“—And what Ned?” Zach’s voice was dangerously quiet where he leaned forward, coming half out of his seat.
Singer scowled but drew back a little. “Well, you know what they say,” he said. “Like father, like son…eh, Zach? I mean, there’s four other men at risk in the squad, and I can’t afford to sit still for any wild stuff. That first kill your boy made: fine; all well and good; another fly-by-night gone to whichever hell! But I was there and witnessed it. He was in a panic, your boy, and shooting wild; for which no great need since I had his back! As for that kilclass="underline" it was a lucky shot, that’s all; a very fortunate shot for everyone concerned.”
“Like father, like son, eh?” Zach’s voice was quieter still, an almost inaudible growl, and yet more dangerous for that.
Garth put his hand on his father’s tense, slightly shaking, thinly-fleshed thigh and told Singer, “You needn’t be concerned about any wild stuff from me, Ned—er, Mr. Singer. I’ll stick close, do as I’m told—and I’ll be very quick about it!”
Singer nodded. “Good! And that’s all I’m asking. But listen now: I won’t be making any exceptions. Next time you let loose, start blasting away left, right, and centre, you won’t find Ned Singer ducking your stray rounds. No, for I’ll he looking after Number One, meaning me! It’s fly-by-nights we aim to kill, not each other! So then, ’prentice Slattery, is all understood?”
“Yes, I understand,” said Garth, aware of the tension building in Zach and continuing to hold him at bay, albeit gently.
Singer nodded again, and said, “Very well then. So just be listening for my call. We’ll go in on foot, obviously; weapons at the ready, and hand torches too, because it will be dark or at best gloomy in there. So make sure your batteries are fully charged…”
With which he went to squeeze clumsily by and make his way along the narrow space to where two other members of his squad occupied seats on this side. At least Singer tried to get by—until Zach rammed his damaged limb across the gap, barring his way.
“Eh, what?” said Singer, stumbling and almost toppling.
Zach smiled up at him, but a very strange smile, and said: “You and me, Ned, we may have to be having a serious discussion about certain matters. And fairly soon, I should think, perhaps when we have a little time on our hands.”
Singer knew what he meant and grinned sarcastically. “What, we’ll have a to-do? Just me, you, and that gimpy leg of yours?”
Smiling his unsmile again, Zach replied: “You might want to forget my gimpy leg, Ned, and worry about the rest of me—such as these calloused old knuckles of mine.”
Then, as Zach slowly, deliberately withdrew his leg, Singer leaned as far back from him as the cramped conditions permitted, scowled and moved quickly on. Regaining his composure, Zach turned to Garth and told him:
“Son, I couldn’t be more proud of you—no way! First a scavenger, then an outrider on my old machine, now the youngest member of one of our seek-and-destroy teams under Ned Singer. Well, he might prove something of a problem but that can’t be helped. Here, give me that rifle of yours and take my pump-action. Its shells were old a hundred years ago but they’re tried and true and loaded to overflowing. You can return it—unused, I hope!—when all’s made safe…”
There Zach paused for a moment, took a hesitant, reluctant breath in preparation, and finally changed the subject. “Garth, son, while we’ve still got time before Ned’s all set and calls for you and the others, won’t you tell me what the hell he was going on about? But listen, don’t you go thinking for a single moment that I’d give a damn or blame you if you had panicked a little, for I wouldn’t! It would be wholly understandable. But for a fact you haven’t said too much about that kill of yours. Now I can see you don’t much care to go on about it, but can’t you tell me at least something of what really happened?”
“I could,” Garth answered, and shrugged, “but there’s not a lot to tell. What Ned seems to have seen one way, I saw differently, that’s all…” And hoping that would suffice he shrugged again. Looking at his father, however—and seeing that he was waiting for him to continue—Garth sighed resignedly and said: “All right. Since I’ve nothing to hide, this is how it was:
“Billy Martin was front left, I was middle man, Ned Singer brought up the rear: all three of us about evenly spaced along the column’s length on the port side. Billy was maybe a little ahead of the column, which I’m told is normal for front pointsmen, who also scout the terrain ahead; it’s something I’ve not yet been required to do. Anyway, suddenly I saw Billy flashing red and heard his warning yell echoing back. The moon was full and high behind low hills, and I thought I caught a glimpse of movement: three, maybe four silhouettes moving quickly just on this side of the ridge—pretty close to where Billy must be.
“Well, I was concerned for him, and I could hear Ned revving his engine behind me. He must have seen Billy’s flash, was on his way to help out; but I was closer and could get there a lot faster. The way appeared fairly clear ahead, mainly scrub, so I accelerated and soon saw Billy in my dipped headlight. He was off his bike, sheltering behind some rocks.
“‘Watch yourself, Garth!’ he yelled out to me. ‘They’re in front and on both sides…I don’t know how many!’
“‘Then let’s get out of here!’ I yelled back. ‘SOPs, Billy. We’ll fall back to the convoy, red lights flashing. Singer will see us going and follow on behind, and the convoy marksmen will take out whatever follows after us.’
“‘Can’t ride!’ he called out. ‘The bike’s knackered. Engine cut out on me. I’ll have to get up behind you.’
“‘Right, but be quick about it,’ I answered, skidding to a halt beside him. And right then was when the fly-by-nights attacked…
“There were three of them—seeming to float on air, their naked feet hardly touching the ground, arms reaching, and awful eyes burning—drifting like smoke out of the dark, with their stringy hair and tattered rags of clothing wafting along behind them. Deceptive in their movements, incredibly quick! No sooner seen than they were upon us: one on the right, one on the left, the other coming centrally over a massive domed rock, but seeming to slither or flow, as if he were made of water!
“There hadn’t been time enough for Billy to climb up on the bike behind me, and I couldn’t ride away without him. There was only one thing for it: hindered by the bike, I got off, propped it against a boulder, grabbed my rifle…and no time to spare! I saw Billy fire…nothing happened…his gun had jammed! I saw the creature on the right reaching for him, its jaws chomping; but I couldn’t shoot because Billy was in the way! I swung round, snapped off a shot at the one coming over the domed rock and somehow missed. Well, not exactly; my bullet hit its shoulder, threw it off balance, so that it slid down the boulder and flopped to the ground.
“About then I was aware of the background sound of Singer’s engine revving close by, and I knew that any time now Ned would be joining the fight. By then Billy had ducked the fly-by-night on his side and was trying to run from it. He tripped, went flying, landed on his back…and the thing was almost on him! He managed to eject the dud round, cocked his weapon, fired again. And the monster sighed—just a weird sigh!—as it flew backwards and collapsed in upon itself.
“I heard another sigh—or more likely a moan: of pleasure, anticipation!—and spun to my left. The fly-by-night was reaching for me, dribbling slime, a crazed light blazing in its eyes as its clawed hand thrust the barrel of my rifle aside! I yanked on the trigger anyway, and the bang! made it snatch its hand away. I got off another shot, but much too hasty; and the sheer speed of that horror! It slipped to one side, came at me again, drew back its crumbling lips from fangs jagged as broken glass and yellow as the moonlight!