Bertha tensed as she saw Cole, Libby and Eddy creep to within 20 yards of the Bobcats. They crouched behind a spreading pine. Cole wagged his hand to the right and the left, and Eddy and Libby started off in the corresponding directions.
The Bobcat leader unexpectedly paused, scanning the hill.
Bertha held her breath.
Cole, Libby, and Eddy froze in their tracks.
The Bobcat leader looked over his shoulder at the gang, then resumed his journey.
Bertha took a deep breath.
Cole, Libby, and Eddy were crawling down the hill, silently parting the brush in their path, stopping whenever a Bobcat idly gazed up the hill.
The Bobcat leader halted beside a maple tree and leaned down, doing something with his right shoe.
Cole was now within 10 yards of the Bobcats, close to the center of their column. Libby was 12 yards from the four carrying the machine gun. And pudgy Eddy was 12 yards from the Bobcat leader.
What were they waiting for? Bertha craned her neck for a better view.
The Claws should strike before the…
Cole suddenly rose to his feet from a clump of weeds, his AK-47 leveled.
“You slime!” he shouted, and fired.
Three of the Bobcats in the middle of the line were ripped to pieces by the automatic barrage, the slugs slamming into their bodies and exploding out their backs, ravaging their torsos. Their limbs jerked and flapped as they were struck and knocked to the ground.
The other Bobcats lunged for the nearest cover.
Libby popped up from behind a log, and her sweeping spray of lead caught the four with the machine gun in their chests. They died in midstride, crumpling under the weight of the machine gun.
Eddy rose, aiming at the Bobcat leader.
Only the Bobcat leader was quicker. He must have sensed something was wrong, must have been toying with his shoe as a ruse, because he was already in motion as Eddy stood, and both fired at the same instant.
Eddy’s head snapped back, a crimson geyser erupting from his left ear, and he toppled to the grass.
The Bobcat leader ducked behind the maple tree.
Bertha started to raise the M-16, but hesitated. No! She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—shoot children!
Cole dropped another Bobcat, and then flattened. Libby did likewise.
The three remaining Bobcats were raking the hillside with gunfire, shooting in the general direction of their adversaries.
From her vantage point high on the hill, Bertha saw Cole’s left shoulder twist sharply, as if he had been hit.
The firing abated, each side waiting for the other to make the next move. In addition to the Bobcat leader, a girl of 14 or 15 and a boy approximately the same age were the only Bobcats still alive. The girl was hidden in a cluster of boulders 20 yards from Libby, and the boy was concealed in a thicket less than 15 yards from Cole.
Bertha could see Cole and Libby clearly. The Bobcat girl was visible every now and then, whenever she popped her head up for a quick look-see. Although Bertha knew where the Bobcat leader and the other boy were hiding, neither betrayed their position, neither appeared in her field of view.
Cole was tentatively groping his left side, and when he drew his right hand aside, his fingers were dripping blood.
Bertha nervously bit her lower lip. She was in an agonizing quandary. If she didn’t do something, do anything, and fast, Cole might die. But what could she do, short of shooting a Bobcat?
Libby was on her hands and knees, sheltered by a log, trying to peek around the end of the log and spot Cole.
Bertha doubted whether Libby could see Cole. He was too well camouflaged by a stand of weeds.
Cole was checking the magazine of his AK-47.
Bertha finally made up her mind. Just because she felt uncomfortable about killing a Bobcat didn’t mean she couldn’t aid the Claws in another manner. As a distraction, for instance. If she could attract the Bobcat’s attention, she might provide Cole and Libby with the openings they needed. The idea was worth a try. She began moving down the hill, crouched over, treading lightly.
Libby was now on her knees, continuing to scan for Cole.
Don’t do anything stupid! Bertha almost yelled. She skirted a blue spruce. So how, she asked herself, was she going to help Cole and Libby without getting herself shot? The Bobcats would shoot at anything they saw moving. She had to be extremely careful.
Cole had squirmed onto his elbows and knees.
What was he up to? Bertha halted behind a rock outcropping 60 yards from the base of the hill.
There was movement in the thicket secreting the Bobcat boy.
Bertha stiffened. She was too far away yet! If only nothing would happen until she was closer! She sccambled forward on her stomach, across a grassy stretch, and reached a maple tree. Once behind the trunk, she stood and surveyed the situation below.
The movement in the thicket had ceased.
Libby was still seeking a glimpse of Cole.
Cole was peering over the top of the weeds.
Bertha was about to crouch and proceed further, when something flickered at the edge of her vision, lower down and off to the right. She glanced in that direction, her nerves tingling.
The Bobcat leader had circled around Cole! He was 15 yards from Cole’s hiding place, slowly advancing, stooped over.
How the hell had he done it? Bertha had supposed he was on the opposite side of the tree where he’d taken cover. The guy was good! There was no doubt about it.
The Bobcat leader was searching from side to side. Several trees and a dense bush separated him from Cole.
Bertha didn’t believe the Bobcat leader had seen Cole. Yet. But in a few seconds Cole was bound to be spotted. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the Bobcat leader, waiting for the right moment. He passed one of the trees, then another. Bertha’s abdomen tightened expectantly. The tall Bobcat leader came abreast of the third tree, and now just the bush obscured Cole’s hiding place from the alert, black-haired youth. Bertha’s eyes were glued to the Bobcat’s ragged brown leather shoes. He took one step, then another, cautiously edging around the bush to the left. Another one took him to the very border of the bush. He was scrutinizing the slope above him, and he still hadn’t spied Cole squatting in the weeds. He raised his leg, about to go past the bush, and as he did, Bertha took her calculated gamble. She leaped from concealment, waving her arms. “Up here, turkey!” she shouted.
The Bobcat leader swiveled at the sound of her voice, pointing his AK-47 up the hill.
Even as the Bobcat leader was turning, Cole spun too. He saw the leader’s head and shoulders visible above the bush, and he fired from a crouch, his burst striking the Bobcat leader in the face and flinging the tall youth to the turf.
And suddenly, everything went wrong.
Libby, hearing the gunfire but unable to see Cole, sprang to her feet, anxious for his safety, heedless of her own. It was a fatal mistake.
The Bobcat girl in the boulders jumped up, blasting from the hip, her AK-47 on full automatic.
Libby was hurled onto her back by the impact, her arms spreading wide.
Cole whirled at the chatter of the Bobcat girl’s weapon, and he saw Libby get hit. He surged from cover, crashing through the underbrush toward Libby. ” No!” he screamed. ” No! No!”
The Bobcat in the thicket abruptly stepped into view, aiming a rifle at Cole, and he squeezed the trigger as Cole recklessly crossed a small clearing five yards from Libby.
Cole stumbled as he was struck. He twirled toward the Bobcat in the thicket, and he fired as the Bobcat’s rifle thundered again, and kept firing as the Bobcat doubled over and dropped to one side. He turned toward Libby, staggering haltingly.