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[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] The mule gave him a wild look, the whites of its eyes showing. Lady curbed him into sensibility. Thomas beckoned for her to ride after him cautiously, and they exited onto the streets. Beyond the cupped buildings, they could hear the full-throated cries of the coyote pack. They hunted as the wilderness predators they were silently, with only an occasional yaroo to the packmaster to indicate their direction, making it more difficult to calculate their presence. Thomas's jaw tensed as he listened, then he leaned toward her. "They're not after us. They're ahead of us, outflanking us, and the sound is going away." Lady shook her head. "How can you tell? The echoes& ." She paused. He could see concern for the two children they were following dawn in her eyes. "How can we get there first?" "I don't know." Thomas cast about. Most of the buildings in this area were fairly intact structurally, though of little worth since almost everything that could be salvaged had been except for the framework itself. If they had been brick, those would have been gone, too, though few large buildings held more than a brick facade. He pointed. "Maybe we can be a close second." He put his boot heels to the mare's flank and she leaped forward. Chapter 19 As Thomas hunched over the mare's withers, he settled her pace down. He had no desire to founder her after grazing. Cindy shook her head in disagreement, then set her ears forward alertly. He reached out and loosened his rifle in its sheath, keeping the rawhide thong loop over it lightly. Cindy jumped a broken curb and the rifle rattled but stayed in place. He did not thumb open the firing chamber, deciding the event called for darts rather than his dwindling supply of vials. He didn't want to be handling those darts with their sharp tips until he had to. Scant blocks later, the buildings disintegrated into neighborhoods that must have existed in squalor even before the disasters. Fractured gaps opened the walkways where gas lines had exploded, gouting out foundations close to them. The mule kept up with Blade's mare, its long ears sweeping forward, then back. Lady's hair streamed free of her hairpins. They caught up with the echo of the coyote pack. Thomas brought his horse to a skidding halt, and stood in the stirrups. He saw their dun and dapple shapes hurtling over the asphalt and rock, dodging broken beams. At their heels rode a man-shaped figure, reining a stocky pony recklessly through the ruins. Thomas' lips stretched into a thin line of satisfaction. He shrugged off his grass catcher and motioned for Lady to do the same. He kicked Cindy back into a run, letting his knees guide her, trusting to the mare's own fine sense of agility to protect them as he pulled the rifle loose and knuckled open the firing chamber. Deftly, he plucked darts from his inside pocket, taking care not to touch their points. They were fletched with mockingbird feathers, stiff and insolent as the creature itself. He flipped the chamber cover back into place and wound the rifle back with his right hand as he cradled it, picking the reins back up with his left. He swept a glance over his shoulder to check on Lady. She'd pulled out some pouches and vials of her own, the bag ends sticking out through her fist, a sturdy slingshot of some size planted in the crook of her thumb. They were not exactly armed for bear, but close. The dark funnels of the burning hills hung over them. His eyes smarted and his nose rebelled at the stench of crude. Skeletons of great towers, drums, and catwalks hung canted from their foundations, rusted against the blue-black smoke. He could see low tongues of fire licking about the structures. They angled in crossways to the hunt. Now, in silhouette, he could see the shaggy forms of running donkeys, slim figures bent low over their necks. The children and their escort. The donkeys wouldn't run far, that he knew. Behind them, fleet and tireless, came the coyotes and whipping their heels, the desert mutant packmaster. "They're running into the Ring!" Lady shouted, her breath thin and wheezy. "They'll be cut off." The donkeys, gray coats whitened in contrast to the smoke curtain they were plunging near, ran toward a dead end. Thomas let out a whooping yell. The coyotes swerved, and the packmaster's pony stumbled as the rider twisted to look at them. Thomas put the rifle butt into his shoulder, steadied to focus his thoughts and the chamber, and fired at the lead tracker. The coyote went down, rolled, and got yelping to his feet. His packmates swept by him. He put his head down and caught up. Thomas did not wait to see if the fletched dart hung from his flank. He sighted down the barrel as Cindy thundered closer to the pack, and fired his second. Then he reined back. The psychic effort of targeting the fletches left him in a cold sweat. He rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. He breathed deeply. This coyote went somersaulting, tail over muzzle. Again, the wave of trailers broke around him. The predator got to his feet limping and shook off the poison of the dart, as the packmaster galloped past. He lunged in his master's wake. Perturbed, Thomas kneed Cindy into a parallel run. Awkwardly, afraid to use both hands, he reloaded the rifle. Lady shouted, "What does it take to put them down?" "More poison than I've got!" he answered. "They must be warded!" That made sense, if Denethan wanted to give his trailing packs some extra protection over dangerous ground. He said to her, "Then that's your territory! I'm spent." Spent, hell, he was as weak as a babe. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |