The semblance was enough.
He humped, grunting.
Someone stopped to his right. Squatted. Keeping his face in Ruth’s breasts, he glimpsed the man’s erection tilting skyward. He squeezed Ruth’s left breast, and pumped harder.
From the sounds, the others were all around him. He glanced to the left. The woman was crouched there, knees wide, knife hanging like a strange, steel cock.
“Bright boy,” she said. “Think you can put one over on us?”
Christ!
Sick with panic, he flung out his left hand. His fist pounded the hilt of her knife. The blade jumped, pivoted on its thong, and vanished between her legs. Her quick shriek tore his ears. He lashed sideways with his own knife, ripping into the midsection of the crouching man—the one with the hatchet.
Scrambling off Ruth, he dived onto him. Slashed the cord. Grabbed the hatchet and hacked the shin of the standing man, who yelped and fell. Lander jumped onto him, swinging the hand ax. It chopped into the side of his head.
Lander looked back. Others were coming. He crouched over Ruth, pushed his arms beneath her, and lifted. He rammed a knee into her back, forcing her upward, tugging and jostling her until she fell over his shoulder. Arm wrapped around her legs, he knelt and grabbed the hatchet. Then he ran, hugging her legs to his chest. He ran for the trees.
He moved slowly under the weight. Like running in slow motion, running through deep water.
He heard the others behind him.
Not a chance, not a chance.
A club flew past his head, pounded a tree trunk and dropped.
Then he felt a shove. Ruth bucked. Sharpness pricked his back. Warm liquid spilled down his rump and legs. He felt another jab. Looked back.
The man behind them held a long spear forward like a vaulting pole. Its tip was buried in Ruth’s back. The man shoved, twisted, and the point again cut into Lander’s back.
Oh Jesus, it was stabbing him through Ruth!
Jabbed again, he jerked with pain. Ruth started to slide off his shoulder. He stumbled sideways. Ran into a tree. Dropped her. Turned to the man who was trying desperately to pull his spear out of Ruth, and split his head.
A dozen others were coming. Men and women. Howling, waving knives and spears.
He looked down at Ruth, a speared hump of darkness.
Then he ran.
He ran away into the trees. He ran until his lungs burned. Finally, he reached the stream. He splashed across it, scrambled up its other shore, and nearly bumped into a one-eyed man. Lander kneed him in the groin. With the hatchet, he pounded the man’s head to soft pulp.
He crouched over the body. The woods were silent. He’d left his pursuers behind, or they’d given up.
He had time.
He took the dead man’s knife. He stripped off the dead man’s leather vest, and held it to the moonlight.
A fancy design on the back. A naked woman, arms stretched out, a dark orb resting in each palm. The orbs, he realized, were nipples.
The vest was chest skin from a tattooed man.
With a shiver, he put it on.
Then he ran.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cordie climbed onto the trunk of a fallen tree. She held a dead limb to steady herself, and gazed ahead. Nothing was visible in the darkness except more trees.
Ben climbed up beside her. “Which way?” he asked.
“I guess it doesn’t matter. I mean, they might be anywhere.” Cordie couldn’t keep the despair out of her voice.
“Do you want to go back?”
“Go back where?”
“Try to find the others again.”
“Oh, you know right where they are?”
“Not exactly, but…”
“How the hell are we supposed to find them, then? Just turn around and start walking? That’ll do a lot of good.” She sat on the trunk and scooted forward, her legs stretching toward the unseen ground. She pushed off. Not hard enough. A rough jutting stub of branch jabbed and scraped her back as she dropped. “Damn!” She stumbled forward, grabbing at her back.
“You hurt?”
“Yes! Shit shit shit!”
Ben leaped down.
“God damn!”
“Let me see.”
She turned away and lifted the back of her blouse.
“It’s just a scratch.”
“Kiss it and make it well. But gewfy.” She felt the soft brush of his lips on her back.
“Better?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He stood beside her, and she took hold of his hand. She studied the dark wilderness. “I don’t know, Ben. They might be anywhere.”
“We’ll just keep going.” He shrugged. “Not much else we can do.”
“If we could just find that clearing… I thought it was this way, but…” She shook her head. “None of this looks familiar.”
“I don’t think we’ve gone far enough, yet.”
“Maybe not.”
“It’s a big clearing. We’ll probably run into it.”
“I sup—”
She staggered back as a naked boy leaped from behind a tree. He planted himself in their way, crouching slightly, one hand forward. The hand held a knife.
Cordie and Ben backed away, but the boy stepped forward, staying close to them.
“Run?” Ben whispered.
“Let’s get his knife. He’s just a kid.” Cordie lowered her eyes, hoping to spot something she could use for a weapon. The ground was too dark. But her heel knocked into a hard object. She stooped and felt for it. Her fingertips found a moist surface of bark. She grabbed, clutched a thick branch, and lifted. It started to pull free from the ground, but one end stayed down.
The damn thing was a dozen feet long!
As she let it go, the boy lunged. His knife flicked at her face. She threw out an arm to block it. The blade sliced into her forearm. Then Ben was on the boy, pulling him back, reaching for the knife hand. He couldn’t get a grip on it, but Cordie grabbed the wrist with both hands. She twisted sharply. The arm made a sound like crackling gristle. The boy cried out. The knife fell.
Cordie dropped to her hands and knees while Ben struggled to hold the writhing boy. She raked the moist ground cover. Found the knife. Got to her feet. Braced herself. “Okay, hold him.”
She pressed the point against the boy’s belly. He stopped moving.
“Where do you live?” Cordie asked.
The boy growled. His upper lip curled, baring his teeth.
“I don’t think he understands,” Ben said.
“Yeah. Maybe not.” She leaned close to the boy. “Do you speak English?”
Again, the boy growled.
“The kid’s an animal,” Ben muttered.
“Kid. I’m looking for my parents, my mom and dad. Do you know where they are? Where do you take the people you catch? Do you have a camp or something?”
“He can’t talk.”
“What’ll we do with him?” Cordie asked.
Ben shrugged. “I don’t know if we ought to let him go. No telling what he might do.”
“Well, I don’t think I’m up to butchering him. Are you?”
Ben sighed. “I guess not.”
“Hey, let’s have your belt. We can loop it around his neck, maybe use it like a leash, see where he takes us.”
“We can give it a try.”
Keeping one arm clamped around the boy’s neck, Ben unfastened his belt and yanked it free. As he held it out to Cordie, she passed the knife to him.
She slipped the broad, leather tip through the buckle, and dropped the loop over the boy’s head. Ben forced the belt down to the thin neck. Cordie jerked it taut.
“Okay,” she said. “Let him go and we’ll see.”
Ben let go.
The boy leaped at Cordie. She sidestepped, tugging the belt, and swung him off his feet. He sprawled, choking. He clawed at his throat, but Cordie stepped on his back and kept the belt tight. He rolled. Cordie’s foot skidded off. Balance lost she fell. The belt flew from her hands.