Nancy jumped out of the car. "Use your head. Where could they possibly take Jack? Back to Africa? Order your goons to retreat."
"I'm giving the orders around here." King hissed into the walkie-talkie, "Burger Berets! Do your duty! Sing out!"
And from the near distance, repeated in the walkie-talkie, came a crackling battlecry.
"Have it your way!"
Then the percussive chatter of automatic weapons fire cannonading through the night like a crackling intermittent rain.
Listening to it, King pounded on the car roof. "Damn, I wish I had a gun!"
"So do I," Nancy said bitterly. "And you in my sights. "
"You're just overwrought."
Then, the most blood-chilling sound Nancy Derringer had ever heard in her life lifted over the unremitting small arms fire.
Harruuunkk?
King grinned fiercely. "They must have nailed one of the bastards!"
"That was Jack!" Nancy cried.
"Old Jack?"
But Nancy was rushing to the brontohauler. Skip King froze. If he pulled her back, she might be eternally grateful. On the other hand, she'd been threatening to write him up to the board.
"Maybe I should leave this to Kismet," he said, ducking back into the car to wait out the mortal storm.
Nancy Derringer heard the sound a second time. The black tip of the Apatosaur's whiplike tail was twitching.
"Oh God, the tranks are wearing off!- Not now! Not now! Please not now!"
The pumpkin bulk still lay flat on the hauler body. Nancy circled around to the front. The head lay flat like that of a stunned serpent. The eyes were half open, the square, goaty pupils hooded. The orbs were filmed and cloudy. It was not aware of its surroundings. And obviously too weak to stand. A minor blessing.
Nancy gave the rough leathery hide a reassuring pat. "Don't you worry, Punkin. Mama's going to get you out of this. Somehow . . ."
She stopped under the oversized cab. Both doors were open. The drivers had joined the firefight, which seemed to be all around her now. Tracers zipped through the dark woods just ahead.
Nancy had started climbing the aluminum ladder to the driver's compartment when out of the shadows a masked man emerged.
Nancy saw him and yelled, "Put that weapon down! Do you want to kill the poor creature?"
"Get down from that thing," warned a gruff voice. A stocking mask covered all but the mouth and a thin circle around the eyes. The man's skin was black. No question. And he wore the signature forest green beret of a member of the Congress for a Green Africa.
"All right," Nancy said tightly, "but watch where you point that thing, please."
She clambered down.
The masked man approached. "Hands up."
Nancy obeyed. She tried to keep her face blank. Inside, she was boiling.
The masked man in the green beret approached. He carried his Skorpion machine pistol carelessly, waving it about.
Nancy tried to reason with him. "You don't expect to just steal a ten-ton dinosaur, do you?"
"If we can't," the man said casually, "then we'll just kill it."
It was the wrong thing to say. Nancy felt her mind go as blank as her face. She hadn't planned it. She hadn't planned anything. But her toe was in the man's groin before she knew she had kicked up and out.
Her opponent went, "Ooof!"
And his Skorpion hit the ground. Nancy leapt for it. Her hand touched the still-hot barrel. "Ouch!" She fumbled for the stock and brought the weapon around. She pointed it at her attacker.
The terrorist was holding himself and walking bentlegged.
"Settle down," Nancy warned, getting the feel of the unfamiliar weapon.
"Bitch! You kicked me!" His voice was very high.
"I'm as surprised as you are about it. Now stand still."
The man stopped. He stood in a bowlegged stance, holding his crotch, his teeth bared in pain.
"You gonna pay for that, bitch."
"Fine. Just so long as you stay exactly where you are, and don't let go of your organs of thought."
"Got no choice," the man grunted.
Nancy noticed his voice then. His accent was not what she had expected. There was none of the EuroAfrican gumbo flavor of the previous attackers. It sounded more American somehow.
"Who are you, anyway? You couldn't have beat us back to the States."
"That for you to figure out, bitch."
"You are an American."
"Congress for a Green Africa be international."
"Hmmm."
Clicking footsteps behind her caused Nancy to whirl. She pointed the Skorpion at the approaching figure.
"Halt!"
"Nancy-what are you doing?"
Nancy almost shot the familiar voice in her surprise. "King?"
Then she was jumped from behind. They struggled for the weapon. The terrorist was stronger. Inexorably, he was using the extended weapon as a lever to force her to her knees. He was winning.
And in her ears, Skip King was saying, "For God's sake, Nancy! That man is a professional killer. Don't fight him. You can't win."
Maybe it was her anger at King. Maybe it was a sudden and terrifying awareness that the muzzle was pointing directly at the slumbering Apatosaur. But something gave Nancy Derringer the strength to resist as she tried to bring her heel down on his instep.
His feet kept shifting. It was no good. Her breath came in hot sobs.
"King-" she grunted. "Help-me."
Then her opponent's thumb found the trigger guard and the gun started erupting fire and stuttering noise.
Nancy forced the muzzle down, praying she wasn't too late. The weapon was spitting at a cluster of oversized tires and then at the ground. Abruptly, it was emptied.
Nancy let go and stepped back, her face white and shocked. And a fist connected with the point of her chin. She kept her feet, her eyes blinking furiously.
Dark shadows were moving all around her, but she barely comprehended what they meant. She was out on her feet.
When her head cleared, Nancy was sitting up against the big hauler tires and Skip King was bending over her, shining a flashlight on her modest cleavage.
"What happened?" she asked in a thick voice.
"I saved you," King said smugly. "You owe me your life."
"You did?"
"Absolutely. Ahem, I hope you'll keep that in mind when it comes time to write your expedition report."
Nancy pulled herself to her feet. She looked around. It was still dark. The air was heavy with the smell of gunsmoke.
There were clots of Burger Berets moving around sweeping through the roadside trees.
"What happened?" Nancy repeated.
"The Berets beat off the bad guys. What else?"
Eyes clearing suddenly, Nancy whirled. "Punkin!"
"Who?"
"Old Jack! Is he hurt?"
"Not that I can see," King said, sweeping the dappled brute's bulk with his flashlight.
Nancy took it away from him. "Give me that!" She climbed onto the cab, using the light to illuminate every square inch of wrinkled hide. There were no visible cuts or wounds.
"A miracle," she breathed, coming down off the cab.
"You could throw a little gratitude around," King said sourly.
"I could. But I won't."
"That's cold."
Nancy speared the light in his eyes. "Yes, cold. Exactly how you'd feel if you woke up and found your top blouse buttons unbuttoned. And don't try to deny it, either!"
King's lean lips grew pouty. "I was checking for wounds. In case you needed a medic."
"How many dead?" Nancy demanded.
"None."
Nancy blinked. "None! After all that shooting?"
"You sound disappointed."
"Confused is more like it. What happened to the one I nailed?"
"You mean the one who conked you over the head?"
"Whatever. Answer the question, please."
"He got away. I would have nailed him myself, but I was too busy-"