In a flash it hit him, the whispered confab, the stall in the back seat, when Lampert must have undone the nurse’s restraints. How could he have been so stupid? Seeing red, the Hunter snatched the now-empty syringe from his neck, glared uselessly at it for a second, and then crushed it underfoot. Already he could feel a numbness creeping down his spine. Whatever the bitch had hit him with, it was strong and fast-acting; even the nano-suit’s automatic anti-toxin module couldn’t keep up. With an effort, he staggered a few paces and then sank to his knees.
Mr. Lampert, chuckling dryly, struggled to his feet, dusted himself off, and walked over to the Hunter. His performance had been masterful; who’d have guessed the old fart could still move around like that? Standing over him, the Old Man shook his head in mock sadness and clucked.
“Too bad,” he said. “All this way, and what happens? You get hoodwinked by an old man and a nurse. Yup, just a real shame.”
“Damn you old man,” grunted the Hunter hoarsely. “Hope you get eaten by cannibals.”
“Hey, that’s the old spirit!” said Lampert merrily. “But I don’t think yer gonna have much to say about what happens to me anymore. Know what I mean? The flying monkeys blew it. Now be a good little maniac and say good night, Senor Psycho.”
The Hunter gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, willing every ounce into staying conscious, but it was a losing battle. Within three minutes, his suit overloaded and his system awash in chemicals, cursing the very name of Howard Lampert, he keeled over into the dust. In the brief intervening time, as darkness crowded his vision and the world faded, all he could wonder was: What the hell is a flying monkey? And then he was gone.
Chapter Forty
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Justin woke up the next morning more than ready to leave the Kid’s malodorous shed. Eager as he was, he and Erin had spent a good half hour getting some supplies together before they realized that one of them was conspicuously absent. Bowler was nowhere to be seen and there was no trace of where he might have gone.
“Eh, who knows?” was Erin’s reaction. “Probably out foraging somewhere, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so,” said Justin, scanning the horizon. “And I suppose it’s his prerogative to do so, I just wish he’d tell us if he was going to wander off like this.” Turning to the Kid, who was never far from Erin, Justin stooped down and spoke plainly. “Did you see where the other man went?” He mimed long hair and then a looking-for gesture. “The man with the long hair. Did you see where he went?”
The Kid grinned and clapped at Justin’s performance, but, of course, offered nothing in response. Justin gave a sigh and rolled his eyes.
“Well,” said Erin, “what do you think? Should we leave without Bowler, or wait around to see if he comes back?”
“Oh, I think we should just leave,” said Justin. “That is, I don’t mean to sound callous, but young master Bowler has shown, several times, that he’s more than capable of, shall we say, sudden flight?”
“You mean, he’s prone to bugger off when the chips are down.”
“Well, yes,” Justin said. “Let’s just say he seems to come and go as he pleases. And if he wants to, he’ll probably find us, just like he did before, after St. Alferd’s.”
Swails nodded. “I agree,” she said. “Now let’s see about some more food.”
Yesterday, scouring the wreckage, both of the farmhouse and the debris dropped by the tornado, they’d found a few useful things: A couple of cans of chicken noodle soup, several packages of dried food, a sack of dog chow, an aluminum baseball bat, some clothing, a length of rope, a few other odds and ends they thought might come in handy, and what was going to have to pass for luggage, an oversized diaper bag. This last, a violently garish, padded shoulder bag with images of baby animals all over it, was so wildly incongruous and absurd that Justin considered looking for something else, even a garbage bag, but then decided that the time it would take wasn’t worth it; they’d just have to suffer whatever little indignity it caused.
As they gathered and stowed things in the hideous bag, the Kid watched, attentive as always, but if he understood what it meant, there was no way of knowing. Finally, Justin and Erin were ready to leave and looked at each other and then the Kid.
“Well, we’re going,” said Justin tentatively. He mimed walking away and waved at the Kid. “Going away, yes? Leaving.”
The Kid just sat there.
“Oh, don’t waste your breath, Doctor Kaes,” said Erin. “You might as well be talking to a monkey.”
“Yes, well—” said Justin.
Then he stopped short, as the Kid was doing his nose-to-the-wind, hyper alert, there’s-something-coming bit again. Justin looked around warily, but could see nothing unusual. He looked back to the Kid. “What is it, boy?” he asked, for all the world as if he was encouraging a dog. “Is someone coming?”
Erin also looked around and then shrugged. “I don’t see anything,” she said, shielding her eyes with one hand. “Anyway, it’s probably just Bowler. Again.”
Paying them no mind, the Kid, as before, bolted for his shed. Justin frowned. Wouldn’t the child be used to Bowler by now? He wouldn’t run like that if were only Bowler, would he? Suddenly he felt exposed and vulnerable.
“Come on,” he told Erin. “Let’s not second-guess the expert.”
Huddled in the smelly confined space once again, they waited for a good long while. Justin considered the possibility that the Kid was wrong this time, that he was just over-skittish. But the Kid, scrunched into a corner, almost invisible, showed no sign that he thought it safe to come out. And he’d never been wrong so far. Fretting, Justin waited and watched.
His vantage point wasn’t the best; peering from a crack in one wall of the shed, he could only see a slice of the farmstead clearing. As time passed and the Kid remained hidden, nothing stirred but a few grasshoppers. Then, his straining ears caught a sound and he tensed as he recognized footsteps. Human footsteps. Someone was out there, and very close. Was it Bowler? No, he would have simply walked up and announced himself. So who could it be? Slowly, his hand shaking, he reached down, grasped a rusty shovel, and raised it above his head. He glanced at Erin and motioned her to silence, but it was an entirely fatuous gesture; she was frozen like a statue.
Then there came a series of raps on the wooden shed door: Shave and a haircut, two bits! Justin blinked and gripped the shovel handle until his knuckles went white. He glanced at Erin again but she just shrugged, eyes wide, and stared at the door.
Suddenly the door swept open, bathing the shed interior with bright yellow sunlight and silhouetting a figure without. Justin, the shovel raised and ready, peered into the blinding glare, but all he could make out was that it was definitely a woman. And a shapely one at that. With a shotgun leveled. But wait. It couldn’t be her. Could it? Finding his voice with no small effort, he lowered the shovel a few inches.