Death Hunt. James Axler

you’re a better fighter.” He chuckled. “Jonno’s good, all right, but you’re better. All of you, by the look of what you did before we got here.”

      “You’ve got to watch your own back,” Ryan said, emphasizing the dual meaning of his words with a look at the riders encircling them.

      “You’d be as chilled as those stickies if I wanted,” Ethan commented, spitting on the nearest corpse for his own emphasis. “You’re interesting people, that’s for sure.”

      “I cannot but think that ‘interesting’ is an unusual epithet for such a situation,” Doc mused.

      The baron laughed again. “Y’see what I mean? What the fuck are you talking about, old man? You pitch up in the middle of a bunch of rabid stickies, whomp the fuck out of them, face off with a superior force in terms of arms and numbers, and then stand there and discuss the meaning of words…Shit, if that ain’t interesting, then you tell me what is.”

      “A fair point, if a little forcefully delivered.” Doc Tanner smiled.

      “Good,” Ethan said decisively. “Then you come back to our ville and we learn a bit more about you. In return, you get fed and watered, and get to rest.”

      “And if we say no?” Ryan queried.

      Ethan’s smile hardened. “Did I say you had a choice?”

      The one-eyed man looked at the horsemen surrounding the companions. He didn’t like the fact that they were being told what they had to do. Handing over power to another wasn’t something that came easily to any of them. On the other hand, they were in no practical position to fight; they could already have been wiped out. The baron seemed open enough to want to learn about them, and any hint of hostility came only when he was apparently crossed. That was worth remembering. What was also worthy of consideration was that the companions needed rest and food and it would be stupe to turn up the chance of this. Any problems could be dealt with as they arose, when they were rested and in a better condition. Looking at his friends, Ryan could see that they were all bruised, dusty, tired. Some had cuts that needed attention and their postures were slumped, tired.

      “Okay, we’ll come with you,” Ryan said slowly, testing the baron with his choice of words.

      Ethan allowed himself a small, tight smile, acknowledging that he understood the one-eyed man and that he, too, would play the game.

      “Good,” he said finally. “Now we wouldn’t expect you to walk, as it’s some way. You have any objection to sharing our horses?”

      Ryan looked around at the riders. Some of the horses looked as though they wouldn’t support more than one man, but others seemed sturdy enough. He looked back to Ethan and shook his head briefly.

      “Okay. As for you, Jonno,” he directed to the fat man, who was still standing where he had fallen, “you can take the lady with you. But she gets to keep that knife of yours for now. A trophy,” he added to Krysty. “Make sure the fat bastard doesn’t try anything else on the way back.”

      The fat man said nothing, but his expression betrayed his less than charitable feelings about the baron’s decision. The ripple of laughter that spread through the other riders did little to improve his disposition and he looked sullen as he climbed back onto his horse, grudgingly holding his hand out for Krysty. The Titian-haired beauty made a point of ignoring this and mounted behind him without acknowledging his gesture.

      Horse, the sec chief, took over, assigning a rider to each of the five companions, taking Ryan on his own mount. It was obviously a gesture of respect. Next to the baron, he was the highest-ranking rider, and he was acknowledging Ryan’s leadership. The one-eyed man took this in the spirit it was intended and nodded his thanks as he mounted the stallion that carried the sec chief.

      When they were in position, Ethan held up his hand. “We go back the same way. Take it easy. The horses must be exhausted after the chase and some have extra loads. Keep alert, but I don’t figure on there being trouble, do you?” he asked of his sec chief. Horse gave a brief shake of his head, his dreadlocks brushing against Ryan, as hard and wiry as his body. Ethan nodded, pleased. “Let’s go…”

      The hunting party started back through the forest, taking the path that had been carved by the pack of stickies as they had rampaged, tearing their way through the foliage and trees. It was only by taking this path that the companions became aware of the extent of the damage caused by the pack.

      “What the fuck were they doing?” Ryan whistled, looking at the churned-up earth and devastation left in their wake. “I’ve seen a shitload of stickies in my time, but I’ve never known them to act like this. And to stay and fight like they did to us. Usually they run…”

      Horse grunted. “Your guess is as good as mine. They attacked some farmers on the edge of the ville and we set out after them. Expected an easy hunt, chill them, then go home. But I’ve never seen stickies move at that pace. Something spooked them.”

      “Figured it might have been you,” Ryan said guardedly. “After all, you were at their rear.”

      “Only ’cause we hadn’t yet caught up with them when they ran into you,” the sec chief replied.

      “Yeah, guess so,” Ryan agreed, keeping the hint of doubt out of his voice. Why chase after them when they had already passed by the ville? There was something about the story that didn’t quite ring true, but that could wait until later, until Ryan had recce’d the situation a little better. What was important now was to get to the ville and to rest. As the horses trotted gently over the rough earth, the one-eyed man felt every little rut in the ground as a jarring pain. His eye was heavy and he felt his body begin to give in to the fatigue that had been staved off for so long by the adrenaline rush of combat and the need to keep alert.

      On their own shared mounts, the other companions were finding that they, too, were falling prey to their tiredness. Krysty kept herself awake by sheer willpower, not trusting herself to so much as doze while she had to ride behind the fat man. For his part, Jonno was trying to make amends for his earlier attitude by keeping up a nonstop stream of banalities.

      “Look, I’m really sorry about earlier. I just got carried away. I was only fooling, and I misjudged. You know what it’s like in the heat of battle, you kinda find it hard to switch off and get back to being normal. Whatever the fuck that is, y’know. But I don’t want us to have got off on the wrong foot. Ethan wouldn’t like that, and he’s not the kind of dude you screw with, y’know what I’m saying? It’s not that he’s a bad guy, and he’s a great baron, right, but you don’t want to get on the wrong side of him, y’know? That’s just bad news for everyone involved, right? Hey, are you listening?”

      Krysty answered with a grunt, then added, “Look, apology accepted, and I don’t care about the rest right now. Just keep your eyes on the path ahead and keep riding, okay?”

      Jonno pursed his lips. No one talked to him like that. They all tried but they paid. All the bitches who laughed at him for being fat and ugly and scarred. He would just bide his time and get her when she didn’t expect it.

      J.B. and Mildred were seated behind riders who said nothing beyond initial hellos. They were glad of it; the last thing they needed was to have to concentrate on conversation after the battle. Particularly, Mildred, who was sure that she would throw up again if the ride was any more rocky.

      Doc was behind a large, heavily muscled rider with an ebony skin that seemed to shine in the moonlight that lit the path cleared by the stickies. The old man could feel he was slipping. Nothing seemed real anymore. What was real? A man who had lived his life over three different centuries, with large chunks removed between them, Doc’s grasp of reality was always a little loose, and now he was sure that he had descended into madness. In the distance, riding toward him, he could see a Brougham driven by his beloved Emily, the wife he had left behind in the nineteenth century, and who would never have known what happened to him, just that he vanished one day, without trace and forever. Perhaps it was better that she didn’t know; that she could never see him as he was now, aged and beaten