01. When the Changewinds Blow (43 page)

"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "Odds are they'll spot you first thing. I'm sure both them guards are out cold-the one down by the fire ain't moved in two hours-but who knows how hard they sleep? One little thing goes wrong and it's all over. It was just the best I could do."

"Give crossbow, knife. Load guns." It was the craziest plan she'd ever heard and sure to get her killed or worse, but damn it it was worth a try!

"You know how to use a crossbow?"

"Saa," she responded confidently. She was ready to do this now, before she thought about it too much and realized how insane it was. The truth was, she really
didn't
know the crossbow, but the thing resembled a rifle with a bow and arrow set on top. She figured she could use it at the distances she'd be dealing with-and maybe without waking, people up.

"You keep live. Shoot straight," she told him, knowing it sounded all wrong but that he'd get the idea. If nature didn't crush him at the critical moment, in which case she was at least no worse off than before, there was a glimmer of a chance. "That way safe?" she asked him, thinking that this would be better from the go-around position.

"Yeah.
Now
it is. Good luck, little beauty. May the gods bless you with success or death."

She made her way past him and for the first time saw why this was a safe route. There was a body next to Serkosh; a dead, rumpled heap that was all that remained of the guard who'd been posted up here.

"Arrow or knife right in the throat," he told her. "Slow death but they can't yell for nothin'."

Getting down was not all that much easier on the other side than getting up, and now she had extra things to carry. She was nervous that the crossbow might hit against the side of the rock and awaken the guard below, but she was loam to give up any added weapon.

The snores she heard from below gave her the first feeling of optimism she had. If the fellow by the fire was asleep, and this one was as well, then they were a pretty confident, complacent bunch-or stupid. They had, after all, depended on sheer numbers and brute force against the train. Effective, but not exactly subtle plotting.

This one was certainly dead to the world. She managed to get almost all the way down, and not as silently as she would have wished, without his breaking his snoring rhythm. He had a shotgun in his lap and a pistol on his hip, but neither had moved.

She carefully threaded the arrow into the crossbow and pulled it back until it latched, then crept toward the guard. For the first time she wondered if she could really do it. Kill somebody in cold blood, that is, rather than in a fight. She knew she could shoot him if he were awake or even became aware of her, but, like this, she wasn't so damned sure anymore. Easy enough to tell Sam to do it, but this was her and this was now.

She stood up, barely two yards from him, and raised and aimed the crossbow. If it had been loaded right, if she figured it out and it worked, she could hardly miss. She stood there a moment, frozen, all thought really gone, then she pulled the trigger-or tried to. It was jammed, somehow. It wouldn't fire! She realized instantly that there had to be a safety catch, fumbled for it, and found it, sliding it forward. She raised the crossbow again and took aim through its sights when suddenly the man jerked awake and turned and started to stand up!

It was almost as if the world had turned to slow motion, but she adjusted with a proficiency that only danger gave her and pulled the trigger. The arrow went off and went straight into his head, missing the neck and throat. He fell back from its force, then to her horror twitched, then started to pull himself up again! The force of the arrow had split his skull wide open; blood was pouring from his head, yet he still moved! She dropped the crossbow and went instinctively for her pistol, but then the man stood up absolutely straight, froze for a moment, then toppled back down atop his rocky perch.

Shaken, she dropped the crossbow-no more arrows anyway-and approached his body. She reached out and pulled the shotgun, a double-barreled type, from under his body as if he might turn and rise again at any moment.
That
was one tough son of a bitch!

The other one was asleep at the dwindling fire. That fire was beginning to die now from not having been stoked or fueled once again, and it was the only source she had for her own little bonfire. There wasn't any way around it; she'd have to quietly but boldly go right to that fire, get something useful and still burning, and torch the ammunition wagon, then make it all the way back to the captives before it went off. The hell with it; either she had cover or she didn't. She wasn't sure about Serkosh's long-term prospects, but as long as his daughters were down there she felt he'd keep alive on sheer will alone.

