Jason Frost - Warlord 05 - Terminal Island (23 page)

“I didn’t want to come here. I was happy with Colonel Fallows. At least with him I don’t have any hopes or expectations. He says you want something, you take it.”

“Quite the philosopher, huh?”

“It works.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve seen it work.” She tugged on the choke collar around her neck. She turned back to her work. “Let’s finish this up, okay?”

They went back to work in silence. Spock wandered off exploring, but occasionally came bounding back and pestering D.B. until she stopped and tickled him for a minute. Then he’d wander away again. D.B. snipped through another strand of wire, stood straight, and shook the cutters at Tim. “And another thing, Timothy Ravensmith. I know how being a prisoner can scramble your brains some. I was one until your daddy busted me loose. And at first I was just as mean and snotty toward him as you are. I don’t know why I was, except I felt tired of being owned, that all I’d done was exchange masters. But I was wrong. Just took me a while to figure that out.”

“You don’t understand,” Tim said. “What are we supposed to do now? Live here with you, the Chinese doctor, and your ape. Ozzie and Harriet Go Native. Father Knows Beast. Or are we going to run? Keep moving, knowing all the time that Fallows, with more men and better weapons, is bound to catch us. In the meantime we live on scraps and hide. At least with Fallows you don’t hide from anyone. They hide from you. Why not go with him now and save the trouble?”

D.B. shrugged, turned back to her work. “I don’t have an answer. If that’s what you want, do it.”

“You mean go? Right now?”

“Sure.”

“And you wouldn’t try to stop me?”

“Would it do any good? You’re bigger and stronger.”

Tim hunched over the bale of barbed wire looking confused. The usually smooth skin of his forehead was knotted with concentration. D.B. watched him out of the corners of her eyes. Maybe he knew that she was lying, that the moment he tried to walk away she would grab her slingshot and pelt his legs until he couldn’t walk. She owed Eric that much. But maybe he believed her.

After a few minutes of silence, Tim walked over to her, stood next to her, tapping the wire cutters in his hand.

D.B. looked up. “What?”

Tim smiled. “Can I help you?”

D.B. sighed with relief and smiled back. “Sure. Jump in here.”

Eric stripped the two wires and twisted them together. He jumped down from the wall. “That should do it.”

“Do what?” Wendy asked.

“Anyone touches the wire on this section of the wall, it turns on your cassette player and pumps the music through the P.A. system.”

“The wall around here is big. What if they don’t pick this section?”

“They will. It’s the second easiest. I’ve made sure of that.”

Wendy shook her head. “I may not be a Warlord, but why would they come through the second easiest location when they could come through the easiest.”

“Because Fallows will suspect a trap there. At least I’ve made it look like a trap.”

She smiled at him. “It must be tiring being so devious.”

“Exhausting. A Warlord’s work is never done.” He looked at his watch. “Speaking of which, it’s time to free the animals.”

“This is the hardest part.” She looked up at him. “It’s like killing them.”

Eric took her hand, felt the callouses on her palms. He was going to explain the need again, but he saw in her eyes that she already understood everything he would have said. She was just expressing her sadness, not asking him to do anything about it. That made him feel helpless. “Let’s do it,” he said, leading her off.

They walked carefully through the zoo, aware that some of the dangerous animals were already loose. To the wild animals there was no Fallows or Raven-smith, good or evil. Just food. Good and evil tasted the same to a South African cheetah.

“This way,” Wendy said, pulling Eric down a path. “Even loose in the zoo, the animals are territorial. I pretty much know where they all are and where they stay. It’s just a matter of rounding them up one at a time and getting the hell out before another one comes in for the kill.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

She laughed. “So simple that when this is all over and if we’re still alive, you’re going to help me recapture each and every one.”

They began releasing the animals where the fences were already complete. In some cases it was just a matter of putting a board across a moat for the animal to walk over. The giraffes, because they’re top-heavy, are trapped by a 30"-deep ditch around their exhibit. They’re afraid to step down. A couple planks and the three of them were soon stomping along the perimeter wall like guards on patrol.

“They aren’t vicious,” Wendy said.

