Strontium Swamp

If they were tracking the companions, then they would know that they had been spotted, as they would have heard the cessation of activity. But if they were making their own way regardless of anyone else in the woodlands, then they wouldn’t know that they had been heard.

Either way, they were headed straight toward where the companions were gathered.

Ryan turned in the direction of the oncoming group and planned his defense. He had to move swiftly, as they were getting nearer with every second. He looked at the companions, blasters in hand, and grinned wryly. Plan their defense? In this situation, his people would probably be able to second guess whatever he was about to say.

With just an exchange of glances, the companions sprang into action. Jak took a standing jump at an overhanging tree and pulled himself into the lower limbs, finding his balance and scaling it with ease until he was in the upper reaches. He scanned the area visible from the top, taking care to keep himself concealed. About a mile away he could see a small inlet from the sea beyond, and the signs of a village—too small to really be called a ville—that had settled there. Coming toward the companions from an oblique angle to the village were four men and a woman. They were dressed raggedly, and although they moved with a degree of care, they looked haggard, and their movements were made audible by a weariness that made them careless. They carried swords and machetes, with revolvers stuffed into their waistbands. From the careless manner in which they were carried, Jak guessed that the five were unused to blasters.

Quickly climbing down the tree, Jak rapped out what he had seen. The party of five was only a couple of minutes away from them now, and Ryan directed his friends into defensive positions in the undergrowth.

“We want to let them pass if possible. If there’s a settlement, last thing we want is to piss off the people there by chilling some of their own.”

“Not look like after us,” Jak added.

Without further discussion the companions moved into position. Ryan and J.B. had blades in the shape of their panga and Tekna knife, respectively. For Jak, the leaf-bladed knives were almost a part of his person. And Doc withdrew the sword from within the silver lion’s-head cane. The blade was made of the finest Toledo steel, honed to razor sharpness, and despite their continuing travels the old man took care to keep it polished and sharp.

Mildred and Krysty, who never habitually carried blades, took a leaf-bladed knife each from Jak. They both weighed the blades in their palms, getting the balance of the delicate but deadly knife.

Now armed for silent combat, they took up position. Jak and the Armorer ascended into nearby trees, giving them a good position of both the view on the ground beneath, and also of the path of their enemy.

For the other four, it wasn’t quite as simple. With no clear-cut path for the approaching enemy to pursue, the grounded companions had to guess the least likely areas to be traversed. Ryan took a thick clump of shrub that had a prickly leaf as his base, figuring no one in their right mind would want to cut through it. Mildred and Krysty both opted for dense clusters of tree and shrub growth that they had to squeeze into. These weren’t 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.

“…heard it, I’m sure…”

“…better be something big—too long since the last time…”

“…you don’t shut the fuck up it’ll…”

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 wasn’t 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.

“Dark night, I don’t believe it,” 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. couldn’t 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, Doc’s 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 didn’t 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.

“By the Three Kennedys!” he exclaimed, realizing that he was about to blow J.B. into pieces. “John Barrymore!” 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 wasn’t the best way to show peaceful intent. However, with the noise of Doc’s 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-man’s-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 attacker’s 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 the side of his head, splitting the flesh from jaw to hairline, before a flick of Jak’s wrist took the blade down again, the point burrowing into his exposed neck—opened to a clean blow by the instinctive jerking back of his head as the flesh was carved—and, with a gentle pirouette of the blade, severing the carotid artery so that the man’s 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 attacker’s 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 didn’t 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 man’s neck with the panga, almost severing his head from his body with the force of the blow, taking off three fingers from the man’s 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 man’s opinion that these weren’t 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.

“Fireblast, what a stupe fuckup,” Ryan swore as he pulled out the blood-slicked blade. “There’s no way we can approach the village now, and they’ll be after us.”

“Ryan, I—” Doc began, but the one-eyed man cut him short.

“Don’t have to explain, Doc. Shit happens. You okay, J.B.?”

The Armorer was still shaking his head to clear it from his near-chilled experience. “Guess so—guess I’ll have to be.”

Ryan checked the others. They were covered in blood, but otherwise unharmed.

“Shit,” he cursed loudly. “We really didn’t need that. Let’s get moving away from here.”

“Yeah, triple quick,” Jak added, inclining his head. “Can hear more, coming fast.”