“That’s impossible, no?” Gremlin responded, and snickered. “There are no elephants in this region, yes?”
“You know what I mean,” Ferret stated.
Blade hefted the Thompson and turned. “Enough chitchat. We’ve got to find Lynx.” He bore to the northeast.
“Lynx,” Ferret hissed. “This is all his fault. We’ve got weirdos who go around talking to giant snakes trying to blow us away, and the giant snakes they talk to ready to eat us if we show our faces.” He paused. “I swear. If Lynx ever suggests we go on another mission, and I don’t care if it’s just to step outside the Home to gather blackberries, I’m going to belt him in the mouth.”
“That’s a good point,” Blade said.
“What is?” Ferret asked in surprise.
“Is there just that one snake or dozens roaming these swamps?” Blade wondered.
“Dozens?” Ferret repeated, and glanced around nervously. “Nah. There couldn’t be. Could there?”
“Maybe the Black Snake Society made the snake with magic, yes?”
Gremlin theorized.
“Don’t be crazy,” Ferret said. “That voodoo stuff is a bunch of crap.”
“You never know, no?”
“I know if you keep talking like this, I’m going to belt you in the mouth.”
Gremlin glanced at his friend in dismay. “Ferret wouldn’t hurt Gremlin, yes?”
“No. Of course not. It was just a figure of speech, “Ferret replied uncomfortably. “I’d never hurt you.”
“Good.”
“But I could kill Lynx.”
Blade smiled and stepped over a log. He planned to return to the vicinity of the cabin. If Lynx had been captured, then the cat-man should be in that area. If not, taking another of the tonton macoutes prisoner might enable them to learn critical information essential to the success of the operation. For starters, he’d like to know the identity of the leader of the Black Snake Society. Locating the voodoo sect’s base of operations was equally important.
The minutes dragged by as the trio hiked onward. Overhead the afternoon sun arced steadily toward the west horizon.
“You know, I don’t like the idea of being out here after dark,” Ferret remarked. “I hope we find a safe place to stay for the night.”
“We can always climb a tree, no?” Gremlin said.
“No,” Ferret replied. “For all we know there could be humongous caterpillars crawling around up there.”
The humanoid chuckled. “Ferret has a great sense of humor, yes?”
“I wish.”
Blade abruptly halted and motioned for silence. He crouched, then moved ahead until he reached a cypress tree. Exercising supreme care, he peered around the trunk and spied the cabin approximately one hundred yards away.
Over two dozen members of me Black Snake Society were gathered around the structure.
Blade saw a powerfully built man in black addressing the other tonton macoutes. Was that the man Pétion had referred to, the man he’d called the Baron? Was the Baron even the head of the sect? He sensed rather than heard, the hybrids join him.
“What’s going on?” Ferret whispered.
“It looks like they’ve called off the hunt for us,” Blade said softly. “But why? One of their own is missing, no?” Gremlin mentioned.
Blade had no answer to that one. He watched as the magicians, as Pétion had called them, formed into a single file and marched to the east.
“They’re leaving,” Ferret exclaimed. “See? Even they don’t want to be out here after dark.”
“They could have a camp near here, yes?” Gremlin noted.
“Don’t you get tired of looking at the bright side all the time?” Ferret asked.
“Shut your faces,” Blade directed. He straightened, keeping his body flush with the trees, and thoughtfully observed the departure of the tonton macoutes. The notion of sending one of the hybrids to follow the men in black appealed to him, but after losing Lynx, and with night fast approaching, he didn’t want to become separated from the other two.
After the final man in line had vanished in the distance, he stepped into the open. “To the cabin.”
“May I talk, no?” Gremlin inquired.
“Go ahead.”
“Shouldn’t one of us go to New Orleans, yes? You can go and Ferret and Gremlin will wait here for Lynx.”
“The three of us will venture to New Orleans in the morning whether Lynx shows up or not,” Blade informed them. “I thought Warriors never abandon other Warriors.” Ferret said.
“They don’t,” Blade agreed. “But has it ever occurred to you that Lynx might be in their hands and already on his way to the city?”
“But what if he’s not, no?” Gremlin asked, sounding worried. “How will Lynx know where to find us, yes?”
“If he doesn’t show up, we’ll leave him a note. I have paper in my backpack,” Blade said.
The rest of the distance to the cabin was covered in silence. As before, the cabin door stood wide open.
Blade made for the entrance. Perhaps—just perhaps—the tonton macoutes had left a clue behind that would prove helpful. The possibility was remote, but he had to check. He advanced to the doorway, then looked back. “Keep your eyes peeled. Stay alert.”
“I’m always alert when there’s the chance I might be jumped by a man-eating snake or caterpillar,” Ferret cracked.
Blade grinned and lifted his right leg to go inside.
That was when the burly form in black materialized in front of him and jammed a submachine gun barrel into his ribs.
Chapter Ten
The wild boar rushed toward them like a great, hairy battering ram.
There was no time to flee and nowhere to run if they could. Without an avenue of escape, Lynx had a single option: to fight. Which suited him just fine. He was tired of running anyway.
Eleanore screamed.
Lynx shoved her to the ground and shouted, “Don’t move!” Then he skipped to the left a foot, causing the boar to angle at him and ignore the woman. He had barely braced himself for the onslaught when the beast was on him.
The boar’s tusks stabbed at the hybrid’s chest.
Lynx dodged to the left, but his delayed reaction cost him dearly. The tusks clipped his torso, gouging a slim furrow in his ribs, and the impact sent him sailing ten feet to crash onto his back in the weeds.
Displaying remarkable agility, the wild boar stopped, wheeled, and charged once more.
Furious at being struck and aggravated by the pain, Lynx pushed to his feet and tensed his legs. Not this time, sucker! he thought, and curled his fingers into claws. A peculiar trilling sound issued from his lips, a sound he made when either perplexed or enraged. At the moment he wasn’t perplexed.
The boar’s hoofs were drumming on the earth, and it was grunting its displeasure at having intruders invade its domain, its elemental savagery dictating that it tear, rend, destroy. With its ears flattened and its typically uncoiled tail straight out, the living tank homed in for the kill.
This time Lynx was prepared. He waited until the boar had closed to within a yard, then leaped high into the air, his feline sinews carrying him clear over the boar’s head and shoulders. In midair he twisted and came down, landing on the beast’s back. Instantly he tore into the swine, ripping and slashing with sharp nails that resembled, genuine claws but weren’t retractable. The boar’s tough hide resisted his first few swipes, but in a moment he penetrated to the softer flesh underneath and really went to work.
Eleanore DeCoud witnessed the battle in stupefied bewilderment. Lying propped on her elbows, she was too astonished to move. When the boar initially sprang at them, she’d expected to die. No one, not even someone endowed with Lynx’s obviously superior strength, could hope to best a wild boar in one-on-one combat. Or so she believed.