through it. Mildred and Krysty both opted for dense clusters of tree and shrub growth that they had to squeeze into. These werenât impassable, but anyone in a hurry would opt for an easier path. Doc chose to conceal himself in the bole of tree that had been hollowed out by insects.
Once in cover, all they could do was wait, the sounds of the villagers growing louder as they neared. It was obvious that they were trying to keep the noise down, but were unsuccessful. Snatches of urgently whispered exchanges came drifting through the undergrowth.
ââ¦heard it, Iâm sureâ¦â
ââ¦better be something bigâtoo long since the last timeâ¦â
ââ¦you donât shut the fuck up itâllâ¦â
This last was from the woman, hissed in an irritated tone. The group was obviously on edge and hunting some kind of animal. Up in his tree, Jak grinned to himself. Whatever these people were, they were no hunters. There had been little sign of large animals so far in the woodlands, and the noises they had been tracking were obviously the sounds made by the companions.
The positive thing in this was that the hunters were so poor that they would probably walk right past the hidden companions without even knowing they were there.
Or at least, they would have done if not for Doc.
For some time, Doc had been aware that the bole of the tree wasnât the best place for him to have secreted himself. As he heard the hunting party approach, he also heard the small tickings and scratchings of the insects that had eaten out the hollow bole of the tree. They had been silent when he had first entered, and so he had assumed that the tree had long since been vacated. Now he knew that he was wrong, and that the insects had merely been dormant. His disturbing their space had awakened them, and now they were intent on seeing what had invaded their domain.
His skin began to itch. Whether the insects were really starting to crawl on him, or whether it was a matter of his imagination going into overdrive, was in a sense immaterial. All that mattered was that the sensation was driving him mad. He tried to keep his resolve as he heard the enemy slash its way through the woodlands, getting closer, but all he could feel were thousands upon thousands of tiny insect feet crawling over his skin, tiny teeth nipping at his flesh, injecting his bloodstream with who knew what kinds of venom.
Doc fought the panic rising within him, knowing that to burst out of the hollow tree yelling would be to blow any kind of cover the companions had. If these hunters could pass by without a fight, then it would be the better to approach the coastal village. Yes, Doc knew all this, but only with the rational side of his mind. The irrational side, that which had been accentuated by the rigors of being trawled through time twice, being tortured by Cort Strasser, being the weakest and the most prone to injury and infection, that side of his mind was sometimes the stronger.
âDark night, I donât believe it,â J.B. whispered from his perch. One moment, all had been quiet and secure as the five-strong hunting party made their way past the companions, clueless as to how close they actually were to their quarry. The next, the peace of the woodlands was disturbed by the sound of Doc Tanner, yelling and screaming like a soul possessed, leaping from the bole of the tree, waving his sword above his head, treating his finely tuned blade like a broadsword. J.B. couldnât make out what the hell Doc was yelling, but it sounded like something to do with insects.
The Armorer had no time to think about this and puzzle over it. Like the others, he knew that any chance of escaping hand-to-hand combat had now disappeared, and they had to silence the hunting party as quickly as possible.
Ironically, given that it was his eruption that had spurred the fight, Docâs violent entry into the fray gave the companions the upper hand. The hunting party, who had almost passed unknowing through the area where the companions were concealed, were stunned by the sudden apparition before them.
That moment of indecision gave the others all the time they needed. J.B. slid down from the trees, Ryan emerged through the shrub and Mildred and Krysty came out of hiding.
The shock on the faces of the hunting party showed how little they had been aware of their opponents. It would have been a swift and clean chill for the companions, if not for the crazed Doc. Screaming, and swinging wildly with his sword, he teetered off balance and fell toward J.B., the blade swishing down so close to the Armorer that it nicked his shoulder, ripping the cloth of his shirt as he tried to move out of the way. He cursed, and as Doc flew past him he lashed out at the old man. He didnât want to injure Doc, but with the old man floundering as a loose cannon, the best thing would be to put him out of action, and quick. He caught Doc a glancing blow and the scholar fell to the forest floor with a grunt as the impact drove the air from his lungs. Without thinking, he rolled and pulled the LeMat percussion pistol from his belt.
Wild-eyed, barely seeing, he pointed it at J.B., who froze. If Doc discharged the shot chamber, there was no way that he would be able to get out of the way of the hot metal in time. Was this how it was to end? At the hands of a friend, albeit one who was temporarily mad?
Doc, in a crazed world of his own imaginings, had no idea that it had been J.B. he had inadvertently attacked, and who had been defending himself. In his head, the insects and the hunting party were confused in such a manner as to make everything that touched him a potential enemy. By instinct he had drawn the LeMat and aimed at the indistinct blur that had thrown him to the ground. But now, as he focused and his finger began to tighten on the trigger, the world around him swung into an equal focus.
âBy the Three Kennedys!â he exclaimed, realizing that he was about to blow J.B. into pieces. âJohn Barrymore!â he yelled, jerking his arm up at the last moment so that the round of shot was discharged harmlessly into the air, ripping the overhanging foliage to shreds and chilling a few birds, but coming nowhere near harming the Armorer.
J.B. blanched, felt the blood drain from his face. It was so close that he could hear his heart thumping in his chest, his head prickle and feel faint as lights exploded around him and the deafening roar of the LeMat shut out everything else.
For a moment, everyone else in the gathering had been silent, all mute witness to the drama unfolding. The explosion of the LeMat seemed to galvanize them into action. With a yell, the woman in the hunting party threw herself at Ryan, wielding her knife in an amateurish, over-hand action. It was easy for the one-eyed warrior to sidestep her clumsy attack and club her to the ground with the hilt of the panga.
The off-hand manner in which he did this, and the fact that he didnât seem to take her attack seriously enough to chill her, only seemed to enrage the four men all the more. With a volley of screams, they launched themselves at their prey.
The companions couldnât afford to take chances. Given time, they might have tried to overpower the hunters and find out about their village. They needed food and shelter, perhaps a boat to take them across the inlet. Chilling five of the inhabitants wasnât the best way to show peaceful intent. However, with the noise of Docâs pistol likely to attract more attention, and all of it hostile, it became an imperative to free themselves from the hunting party. Especially as these five had made it clear their intent was to take no prisoners.
The four men were faced by Mildred, Krysty and Jak. Each carried a blade, but the one facing Jak looked suddenly uncertain as he caught the cold gleam in the eyes of the albino hunter and paused midflight to try to draw his ancient revolver. It caught him in a no-manâs-land of indecision, and area where he could expect to be shown no mercy.
With a slow, almost lazy gait, Jak stepped toward the man, feinting with one arm and using the other to pull a precise, tight arc that took in the attackerâs right-hand side. This was the side holding the knife, and it dropped from nerveless fingers as the leaf-bladed knife sliced cleanly through the flesh of his lower arm and wrist, blood dribbling and spurting from the wound, severed nerves causing his fingers to open. The villager looked at his suddenly lifeless fingers, hanging loose and open, all intent of grabbing his revolver with his left hand forgotten. Not that he had much time to stand and stare, as the continuing arc carved up