CHAPTER EIGHT
Robbins sprinted past the body. Ignoring the shouts from the group of four, he headed toward the tree with the two women. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and dug a hand into his pocket. He pulled out a key.
“We’re getting out of here.”
The woman he wanted stared at him, looking confused.
He stepped to her right side, and unlocked the cuff.
“You’re one of the men from the truck,” she said.
“That’s right. I’m taking you out of here. I’ve got a car off in the trees.” He stepped past her, and started unlocking the cuff on her other wrist. “Are you a good runner?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“What’s your name?”
“Neala.”
“I’m Johnny Robbins.”
“I’m Sherri,” said the bigger woman, appearing from behind the tree. She held out her hands, empty bracelets dangling from the wrists. “Do me a favor, huh?”
Quickly, he removed her cuffs. Unslinging his rifle, he scanned the perimeters of the clearing. Over the shouts of the other captives, he could hear the howling Krulls. No sign of them, though.
“Okay,” he said. “This way.”
“Wait,” Neala said. “We can’t leave them.” She nodded toward the others.
“The hell we can’t. Let’s go.” He grabbed Neala’s arm, but she jerked it loose.
“I’m not going without them.”
“Shit,” her friend said.
Neala whirled on her. “What’s the matter with you? How can you even think of leaving these people?”
“To save my ass, for Godsake.”
“We can’t!”
Robbins groaned. It was stupid to waste time freeing the others. The delay could be fatal. But if he didn’t give it a shot, he wouldn’t stand much of a chance with Neala. “All right” he said. “Stick close.”
They followed him to the other tree.
“Everybody shut up!” he snapped at the four.
They went silent. He stepped in front of the oldest male. “You’ll have to take care of the others,” he said, unlocking the right wrist. “I’ll leave you the key. We’re going on ahead. If I can, I’ll hold the car for you.” The other cuff fell loose. He slapped the key into the man’s palm. “Good luck.” He turned to Neala. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Let’s haul it.”
They started to run. Robbins took the lead, holding back to stay with the women. They were much slower than he’d anticipated. Damn it, he should have parked the car closer. He’d left it much too far away, wanting to come in on foot. Sneak in, sneak out. With luck, he might have taken Neala out quickly and silently, and been on the road before anyone knew. If he hadn’t shot that one bastard…
They were almost to the edge of the clearing when Neala grabbed his arm. “Wait,” she gasped. “We’ve got to wait.”
“What?”
She pointed to the group that was still at the distant row of trees, the man busy unlocking cuffs.
“Forget ’em,” Robbins snapped.
“How’ll they find the car?”
“Doesnt matter. Come on.”
“Christ, Neala!” Sherri snarled.
“Look!” Robbins pointed at a far-off figure loping across the field toward the group. “There’s another. Another.” Scanning the clearing, he could make out half a dozen dark shapes: some running, others limping, another scurrying across the ground like a crab.
“Oh my God!” Neala gasped.
“In a few minutes, there’ll be dozens. They’ll get us, too, if we stick around much longer.” He pulled Neala into the woods. She tried to struggle free, at first. Then she was running close behind him. He dashed between the dark posts of tree trunks, kicked his way through waist-high bushes, dodged thickets too dense to penetrate, leapt onto the back of a fallen tree and jumped down to its other side.
Pausing while the women caught up, he listened.
The howling had stopped, but he heard Krulls nearby: feet crashing foliage, wheezing breath, the gibber of their strange language.
“Almost there,” he whispered.
“They’re everywhere,” Sherri muttered. “We’ll never make it.”
“We’ll make it.”
They kept running. Finally, they reached the top of the road where Robbins had left his car. He scanned the area. “We’re all right,” he said. “Come on.”
Crouching low, he ran to the car. The women stayed close behind him. He grabbed the nearest handle. He was about to tug the door open, but a movement caught his eye. He looked up.
The face in the car window twisted, showing teeth.
Neala yelped with fright.
Robbins stared at the face. It was badly scarred. The nose was a ragged flap, as if it had been chewed off in a fight.
There were five other faces inside the car, all turned his way.
Something clutched his foot. He lurched backward, knocking into the girls, kicking the hand that had his ankle. Three Krulls started squirming out from under the car.
The doors opened.
Robbins swung his rifle to his shoulder, took quick aim, at the noseless face, and fired. The top of the head flew off.
“Let’s go!” he yelled.
“Where?”
He fired again, this time taking out the eye of one by the rear door.
“Run! For Christsake run!”
Free of the cuffs, they ran. Lander led the way, taking them across the clearing toward the place where the other three had vanished into the forest.
He took them that way in spite of the gunshots, in spite of the woman moving toward them from that direction. She was alone, a stooped old crone with white hair and pendulous breasts flapping down to her waist. She was armed with a machete, but her crippled back prevented her from moving fast. Lander simply planned to run around her.
“Dad!”
With a quick glance around, he saw a man on the heels of Cordelia. Two more were close behind. Ben dropped back and threw a shoulder block into the nearest one. They both tumbled sideways.
Looking ahead, Lander saw the old woman hobbling toward him. He lunged sideways as the machete slashed. He heard it cut through the air, saw it flash past his cheek, felt the breath of its close passage. He tripped and fell. The crone came after him, swinging. She stood over him. Raised the machete.
Whimpering, Lander shut his eyes tightly.
The blade didn’t fall.
“Lander!”
He looked. Ruth was behind the old woman, clutching the upraised arm, dragging her backward.
He clambered to his feet. He drove a knee into the sagging stomach. Foul breath blew into his face. Reaching up with both hands, he twisted the machete loose.
He hacked sideways, careful to miss Ruth’s arm across the hag’s throat. The blade slashed into one of the hanging breasts. Horrified, he watched the pale sack of flesh fall away.
Ruth let go as the woman dropped to her knees, screaming. Lander swung the machete straight down. It missed the center of the head, glanced off, took away half the scalp, and chopped into the shoulder. He tried again, this time splitting the head.
With a quick jerk, he pulled the blade free. He ran to where Ben and Cordelia were straggling with three men. One had Cordelia around the waist, trying to lift her. She kicked backward and squirmed. Lander circled, but the man turned, too, keeping Cordelia in the way. Finally, Lander threw himself against his daughter. The man stumbled backward and fell. As he hit the ground, Cordelia twisted free and Lander swung. The blade bit into an upthrust arm. The man bellowed with pain. He rolled out of the way, and Lander’s next blow missed. Then he was on his feet and running.
Lander turned to Ben. The boy sat astraddle one, punching down at the face. A second man was behind Ben, about to bash him with a club. Lander caught the standing one in the spine. With a cry, the man jerked stiff and dropped his club. A white club. A bone with a ball joint at one end.