Strontium Swamp

MILDRED WAS HUDDLED close to the bole of a tree, her Czech ZKR pistol raised, barrel skyward, ready to aim in any direction, at the slightest sound. She was scanning the surrounding area intently, but could see nothing. There was no movement, no sound, no indication of anything that could pose a threat.

That was when she heard it—a rattle and a hollow sound, like someone had kicked a stone against a tree. She pulled the ZKR down so that it was leveled, then turned toward the source of the noise.

As she turned, she felt a pricking in the side of her neck, like an insect bite. She slapped at it and felt the protruding dart.

Dammit—she knew immediately that the noise had been a decoy and she had fallen for it, leaving herself open to a shot from the side. She opened her mouth to call a warning, but it felt as though her chest was tight and her vocal cords had seized up. She felt her balance fail, and as she fell forward, the world spun briefly before blacking out.

JAK HEARD MILDRED FALL, whirled and saw her hit the ground. He also caught the flicker of movement as the sec man came out of hiding, moving over to check Mildred’s condition.

The albino youth took this as a chance to move in on the sec man, swinging across the limbs that were intertwined above the ground, noiselessly slipping lower so that he was able to launch himself downward from behind, hoping to take the man out without giving him a chance to use the blowpipe.

He should have known. Even as he fell, he realized that the sec man had been leaning over Mildred for far too long just to check on her. He’d known Jak was up in the trees somewhere, and was waiting for him to make the first move. The sec man began a half turn as the albino plummeted earthward, moving his body to meet the full impact.

Jak was holding a knife and hoped to get the blade into position for a chilling blow as he landed. He got in one thrust, but the sec man managed to parry it with an arm, taking a slice out of his bicep, but preventing the knife from being anything other than a painful irritation. At the same time, he raised his other arm, opening his clenched fist to slap Jak on the side of the head with his open palm.

The albino reeled back. It shouldn’t have been a blow to cause that, being light compared to the punishment Jak had taken in the past. And yet there was something about it. Realizing—but too late—Jak raised his hand to the side of his head, using his fingers to probe where the aftershock of the slap was still tingling.

He could feel the small dart. It was almost flat to his temple, the point of it having only just punctured the skin. He cursed and pulled it out, throwing it to one side. Maybe he had caught it in time, maybe it hadn’t released any of its toxin into his bloodstream as it hadn’t been driven in. Even as he reeled back, he knew he was hoping where there was no hope. The sec man stood in front of him, legs apart, in a stance that was wary and ready to spring: but he didn’t see Jak as posing a problem now.

Blinking, feeling himself grow numb and his vision clouding and becoming distant, Jak knew that he was done for. If this was a lethal toxin, then he was a chilled piece of meat. If not, then he could only hope that he would have a chance to fight back when he came around.

That was the last thought running through his head before the dark curtain fell.

J.B. WAS SWEATING. The Armorer’s patience had already been stretched far too thin by Doc, let alone a wait for an enemy that refused to show. Every sound, every movement of wildlife put him on a hair trigger, just one ounce of pressure away from ripping it to shred with a burst from the Uzi.

When it came, though, it was as if all that pressure slipped away and he locked into a calmer, cooler frame of mind.

It was to his right, behind a clump of flowering shrub, the large purple blooms of which gave a good expanse with which to hide. Too good. There was no way he could tell if there was anyone there. To spray ‘n’ pray would be a spectacularly futile act, as it would do little except betray his position and invite attack.

There was only one thing he could do if he wanted to avoid being trapped in this position. He had to take the initiative. Using all the skills he had picked up during decades of simply staying alive, J.B. moved out from his position, keeping low and using whatever cover he could, moving toward the shrub. He paused at every new piece of cover, ready to fire if there was any indication that he had been spotted. All he could hear each time was the sound of his own shallow breathing, all he could feel was each drop of sweat running down his brow, down his back.

He made the distance between last cover and the shrub, going into a roll to come up to the rear of the purple blooms, Uzi raised to see off any opposition.

The space behind the shrub, which he felt sure harbored the enemy, and from which it would have been impossible to move without betraying position, was empty. J.B. frowned, for a moment nonplussed. It was only when he heard the faintest movement behind him that he realized he had been fooled by someone who knew the woods much better than he ever could. He had only half turned when he felt the prick of the dart in the back of his neck. Before he had completed a 180, the world spun on its axis and started to darken.

KRYSTY KNEW THERE WAS danger here. Her doomie sense was telling her, so strong that it was making her feel sick to the pit of her stomach. But that was good. She remembered Mother Sonja explaining to her that this gift was to preserve life, to give due warning of when the darkness of death was to descend.

