neckâopened to a clean blow by the instinctive jerking back of his head as the flesh was carvedâand, with a gentle pirouette of the blade, severing the carotid artery so that the manâs lifeblood pumped out, hissing and steaming across the surrounding foliage.
Mildred and Krysty had three men opposing them, and with the extra player it should have been simple for the hunters to take down the women. However, they showed their lack of experience in such matters by rushing blindly for their opponents.
Krysty sidestepped and tripped one of the hunters, whose impetus carried him into an uncontrolled tumble, his flailing arms catching the man next to him and throwing him off balance. As the first hunter careened out of range, Krysty stepped in close to the unbalanced man and drove her blade up under the rib cage, catching a lung and puncturing it before pulling back, using the heel of her free hand to pummel the attackerâs head back, pushing him back off her blade. His punctured lung began to fill with blood, starting to drown him. But before he had a chance to make a last, dying lunge, Krysty wheeled and kicked out, her leg coming up to his head height, the heel of her silver-tipped cowboy boot catching him at the temple, sending him backward, unconscious before he hit the ground, his last drowning moments lost in darkness.
Mildred was less extravagant with her attacker. Partly because this hunter had a little more awareness than the others, and stayed his rush just enough to jerk back and avoid the full thrust of her attack, the knife scoring his chest, cutting through his shirt, but not stopping him. As Mildred attempted to pull back, he closed in on her. She could feel his hot breath, smell the fear in his sweat, see it in his eyes, as he attempted to pin her back against a tree with one arm and drive his knife into her eye with the other. She could almost see the point grow larger in her right eye, her own knife arm pinned across her body.
She had only one chance. She jerked her knee savagely upward, catching him in the groin. It didnât fully land in the soft sac of his balls, but it was close enough to make him yelp in pain and loose his grip on her. It also deflected his arm enough for her to move her head, one of her plaits pinned to the tree by the point of his blade.
Mildred pushed him back a couple of steps, enough for her to bring her arm back and step forward, slicing across him with the razor-sharp, leaf-bladed knife, cutting his face from the corner of his eye across his nose and top lip, a flap of flesh falling bloodily free. He screamed and instinctively clapped a hand to where his eyeball was bleeding white goo down his opened cheek, dropping his own knife. Ignoring the pull of her plait as she tugged it free of the knife and the tree, Mildred wasted no time in following up on her initial attack, driving the knife up to the hilt into his chest. He gasped and coughed blood over her hand and arm, looking bewildered and astonished as he slumped toward her. She moved back, tugging at the knife to free it as he fell onto her. She cursed and let go of the knife, in case he fell and pinned her underneath.
Meanwhile, Ryan was making short shrift of the careening hunter, who had lost his balance and fallen at the feet of the one-eyed man. He looked up into the ice-blue orb, knowing that his time had come to buy the farm. It was almost too easy for Ryan, and he felt a twinge of regret as he sliced through the manâs neck with the panga, almost severing his head from his body with the force of the blow, taking off three fingers from the manâs hand where he, at the last, tried to protect himself from the chilling blow.
A growling sound to his rear made Ryan suddenly spin. The woman had regained consciousness in time to see her compatriots routed, and was determined to try to take one of the companions with her if she had to buy the farm. With a manic cry she launched herself toward Ryan, her blade held high above her head.
It was an incredibly stupid and unskilled thing for her to do, and only reinforced the one-eyed manâs opinion that these werenât habitual fighters. Although she was in close proximity to Ryan, her stance left her body completely open, and one thrust from the panga was enough to impale her, the light of fury dying in her eyes to be replaced by bemusement as she dropped her blade from fingers rendered nerveless by her sudden demise.
âFireblast, what a stupe fuckup,â Ryan swore as he pulled out the blood-slicked blade. âThereâs no way we can approach the village now, and theyâll be after us.â
âRyan, Iââ Doc began, but the one-eyed man cut him short.
âDonât have to explain, Doc. Shit happens. You okay, J.B.?â
The Armorer was still shaking his head to clear it from his near-chilled experience. âGuess soâguess Iâll have to be.â
Ryan checked the others. They were covered in blood, but otherwise unharmed.
âShit,â he cursed loudly. âWe really didnât need that. Letâs get moving away from here.â
âYeah, triple quick,â Jak added, inclining his head. âCan hear more, coming fast.â
Chapter Four
âThis way. Keep the noise low and keep triple red,â Ryan said in an urgent whisper, straining to hear the noise that had alerted Jak. A questioning glance brought an answer from the albino hunter.
ââBout five minutes away, moving fast. There,â Jak added, indicating a direction away to the left.
Ryan nodded and continued to move to the right. He hoped that there was only one party coming out to investigate the blasterfire.
âRyan, I recce then report,â Jak continued. âGo that way, I scout ahead.â
The one-eyed man was wary. He would prefer to keep his people together, and Jak moving about could draw friendly fire unless they held back. And if they did, it might be on a foe rather than a friend. But the albino youth had the ability to move almost silently, and there were other problems. They couldnât go back, as this would drive them back into the desert. They had to forge ahead and somehow skirt around the village and the pursuing war parties. The only way it seemed that they could do this was if they had prior knowledge of their opponents whereabouts.
Jak was the obvious choice.
All that went through Ryanâs head in a flash before he nodded at Jak. âYeah, do it,â he said simply.
The albino hunter grinned briefly, then melted into the undergrowth, only the slightest rustling of foliage marking his passing.
Ryan turned his attention to his chosen direction. âKeep those blasters ready, and stick close,â he ordered as he took the panga in hand and began to clear a path through the woods. Behind him, each of the companions kept an impassive silence, faces set, and lost in their own thoughts as they followed him.
JAK MOVED SILENTLY through the woods, circumventing the source of the noise. He didnât want to cross the path of the group that was beating its way toward the scene of combat, and he figured that the best way to observe them would be to move around and in behind, where they would least expect anyone.
The albino youth paused and listened intently. He could pick out at least half a dozen sets of footfalls, perhaps more. It was hard to tell in the crashing of the undergrowth. He tried to pick out how many voices were exchanging whispered and urgent messages. The words were indistinguishable among the other sounds, but he could hear at least four different voices, no more. So at least two werenât talking. He reckoned there were probably six in the chasing pack. Not too bad as odds went.
The war party crashing through the jungle was causing a major disturbance among the wildlife. Birds and animals were making noise, alarmed by the intruders and still agitated in the aftermath of Docâs LeMat discharging among them. The treetops were rustling and moving as birds, squirrels and other small mammals hopped from limb to limb, tree to tree, moving in a blind panic.
It could be just the cover he needed. Jak scrutinized the canopy of tree cover with a practiced eye. The limbs on each tree were strong, and they seemed to hang close together. It would be easy to leap those that were a little