Dodge threw a glance toward the river and the empty moorage there. Hurley too pondered this. “Maybe the boat was overcrowded on the return trip. All I know is, there’s a trail in the jungle, and I mean to follow it. If they are running the captives on that trail, it’s a good bet the Padre’s with them.”
Molly straightened at this. “You’re right of course.”
“You two should be safe here. There’s no reason for them to —”
“We’re coming with you,” Molly announced, an instant ahead of Dodge.
Hurley put his hands on his hips. “Sister, when we catch up to them, there’s gonna be some shooting.”
She snatched the headdress off, releasing a cascade of fiery copper ringlets that reached below her shoulders. “Don’t let the habit fool you. I only wear it so the local ruffians will keep their distance.”
“I’ve only got my pistols. That shotgun of yours isn’t going to do much good in a gunfight.”
“Then we’ll keep our heads down,” intoned Dodge. “But Molly’s right. We need to stick together.”
Hurricane gave them both an appraising glance, and then looked skyward. “It will be dark soon. We’ll spend the night here, finish tending to the…” He gestured to the grave Dodge was still digging. “And get some rest. We’ll be a lot faster tomorrow if we get a good night’s sleep.”
Dodge knew that his friend was merely stalling, hoping to let Molly’s emotional tinder cool a bit before attempting to talk her into staying, but decided not to push the issue. Outnumbered and outgunned as they were, for any of them to attempt to pursue the pirate gang seemed patently foolish.
Still, it was hard to imagine Falcon turning his back on a captured comrade.
Molly elected herself to say a few words over the mass grave, then to Dodge’s amazement, named the victims and gave a brief eulogy for each. The crimson-haired girl continued to confound his sensibilities. She wasn’t exactly a tomboy, but Dodge had a feeling that she would be a lot more at ease in a pair of dungarees than the latest Paris fashions. Her rough manner seemed to counterpoint her raw beauty; she was nothing like the girls back home.
Oddly enough, it was Dodge’s own inability to put up with feminine pretensions that had earned him, undeservingly so far as he was concerned, the reputation as a misogynist among the secretaries in the Clarion newsroom. He was similarly impatient with the girls he met at the various public appearances, who seemed more in love with the idea of celebrity worship, than actually interested in him as a person. He envied Hurricane for his ability to simply enjoy empty flirtation while sampling the eye candy.
Molly was certainly easy on the eyes, but he had a feeling that, like her middle name, she was a thorny flower indeed.
Following the brief service, they rooted in the ruins of a building near the chapel and found some canned food that had escaped the flames. Their explorations also yielded up a box of shells for Molly’s shotgun and a battered machete in need of a whetstone. Hurley built up a large, smoky bonfire to drive off the mosquitoes and other jungle denizens, then settled back to enjoy a cheroot as twilight fell, while Molly set to work transforming canned beans and potted meat into a passable meal.
“I haven’t eaten that well in days Miss Molly,” Hurricane declared. “In fact, I was recently a guest of the President of the United States, and let me say, this repast put that meal to shame.”
Dodge laughed before he could stop himself. “As I recall, we never got to eat that meal.”
“Son, you’ve a thing or two to learn about complimenting a lady.” He fired up another hand — rolled cigar and gazed into the darkening sky. “We’ll need to keep a watch.”
Molly gave a little gasp of fear. “Do you think they’ll be back?”
“The pirates? Not likely. As far as they’re concerned, there’s nothing worth returning for. No, I’m more worried about the things with teeth and claws that will come out to feed once it’s dark. But a pair of watchful eyes and Miss Molly’s shotgun should suffice to keep us safe through the night. So, who wants to go first?”
Despite his anxiety about a night surrounded by fearsome creatures and the impenetrable darkness of the jungle, Dodge was on the verge of nodding off when Hurley touched him on the shoulder.
“Rest easy, lad.” He stirred the embers of the fire and threw a large chunk of wood into the blaze. “I thought we might let our feminine friend skip guard duty, what with all she’s been through, but it will mean giving up a little of your own shut eye.”
“Sure.” Dodge nodded blearily, and passed over the shotgun.
“You hang on to it. I’ve got my pistols.” Hurley settled down with his back to the fire and his eyes searching the black woods.
“Hurricane, I’ve been thinking. What happens when we catch up to these pirates? There’s only the three of us.”
“I’ve had worse odds before. Come to think of it, so have you.”
Dodge laughed half-heartedly. “If I’d taken half a second to think it through, I probably would have run the other way.”
Hurley laughed softly. “Sometimes, we find ourselves in a position where the only choice we really have is to do something absolutely, plumb crazy. Krieger and his rats took the Padre; going after them is the only choice I’ve got.”
“Even though we might get killed?”
Dodge already knew the answer, and Hurley knew the question was purely rhetorical, but he answered nonetheless. “They don’t know we’re coming, so the element of surprise is ours. I’ve got a couple other cards up my sleeve too, so it’s not as bad as it might seem. But we’re gonna need to be at our sharpest, so go catch forty winks. I’ll wake you in two hours.”
Dodge nodded again and climbed under the makeshift mosquito netting on the other side of the blaze. He held the shotgun as he might an unruly child, clutching it to his chest. He had never fired such a weapon — in fact, but for the lightning weapons on the metal exoskeletons, he had never fired any sort of weapon — but it seemed simple enough; point in the general direction of the target, brace it against a shoulder and pull the trigger. He wished he felt as confident about the road ahead.
Part of his concern was for Molly. He had no doubt that the fierce redhead would stand and fight with them, and probably acquit herself well in combat. As a lifelong resident of the region, she probably knew more about the jungle than even Hurley. His fear was not that she would freeze at the onset of the battle, but rather that she might get hurt or killed. For reasons he couldn’t begin to explain, he was feeling very protective of Molly Rose Shannon.
He drifted off to sleep thinking about her, painfully aware of the fact that she slept only an arm’s length away. Adolescent fantasies fluttered like moths through his semi-conscious state, until sleep stole over him.
Time had no meaning in the sleep state, but he drifted back to wakefulness when he felt a soft touch on his leg. Half asleep, his first thought was that it was Molly looking for comfort in what must be the loneliest of nights. As he gradually came back to the surface, he realized the foolishness of that scenario and that the hand on his leg must be Hurricane, rousing him for his turn at watch.
Except he couldn’t make out Hurley’s silhouette in the dim orange light, nor could he fathom why his friend was letting a hand wander along his right leg. Maybe it is Molly….
“I’m awake,” he mumbled, stretching his arms. The shotgun had slipped from his grasp and as he fumbled for it in the darkness, he wondered why Hurricane had let the fire burn so low.
The hand now crept to his abdomen, moving in a slow sinuous massage that was he imagined, exactly like the movement of a…
“Snake?”