“Not yet,” Buck answered, grinning. “I’ve got plans for the bitch! Cover her.”
“Saxon did say we could have fun with her,” stated the third Troll, a sword in his left hand. “But he also said he wants her head. Should we cut it off before or after we have our fun?”
Buck pondered the question. “After,” he finally replied. “I may want to use her mouth.”
The other Trolls nodded their understanding.
“Cover her,” Buck repeated. He sat and slowly slid down the steep incline.
Joan knew what he intended to do. She grabbed one of her knives and pulled it free from her belt.
“Drop it!” ordered the Troll with the bow. An arrow was notched, the string drawn, his bead on her chest. “Now!”
Joan reluctantly complied.
Buck reached the bottom and stood, leering at her, swinging his club back and forth. “I told you, bitch,” he bragged, “I told you I’d get you for what you did to me.” His busted nose was still swollen and discolored.
“Anytime,” Joan said sweetly. One of the knives was hidden from their view, under her left arm. The Troll with the bow would probably nail her, but she would make sure she gutted Buck first.
Buck dropped the steel bar and began hiking his tunic above his thighs.
“This is going to be fun,” he told her.
“If you don’t mind my saying so, pard,” interjected another voice, “I reckon the lady would rather slurp horse piss than oblige the likes of you.”
Joan twisted, craning her neck, her eyes widening in disbelief, her pulse racing in relief. It couldn’t be!
It was.
He stood on the bank, smiling, his right arm casually draped in front of his body, his left pressed against his side.
The Trolls seemed flabbergasted.
“Kill him!” Buck found his voice, dropping his tunic.
The Troll with the bow elevated the point of his arrow, compensating for the distance, knowing there was no way this stranger could draw his guns before he loosed the shaft. He saw a blur and felt something slam into his torso and he fell, the bow and arrow tumbling from his limp fingers. The string released, the shaft driving into the ground.
The Troll with the sword turned to run.
“Leaving our shindig so soon?” asked the gunman. He shot the second Troll in the back of the head. “That leaves you.” He swiveled, pointing the Python in his right hand at the Troll with the broken nose. His left Colt was still in its holster.
Buck backed away. “No, mister! Please! I don’t want to die!” he pleaded.
Joan struggled to her knees, her gaze fastened on his face. “Hickok.” She whispered the name, her eyes brimming with love and tears.
“Please! Don’t!” Buck held his hands in front of his body, as if they could offer some protection from the inevitable.
“You sure are a wimp, pard,” Hickok stated. The Python roared and Buck was slammed into the drop-off, a red hole gaping in the center of his forehead. “Never could abide wimps,” Hickok commented, twirling the Colt into its holster. He jumped from the bank and landed beside Joan.
“Howdy, ma’am,” he said. “Can you use a lift?”
Joan sobbed and clutched at his legs.
Hickok dropped to one knee and held her. “Hey, it’s okay! I didn’t realize. I’m here. You can let it all out.”
The silence of the forest engulfed them as she quietly cried in his arms.
Gradually, the birds and other wildlife resumed their daily activities, their patterns of living disrupted by the intruding humans and the shattering gunfire.
Blade and Geronimo appeared on the bank.
“So here you are,” Geronimo said, the Browning in his hands.
“We heard the shots,” Blade explained, the Commando at the ready.
“Thought maybe a wasp attacked you while you were relieving yourself,” Geronimo added. He moved to inspect the dead Trolls.
Blade walked over to Hickok and Joan. “Is she all right?”
Joan raised her tear-streaked countenance and nodded. “Just very tired and sore,” she told him.
“Is Jenny with you?” Blade asked hopefully.
Joan shook her head. “Just me. I escaped to tell you the Trolls are heading east, to a place called Fox.”
“We know,” Hickok informed her.
“You know?”
“We caught one of the Trolls,” Blade elaborated. “We prevailed upon him to tell us where you were being taken.”
“Remind me sometime,” Hickok said, squeezing her left shoulder, “to tell you how we did it. You might want to employ the technique yourself some day.”
Geronimo joined them. “The Trolls are dead.”
“Was there any doubt?” Hickok asked.
Blade stood, debating their next move. “We’ll collect any weapons and toss them in the back of the SEAL. Joan, if you’re not up to it, Hickok can take you to the Home and Geronimo and I will go to Fox to rescue the other women.”
“I feel up to it,” Joan declared.
“Are you sure?” Blade pressed her. “It looks like your right shoulder has been cut. You’re completely bushed. We can manage without you.”
Joan gritted her teeth and rose to her feet, Hickok by her side, supporting her. “I’m going with you, Blade. I’ll have some time to rest up before we reach Fox. Did I hear you right? You’re using that vehicle we dug up?”
Blade nodded.
“Even better. You won’t really need me until we reach Fox.” She paused.
“I’ve got to go. Blade. I owe it to my sisters I deserted…”
“You didn’t desert them,” Hickok quickly objected. “You did what you had to do.”
“I still feel like a deserter,” Joan said softly. “You must let me come with you.”
Blade found three pairs of eyes focused on him, awaiting his decision.
Instinctively, he wanted to send her back to the Home out of harm’s way.
But she was a Warrior; she knew the consequences. In addition, he did not know how many Trolls there were. Another good gun might come in handy. “Okay,” he told them. “You come along. We’ll need you.”
Hickok hugged Joan. “Let’s get you to the SEAL. I’ll tend to your wound.”
They trekked toward the transport, parked forty yards away to the west.
“How did you find me?” Joan asked Hickok as they walked arm in arm.
“By accident,” Hickok explained. “It’s like Geronimo said. I needed to relieve myself. Blade stopped, and I was watering this tree when I heard someone shouting and laughter. Naturally I came to investigate and found you.”
“I’m glad you did.” She stretched and pecked him on the cheek.
“These Trolls are going to pay for what they’ve done,” Hickok promised, his lips a compressed line. “I owe them.”
Up ahead. Blade was fighting waves of sadness. Finding and rescuing Joan was great, but she reminded him so much of his beloved Jenny it hurt. Both were blondes; Jenny had green eyes, Joan blue; Jenny was inches shorter than Joan, but fuller of figure; Joan’s facial features were broader, her frame more muscular; both women were attractive and intelligent. Every time he looked at Joan, he saw Jenny. Just what he needed to keep his mind on the matter at hand!
Chapter Seventeen
Morning on the third day after the assault on the Home.
Saxon raised his arm for the column to halt. They were on top of a sloping rise. Below them, a narrow valley meandered for a mile, ending in a cluster of buildings.
“Fox!” Saxon announced for the benefit of his wary captives.
Jenny peered at the distant town. They were almost there, and still no sign of any Warriors. Where were they? Had something happened to Blade? Was that the reason their rescue hadn’t materialized?
The eleven Trolls and seven women tramped down the rise.
“At last!” one of the Trolls exclaimed. “Home at last!”