It was just a pity that it wouldn’t tell her from where it was choosing to make an appearance.

She shifted uncomfortably. She felt that she was in good cover, but there was something about the nagging insistence of her mutie sense that told her she was wrong, and if she didn’t get the hell out then it would be too late.

She grasped her .38 Smith & Wesson in both hands, eyes never ceasing to scan the surrounding area. It was too quiet, as though the chattering wildlife they had previously disturbed knew that there was more trouble and had evacuated the area.

Every fiber of her body was screaming for her to move. She could see nothing, hear nothing around her to suggest she was in danger, but she could ignore it no longer. She identified another patch of cover she could move to. It wouldn’t be too hard to remain hidden while she moved.

As she edged out, she realized why her senses had been screaming at her. One of the enemy party rose up out of tree and shrub cover, directly in front of her, waiting patiently for her to show herself, knowing she was there. Krysty leveled her blaster and squeezed off a round.

It went high and wide, her aim ruined by the dart that caught her in the forehead, the impact making her jerk at the last. She steadied her hand for a second round, but couldn’t stop the world from spinning.

“FUCK IT,” Mildred cursed, the words escaping her lips before she had a chance to stop them. Then she cursed herself for making noise and giving away her position. Her heart was racing, thumping so heavily against her rib cage that she thought it was going to break through. There was no way that she would usually be so stupid as to jump like a frightened rabbit at one blaster shot in the silence, but the lack of rest and continuous physical and mental stress since landing from the jump had left her strung out in a way she couldn’t remember.

Breathing deeply, trying to keep it together, she closed her eyes for a second and counted to ten. She could hear nothing except the light rustle of a gentle breeze around the woods, so she felt okay about keeping her eyes closed for—

Shit, she shouldn’t let her grip slip in this way. She heard a faint increase in the rustling and the crackling of ferns under a tread that, no matter how light, was still enough to register.

Mildred opened her eyes and found herself staring at a man who stood with a blowpipe, almost unable to believe that it had been this easy.

Before she had even got the Czech ZKR leveled to snap off a shot, the dart struck her cheek, making her start and slap her hand to her face. It had to be a toxin on the dart, but was it fatal or merely temporary?

As the world faded, it occurred to her that it would be a stupid way to buy the farm. After all she had endured, to lose her life because of one small panic attack.

RYAN HEARD THE SHOT at the same time as Mildred, and kept his attention fixed on the direction from which it had emanated. There was no follow-up, and nothing else to indicate any kind of action. The shot had been a pistol shot, and its timbre indicated that it came from Krysty. Unless it was a random shot, then the lack of follow-up meant that she was in trouble.

Ryan didn’t want to betray his own position, but he couldn’t in all conscience leave her to it. Dammit, he was sure J.B. was moving over there to give assistance anyway. And the fact was that they were in a stalemate, and someone had to do something to break it.

The one-eyed man had never been afraid of taking chances. It was the only way he’d managed to stay alive for so long. All risks were calculated; some were just more so than others.

Slipping from cover, Ryan made his way through the undergrowth to where he had heard the shot. Although he was looking for Krysty, it wasn’t long before he could see Mildred, slumped on the turf. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing. She was in the open, and he would have to break cover. If she was down, then what the hell had happened to Krysty after she had fired that lone round?

He paused, checking the surrounding area. It was deathly quiet. If there was anyone waiting, they were damned good. The fact that he seemed to be the only one of his people to respond was worrying, but that could wait.

Shouldering the Steyr and drawing the SIG-Sauer as it would be more maneuverable in the circumstances, Ryan recced around him one more time before taking a deep breath and moving out into the open.

Mildred was facedown. He turned her over.

Ryan heard movement behind him. Working on pure instinct and adrenaline, he rolled away from Mildred and in the opposite direction to the sound, snapping off a shot from the SIG-Sauer to give himself some kind of covering fire.

But even as he was midroll, he heard more movement, this time in front of him. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t adjust himself… He felt the snicking of a dart as it hit him, didn’t feel it as it was in the numbed scar tissue on his cheek. With his good eye he caught a glimpse of a woman half hidden by the leaves, a blowpipe in her mouth. He kept rolling, now unable to stop himself as the world began to lurch beneath his still moving, now rubbery and uncontrollable body.

As he began to black out, he heard a man say, “Lord, thought we’d never get that bastard. Fuckin’ fine shot, Jude. Let’s—”

And then the dark.

THEY WERE TRUSSED like hogs and carried to the ville.

The two hunting parties met, the sec patrol calling the other with a series of bird and animal calls that were used as a code. The party that had followed the first combat were already on the trail of the companions, and hadn’t far to go before they met with the sec patrol.