Lander dropped to his knees. Taking out his weapons, he crawled past the fat one and through the fur-draped entrance of the hut.
He crept slowly in the darkness.
Someone was here. He could hear the breathing. He stopped to listen. Two were here. Clamping the knife in his teeth, he reached out.
He touched a foot. It moved, just a bit, and he heard a sleepy moan. A man’s moan. Sliding his hand up the leg, he felt moist flaccid genitals. Another moan, this one almost a sigh of pleasure. He moved his hand up the man’s belly and chest. He found the neck. He found the mouth.
Setting his hatchet aside, he jammed a hand against the mouth and slashed the man’s throat.
Warm liquid sprayed his face. Arms and legs flailed, but only for a few seconds. The wet gurgling sounds were loud.
“Onich?”
Lander reached through the dark, and touched a bare shoulder. He crawled closer. He touched a small, firm breast.
A hand trailed down his body. The fingers lightly jiggled his scrotum. They encircled his growing shaft. Abruptly, the woman gasped. Her hand vanished. Her body lurched, but he held it by the breast and swung the knife down. It plunged deep. The woman cried out. He groped for her mouth, found it, muffled her cries with one hand, and shoved the knife into the side of her neck just below the ear. Her body went rigid under him, quaked, and finally stilled.
He lay on top of her, listening.
How loud had her outcry been? Had it awakened others?
For a long time, he didn’t move. Then, satisfied that nobody had heard, he silently climbed off.
He sat between the two bodies, wondering what to do next. Perhaps he should mutilate them. Cut off their heads, maybe. Cut off the guy’s cock, and stuff it in the woman’s mouth. Stick something up her twat.
Thinking about it, he got an erection.
No. Shit no.
I’m not a beast for Godsake.
An avenger, not a beast.
An avenging angel.
The Angel of Death!
Again, he laughed, and muffled it. When he was done, he touched himself. The erection was gone.
Good thing.
I’m an avenger, not a raving sex maniac.
He crawled through the darkness and pushed open the fur flap of the entrance. Air from outside came in, cooling his sweat. He crawled out.
He crouched beside the dead fire where the man and two women still slept. He scanned other figures sleeping nearby. The closest were two men, about fifteen yards away. The group near the main fire kept working. They had built up the fire, and were suspending several arms above it from a tripod.
Cooking the meat before it goes bad.
Lander raised his hatchet.
Here’s more for you, he thought. I’ll keep you fat and happy.
With a single swift stroke, he broke the head of the older woman. He leapt, crouched, and swung. The ax bit into the man’s forehead. He pulled it out. The young, thin woman opened her eyes. She squealed. Lander aimed for her nose, missed, and cleaved the left side of her face, splitting her eye.
A spear whished past Lander’s face. He saw a crowd coming toward him—the whole bunch.
He stood up straight. Waving the hatchet overhead, he yelled, “Cry havoc, you fuckers!”
And then he ran.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Neala sat under a candle, her back against a wall, and watched Johnny search the cabin.
He checked the walls, first. They were hung with deerskins, probably to keep the winds out. He lifted each pelt, and looked beneath it.
When he finished the walls, he stepped to the fireplace. A black pot hung over the dead coals. He swung it out, took off the lid, and sniffed. Gagging, he jammed the lid into place.
Sherri, asleep on her pile of furs, groaned and rolled onto her side.
“What is it?” Neala whispered to Johnny.
“Spoiled.”
He returned the pot to its hook. He pushed his hand into the ashes beneath it. “Cold,” he said. Brushing off his hand, he stood. He hefted a metal fireplace poker. It looked solid and heavy, to Neala. He swung it a few times as if testing its weight, then put it back. For a few moments, he inspected the sooty billows, a broom, a stool with a wicker seat. Then he turned away.
He wandered the cabin floor, his feet silent on the thick layers of fur that covered it.
“What’re you looking for?” Neala asked.
“Anything we can use.” He shook his head. “The place is bare. Except for that.” He nodded toward the covered pot.
“What do we need?”
“Food and water. A couple of guns would be nice.”
From the corner came Sherri’s voice. “While you’re dreaming, how about a chopper to haul us the fuck outa here?”
“Maybe there’s another room,” Neala suggested.
“I already checked. No other doors.”
“Another shack? Out back, maybe?”
“I’ll take a look.” He went to the door, picked up his rifle, and raised the latch. He pulled the door open.
His body was a black, strong shape against the pale darkness outside. He looked alert and dangerous, peering into the night. Then he glanced back. “See you later,” he said, and Neala heard in his voice the bravery of a frightened boy.
He reached in to pull the door shut.
“Just a second,” Neala said.
He waited while she got to her feet and joined him outside.
Her eyes wandered over the dozens of frail crosses and heads. She saw the path Johnny had battered through them.
“Let’s go around back,” Johnny said.
They walked close to the cabin. At its corner, Neala saw more crosses, more heads. At the rear, still more. But no other buildings. The small, square cabin stood alone.
They completed the circle, and stopped by the door.
“I’ll stay out for a while,” Johnny said. “You go on in, and get some sleep.”
Neala hesitated. Maybe the man wanted time by himself. More likely, though, he was just trying to be nice, offering to stand guard while she slept.
“I want to stay with you,” she said.
“Well…”
“If you want to be alone…”
“No, it’s all right.” He grinned. “You think I want to be alone with all this?” He eyed the field of heads. “What if they start talking to me?”
“Do you think they might?”
“Not if we keep the conversation up.”
“Can we sit down?”
They sat on the ground. Neala crossed her legs, and leaned back against the logs of the cabin. They felt round and scratchy through the thin cloth of her shirt. She kept her eyes down as she talked. “I want to thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what’s going on, or why you did it, but you saved our lives.”
“Well…”
She waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more. “Why didyou come back for us?”
“Who knows?”
“You must.”
“Yeah. I guess I do.”
“Tell me.”
“I guess I didn’t want to see you die.”
She eased sideways until she felt him against her shoulder. She was strongly attracted to this man; it confused her. He was part of the scheme that brought her into this nightmare. Perhaps she ought to loathe him for that. She couldn’t. He was powerful and deadly, but vulnerable in a way that made her want to hold him close.
“Why me?” she asked.
“I don’t know. There’s something. I knew what they’d do to you. The thought of you being hurt…”
“What about Sherri? Suppose I hadn’t been alone. Would you have left her to be killed?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s the way things are done in Barlow. It’s the way we’ve always done things, from the start.”
“How did it start?” She looked at him. He met her eyes, then turned away to scan the area.