And so he’d trailed the brown men, all the way to their quasi-military compound, and, again, had waited and watched. It hadn’t looked too good for the CDC people; from obvious signs, the Hunter could see plainly that their captors were cannibals. Most likely, they would kill and eat the whole CDC party with no more compunction than a dog with a bone. He’d seen cannibal survie gangs before and they almost always made short work of anyone unlucky enough to wander into their clutches. But still, something had told him to wait; who could say what wild-ass thing might happen?
And sure enough, some wild-ass thing had happened and, through his rifle scope, he’d watched on UV as it had gone down. The girl from the Motor gang, the really pretty one with the hot body, had, out of apparently nowhere, appeared and gone to work. In a flash, she’d snipped through the fence, bent out the bars of the cell where some of the CDC guys were being held, and vanished inside. He’d admired that; it took some guts to break into a survie compound, especially when they were as well-armed (and cannibalistic) as this bunch. Who was this chick, anyway?
Then the girl and a few of the others, including the tall guy who’d snuck off and the Old Man, had burst out of the place and, dodging shotgun pellets, run away. After a quick discussion with himself, he’d decided that the Old Man was his real target and had opted to trail the escapees, but it was at that point, leery of the mob of armed dudes on bikes, that he’d lost them.
It had taken another whole day to find their trail because, whoever the girl was, she sure as hell knew how to travel without leaving a trail. Indeed, he only rarely spotted one of her boot prints. But finally, thanks mainly to the other escapees, who were not so careful about where they walked, he caught back up and, just this morning, had finally laid eyes on them again. And so now he sat and waited and watched and listened. Sooner or later, they’d come out of this factory, whatever it was, and, with any luck, resume their trip.
This seemed like it had become a pattern. He would wait and watch, the CDC guys would get jumped or kidnapped or hijacked, and then he’d trail along in their wake until the next disaster. Except this time, the majority of them had been kidnapped and only a few had escaped; only the Old Man, two women, the tall man, and the girl remained. But, since his mission was to deliver the Old Man, one way or another, he was bound to follow the smaller group. Besides, the rest of the CDC people were probably all cannibal chow by now. And besides, he didn’t mind waiting and watching; it was his job.
He was musing these and other points when there was a rustling in the undergrowth nearby. In one silent motion, he hit the ground and whipped out his pistol, but it turned out to be just some guy, a pale, younger man with long hair, whom he’d never seen before. The man came within fifty yards of the Hunter and he was taking aim to blow the dude away, whoever the hell he was, but then the newcomer veered away and headed down to the abandoned factory. The Hunter thought about zapping the dude anyway, just to keep him away from the precious CDC remnants and any possible trouble he might cause them, but then decided against it. Whoever the guy was, he wasn’t obviously armed, he was just one man, and he sure as hell didn’t look like any kind of a match for the banger girl. As he watched, the young man crept up to the factory and crawled in through a window. The Hunter just shrugged; whatever the guy was doing, it was none of his business. Settling back into the deeper weeds, unmindful of the bugs and the heat, he waited and watched.
Chapter Sixteen
This week on Historical Crime Busters, the Duke of Wellington tracks down a vampire killer and Geoffrey Chaucer goes undercover to bust a porno ring. Don’t miss the excitement!
Groggy as he was, just waking up, Justin did not fail to notice when suddenly, from off somewhere in the vast factory, there came a noise, like metal falling on concrete. It was a small noise, and normally he would probably have written it off as rats or simple settling of the building itself, but Teresa’s assertion that they’d been followed suddenly popped into his head.
A quick glance told him that Cass and Erin were still both asleep. What if this, the noise, was their pursuer, breaking into the factory? Or already inside? For a second he thought of going to investigate by himself but then, unarmed and aware of his own limitations, decided that he’d better tell Teresa instead. Oddly enough, he found her sitting with Mr. Lampert in a nearby office.
“Hiya, Doc,” said Lampert, as Teresa rose from a comfy spot on the floor. “How’s tricks?”
“Um… fine,” said Justin. “But I just heard something, out there in the factory. A noise, like metal falling on stone.”
“Yeh?” said Teresa warily, un-slinging her shotgun. “An’ it ain’t a rackety-coon or somethin’?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Justin said, almost whispering. “I just thought that you’d want to know.”
Frowning, she knelt and dug in her satchel before coming up with a small flashlight, which she deftly slid into a socket near the shotgun’s muzzle. Switching this on and motioning for Justin to stay where he was, she silently padded off into the maze of factory machines. For what seemed like a long time, there was no sign of her, just a faint gleam from her flashlight bobbing around. Justin was about to go see what she was doing when suddenly he heard her voice ring out from somewhere not too far away:
“OK, ya doopy greep,” she said, surprisingly authoritative. “C’mon outta there or I fill yer ass with lead!”
There were some scuffling sounds and then another voice, a man’s, called out:
“Don’t shoot! It’s just me, Bowler!”
Bowler, thought Justin? The young man from the cannibal’s compound? But what was he doing here? The last they’d seen of him, he’d vanished into the night.
Curious, and certain that Teresa had the situation under control, he walked across the factory floor and between some big machines to where Teresa stood, keeping guard with her gun on the spindly, shaggy-haired figure of Bowler. The young man looked up fearfully as Justin approached and then slumped in evident relief.
“Bowler?” said Justin. “What are you doing here? I mean, it’s obvious you followed us from St. Alferd’s, but why?”
Bowler shrugged miserably. “Got nowhere else to go,” he said. “Those goddamn cannibals took all my stuff, I got no weapons or food or transportation. You guys just gotta let me come with you!”
“We ain’t gotta do nothin’,” Teresa said. “If y’all want some chow, there’s all them boxes o’ candy over there. Yer welcome to that. But you ain’t comin’ with. Forget it.”
“Now, Teresa,” said Justin calmly. “Let’s not be too hasty about this. Maybe young Mr. Bowler here could be of some help.”
“Hey, yeah!” said Bowler avidly. “I can help out all you want, man! I mean, I ain’t a doctor or nothin’, but I’ll do anything you say! For instance, I seen you carryin’ that old man all over—I could do that! Or I can trap rabbits! I’m good at that. Or anything else! Just say the word!”
“Now, see there?” Justin said to Teresa. “You have to admit, another person to do the lifting would help out.”
Teresa only scowled and, her gun still leveled at Bowler’s chest, mumbled something under her breath. From behind them now came the sounds of Cass and Swails, aroused by the commotion and coming to investigate. They came rushing up, questions on their faces, but Justin waved them to silence and turned back to Teresa.
“What do you say?” he asked. “Personally, I would let him come along, but this is your show, so to speak. So what do you think?”