille and Danny and the others would die because this madman had gotten the drop on him—or, rather, the drop-kick. Dan didn't feel much like splitting hairs at the moment. The truck lurched into motion. Lightning sprayed madly all around. McKee gunned the engine and sent the truck plunging forward.
Without warning, Dan felt as though he were falling. He clenched his teeth. I've been through this before, it lasts only a moment. A long moment.... Invasive white light he couldn't escape, even with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, blinded him. He couldn't hear the truck. Having his hands manacled helplessly behind him only worsened the gut-wrenching sensations.
Then solid ground reached up and slammed against the wheels. Dan yelled. He was thrown violently forward. He landed against the dash with rib-cracking force and slid helplessly onto the floor, jammed in sideways. He groaned, then bashed his head again as McKee stood on the brakes. The lunatic sent the truck fishtailing across a shifting, unsteady surface. Heartfelt oaths reached him as McKee fought the wheel... .
Then, blessedly, the truck skidded to a halt and stopped bashing Dan around like a pea in a pinball machine. McKee swore again, then the big maniac threw open the door and jumped out. Something hard slammed into the steel roof. Muggy air blasted in through the open door. Muggy, hot, and foul beyond belief. Hellish, unidentifiable noise bombarded his ears. Dan coughed and tried to squirm around into a sitting position. He could barely move.