“I know, but they’ll be just one other thing Fallows’ men will have to look out for.”

Releasing several of the other animals took greater care. A couple of lions were particularly cranky and Wendy and Eric dashed off the moment the cats started across the makeshift bridge.

On their way to the next animal, Eric almost stepped on a fleeing duck. It was tiny, with slick brown feathers and white comet markings around the eyes.

“Mandarin duck,” Wendy said, running beside him. “In Japan and China it’s a symbol for marital fidelity.”

“We’ve got a similar symbol over here. The shotgun.”

Wendy laughed. “I never realized how much fun it was preparing to die.”

“On the fun scale, it ranks slightly below bowling and above miniature golf.”

They released a couple Siberian tigers, rhinos, water buffalos, four Sumatran orangutans, and even a giant Galapagos tortoise.

“We’d better check on Tim and D.B.,” Eric said. “We can’t release any more animals until their fences are finished.”

When they got there, they weren’t prepared for what they saw.

D.B. lay on the ground, dazed. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

Tim was gone.

Eric quickly unslung the crossbow from his shoulder. “Fallows,” he said, cocking the bow. “He’s here.”

“No,” D.B. said. Her voice was weak and hollow, as if piped up from some distant well.

Wendy knelt beside her, gently lifting D.B.’s head. D.B. tried to sit up the rest of the way. “Don’t,” Wendy said. “There may be internal injuries.”

“Internal injuries, my ass,” D.B. said. She struggled up, caught her breath. Her eyes were clearer, her voice stronger. “A right cross, that’s all it was.”

Eric grabbed her under the arm and pulled her to her feet. “Which way did they take Tim?”

“They didn’t,” D.B. said, looking down. “Tim hit me and ran off.”

Eric stared at her. “Tim?”

“I don’t understand it. We were talking, laughing. He was telling me about some dog he used to own, how big and fluffy it was, how it reminded him of Spock —”

“Tim never had a dog,” Eric said. “His sister was allergic.”

“Why that little jerk. He was playing me along the whole time. Damn!”

“Something else he learned from Fallows,” Eric said grimly. “The power of the disarming smile, the charming conversation.”

D.B. brushed the dirt from her pants. “He learned well. He had me going. Sorry, Eric.”

At that moment Spock trotted out of the brush and onto the path toward them. He ran up to Wendy and signed for a tickle.

D.B. smiled. “At least Spock has his priorities straight.”

“Now what?” Wendy asked Eric.

“Now I go after him. Try to stop him before he escapes or gets attacked by one of the animals we set loose.”

“I know the zoo better,” Wendy said. “Better let me go with you.”

“I’m going too,” D.B. said. “The brat stole my slingshot.”

Eric took a key from his pocket. “Let’s go to the aviary and get the guns.”

At the aviary, they found another surprise. The lock had been picked and Tim’s Walther was gone.

D.B. picked up one of the SMGs. “At least he left these. That’s a good sign. I think the Tim you first brought here would have taken them all just because he could.”

Eric handed Wendy the other SMG. “We’ll split up, try to find him before he gets out or Fallows gets in.”

Wendy checked the gun with an expert’s eye. She snapped out the retractable buttstock and fitted it to her shoulder. She caught Eric and D.B.’s surprised expressions and explained, “Even a child in Vietnam knew how to handle a gun. Perhaps especially a child.”

D.B. checked the curved magazine.

“It holds thirty rounds,” Eric said. “Minus whatever they may have used before I took them.”

“What do you want us to do when we find Tim?” D.B. asked. “I mean, he’s pretty determined to leave.”

“Stop him,” Eric said.

“You mean shoot him in the leg or something?”

Eric remembered his last rescue attempt of Tim. Fallows shooting Tim in the leg to keep him from escaping. “Yes,” Eric said. “If you have to.”

Each went in an opposite direction toward the wall. They planned to move in a counterclockwise sweep. But they were barely out of each other’s sight when the p.a. system switched on and Ike and Tina Turner started singing “Proud Mary.”

“Fallows!” Eric said.

“
Left a good job in the city
. . .”Tina Turner said.