She gripped the shotgun, took a deep breath, then walked out into the exposed flat, keeping to the back of me guard at the fire, and alert for any signs of movement from him. Serkosh was certainly right, though; even if she had to blow this guy's head off and wake up the others, the first and only real priority-and hope-was torching that ammo.

A horse snorted and shifted slightly over to one side, and a couple of nargas echoed the sounds, which reverberated eerily in the camp, but the man remained still and there was no sign of real movement from the arch-like cleft. She circled around before going to the fire, so that it was between her and the sleeper, then knelt down. There weren't many trees in these parts; they had been burning the remnants of a wagon, and there were curved wooden pieces of ribbing there. She hauled one up, thankful that she'd been good at pick-up sticks as a kid, and got it free-but it wasnt actually aflame, just glowing red. She gingerly put its glowing tip back in the small remaining flame and caught it again, then slowly withdrew it, all the time looking up at the man on the other side of the fire.

Now it was stow going, guarding that flame, as she went back to the ammunition wagon. She reached it, but just as she did her flame went out again. She put down the shotgun and tried blowing on it, men swinging it in the air to get some oxygen to it. It glowed brightly, but wouldn't keep a flame. The hell with it, she decided, and touched it to a rope, then blew on it with all her lung, power until the rope began to char and then smolder and then, with more blowing, she got a flame in the rope, it was tenuous, but it might work. She waited, oblivious to the danger, until it caught fairly well, men finally used it to re-light the stake. She touched off the covering over the ammunition crates and, when she felt she had enough small fires going, she threw the stake on top.

So far so good. She crossed back to the other side as if she owned the place, always with one eye on the sleeping man, and reached the staked oat prisoners. She went to Sam, knelt down, and shook her. Sam stirred, then began to say, loudly, without opening her eyes, "No!
No!"
Charley put her hand over Sam's mouth and stifled any further outburst, and Sam seemed to settle back down. Serkosh had been right; they were drugged or something. That complicated things.

Charley took the knife from her gunbelt and sawed away at Sam's ropes. It wasn't easy; the ropes were fairly thick. Finally she got one, then a second, then the feet. By the fourth and final rope she was getting good at it; she knew by now where to cut for maximum speed and efficiency. Sam did not move even when less restrained; Charley hadn't expected her to.

She had freed Boday's arms when she suddenly stopped and froze. There was a sound from the arch, and she retreated back into the shadows and watched, glancing over at the ammunition wagon with the machine gun. It was smoking pretty damned good now but there wasn't any visible open flame.

A man emerged from the arch. He was big and covered with thick black body hair as well as a full beard and very long hair in back, and he was stark naked. The smoke was really pouring from the wagon now; Charley was certain that the man had to see it and got ready, but he went to a break in the rock near where the nargas were tethered and pissed.

When he was done he returned, but he was awake enough now to look at the man by the fire. He stopped, swore, then stalked to the sleeper, reached down, carefully got the guard's rifle, then pointed it at the sleeping man's head. "Samoc! Wake up you sleeping son of a bitch!" he snarled, and pushed at the man.

The guard stirred, then reached instinctively for his rifle and found it not in front of him but rather a few inches from his head. He whirled, saw who it was, and seemed to relax a bit. "Don't
do
that to me!" he exclaimed, more in relief than anger.

"I should blow your stupid lazy brains out," the hairy man responded. He looked out at the trail. "By the condition of the fire and the first slight lightening of the horizon I'd say it was only an hour to dawn. Did you ever relieve Potokir?"

The guard frowned. "He-he never come and got me. Never yelled or nothin'. Hell, Halot, he must'a gone fast asleep, too." They both turned in the direction of the guard and then suddenly spotted the near volcanic smoke coming from the vicinity of the machine gun.
"Holy shit! The ammo!
Hey! Everybody! The ammo's on fire!"

There was some stirring in the cleft, and just about that time the nicest little set of flames Charley ever saw popped up right in the center of the covering on the wagon.

"Get some water!" Halot yelled. "We got to get that thing out before it goes!"

Charley wondered if the thing would
ever
"go." It might not be very worthwhile to wait and find out; if the mere threat of it could bring out the others, and if Serkosh were still alive and capable of shooting up there, then between them they might well be able to take them out. There had been six, Serkosh had said; now there were five, and if one of them was Moustache he wasn't in any great shape himself.

Another man came from the cleft; a big, dark, ugly sucker pulling up a pair of pants. He had a shaved head and looked more like a professional wrestler than a gangster, but he sure looked mean. "Where are Potokir and Tatoche?" he thundered. "Halot! Fetch Potokir! I don't like the looks of this!"

That was too much. Praying that she was as good a shot with these things as she was with her dad's pistols back home and also praying that Serkosh took the hint, she took steady aim with the first pistol and fired. Halot cried out and pitched forward, a small wound in his back. Immediately she saw her mistake; she should have shot Baldy first, since he was closest to shelter, then sleepy, and finally Halot. She aimed at the bald man who was starting to duck down and look around suspiciously and fired again, but this time she missed as the man dropped and rolled back toward die arch.

There was a sudden extra sharp report from overhead and to her right, and the bald man suddenly cried out and fell back. He wasn't dead, but he was hit pretty bad.

Charley reloaded, leaving any targets of opportunity to the man above them, and she heard another shot-and then several. Sleepy seemed to have figured out where the sniper had to be and gotten his guns; using the nargas for cover, he was shooting up into the darkness at Serkosh-but he was shooting blind.

Charley had to wait. The distance was too great for accuracy with these pistols-hitting a big man walking away was one thing, but this was an armed man behind cover and wary, and almost at the limits of her vision's resolution. It was a standoff, though; neither Sleepy nor Serkosh could move and neither could hit the other from where they were at. It was a Mexican standoff, and since those in the camp didn't and couldn't know just how badly hurt Serkosh was or even who or what he was, they were very much at a disadvantage. That had to occur to Sleepy and the pair still in the cleft; they would have to make a move or stand an indefinite siege, and daylight would give a potential sniper a clear view of everyone and everything.

Sleepy might have been sloppy and a sound snorer, but he was definitely a survivor in a hard life, once it was him or them. He startled both Serkosh and Charley by suddenly breaking free and into the open, using the shadows of the near dead fire and firing two shots wild up at his unseen assailant to cover his movements. Serkosh fired three times at him and missed, closely, all three times. It wasn't easy when you were dying and you also had to pick up a new gun each time.

Sleepy made it to the darkest shadows near where the captives lay. He took time first to reload his pistol and rifle, then looked around and spotted the cut bonds on Sam and Boday.

"You up there!" he cried out, his voice reverberating around the rock walls. "You throw down your guns and you come down-
now!
I'll count five, then I'm gonna start blowin' some beauties' brains out!"

He paused a moment, then shouted, "One! Two! Three! Four! Fi-"

That was as far as he got. Charley stepped out not ten feet from him and fired both pistols into his hulking black form. He screamed and fell back from the shock of being hit, and both his guns fired harmlessly in the air, the bullets ricocheting dangerously around the almost amphitheater-like camp. The effect gave her an idea and she cursed again her inability to really speak this tongue as she reloaded.

Serkosh, however, had the same idea, but when he spoke he sounded like someone already dead and rotting, a living corpse somehow alive and dangerous. "You in there! Come out with your hands up!" he yelled, his hollow, ghostly voice, amplified by the reverberations, sounding even more ghastly. "I wonder if you thought about how it would be if I pumped bullets into that arch cave of yours? Got lots of bullets. They'll make a nice
ping! ping! ping! ping!
sound, I bet. Might even hit somebody. Let's see."

He fired three shots at two-second intervals, about the best speed he could make with three guns. He was right about the sounds; being in there must be scary as hell. Charley liked that; these people should suffer a bit. She wondered why he should have all the fun. It was still just a dark hole in spite of the rapidly lightening sky, but she only had to fire into that dark hole. Two shots, then a reload even as the bullets continued to
ping
around inside. She was about to do it again when, at last, the ammunition wagon went up.