Bite Marks (11 page)

I stepped back. “Cassandra?”

She smiled and let some slack out on Jack’s leash. As soon as he stuck his nose into their hands, the boys fell in love. Much hugging and petting of the grinning malamute while our Seer spoke softly to their mom.

“I know you must be terrified. But we are your best chance at escaping this predicament unscathed. Let us help you free your sons before anything more traumatic happens to them. Please?” Tabitha glanced at Laal and Pajo. I expected a rush of warmth to ease the harsh lines of her face.

Instead they tightened, as if she was doing unpleasant math problems in her head. “All right. Boys?” She snapped her fingers and they immediately left Jack to run to her side.
Wow. No whining or anything?

Either she runs a really well-disciplined household or—no. I’m not going to think the worst of
anyone for once. That’s something Brude would do.
I turned to lead them out.

I murmured, “We’re on our way,” to Vayl. Then I looked back over my shoulder and whispered, “Two things. Be quieter than you’ve ever been in your life.” Special smile for the boys. “Übersneaky, got it?” They nodded solemnly. “And stay as close as you can to the big man we’re meeting at the gate. His name is Jeremy, and he can make it so the crowd doesn’t see us. But we’ve arranged a little distraction as well. Just ignore it when it happens and follow Jeremy and me out. Got it?” Ruvin’s family nodded again. I hoped that meant they understood. Hard to say how much was sinking in.

You never knew with somebody who’d spent time as a prisoner and was now escaping. Sometimes the moment itself overwhelmed everything else, even the ability to process the instructions they needed to make it successful. I looked over them to Cassandra, gave her a
keep an eye on them
look.

We crept down the path toward the gate. “Astral,” I whispered. “Go back to the tunnel exit. Don’t get caught.”

We rejoined Vayl at the gate door. He’d hidden the guard’s body. My guess would’ve been inside the trash can.
Good call.
Laal and Pajo didn’t need to see us handling corpses if we could help it.

Vayl took stock. Tender look for me. Approval toward Cassandra and Jack. Curiosity in Tabitha’s direction. And for the boys, a moment of intensity, like the silence before a shout.

He pulled me aside. Spoke directly into my ear. “We have to get these boys out safely.”

“Of course.”

“Understand me. Whatever else happens, here, or with the mission, we cannot let these boys die.” I stared into his eyes, which had turned the purple of a boxer’s ribs after a bad beating. And I knew something about Laal and Pajo had reminded him sharply of his own murdered sons. Or maybe it was just that he’d finally found a chance to prevent another father from feeling the anguish he’d endured now for over two hundred and fifty years. Didn’t matter to me.

I said, “The boys live no matter what. Of course. There was never another option.” He put both hands to my shoulders like he meant to hug me; then he looked over my head, remembered our circumstances, and dropped his arms. Turning toward the crowd so that he blocked most of us at the gate with both his bulk and power, he murmured, “Now, Bergman.” Motioning us forward, he began to move at a slow but even pace back the way we’d come.

Which was when Bergman popped out from behind the trees and climbed up the back of the bandstand.

He shoved his way to the front of the stage, a camera in each hand, grinning like a lunatic and blowing an enormous bubble from a spare piece of gum he must’ve borrowed from Cole.

The band faded out. Its inattentive audience quickly swung its focus away from itself and to the stage as this new phenomenon began to click off picture after picture. Finally Bergman grabbed a microphone.

“Okay, that was excellent. Now, my guy in Hollywood tells me if this movie’s going to work we’re gonna need all of you to really get into your parts. Okay? And… smile!” CHAPTERFOURTEEN

Iwas genuinely shocked when I froze. Paralysis is not what I do. I think. On my feet. As they move.

Generally at my target. Or away from danger. Or, in this case, toward the exit while I figured out how to rescue my idiot consultant before he got himself killed and Pete demoted me to, oh, I don’t know…

resident flyswatter?

But I was stuck. This was my first clue that Brude had commandeered my limbs. Then he turned me toward the source of what he thought would soon be lurid entertainment. In other words, a bloodbath.

Starring my best friend, who was clicking off shots of the crowd and talking fast about some fantasy film starring Angelina Jolie and Warwick Davies. Dumbass.

Granny May!
I yelled, an SOS to my own psyche. I saw her head shoot up from the green beans she’d been snapping into a bowl on her lap. She still sat on the front porch. But she looked less fearful. And I noticed she’d brought some sort of club outside with her. I focused on the item that lay on the floor beside her rocking chair. Nearly giggled out loud when I recognized the leg of an old iron lamp Gramps Lew had kept promising to fix but never seemed to get to. She’d taken to carrying it with her from room to room as a reminder, which had evolved into a joke. And once he’d died, it had become a memento.

Now, maybe, it would take another role.

I see him
, she whispered, leaning down to get a good grip on the club.
Trust me, Jazzy, he won’t get
any closer. You get on with your job, now.

Hoping my mind could war on itself without causing irreparable damage, I tried to take a step.
Yes!
A couple more.
Go, Granny May!
I hustled to get back into formation, which was a lot like before, only now Vayl and I had three extra civilians lining up between us.

We’d made it a quarter of the way around the back edge of the crowd. Nobody had a clue their prisoners were escaping. All eyes had glued themselves to the idiot human on the platform, who seemed to be delivering a message of fame and good fortune that even the most devout among them found hard to ignore.

“I’m gonna kill him,” I whispered. “If they don’t get to him first, that is.” Remembering the party line I said, “Do you hear that, Bergman? You were supposed to pull some amazing gadget out of your bag and fill the place with stink bombs or locusts or something. Not risk your freaking neck on a dumb stunt that Cole might pull. Just let me get these kids safe and then I’ll—”

“I know what I’m doing here!” Bergman announced to the crowd, though I knew he’d aimed his statement at me. “You might question my methods a little bit, but this is how blockbusters get made. I’m telling you, Hugh Jackman started out the same way. Now, could we have all the gentlemen just line up on either side of the stairs here?”

The gnomish men traded puzzled looks. A couple of them rose. And why wouldn’t they? Bergman sounded so confident.

“That’s right,” he said. “Form a kind of hallway for the shaman to walk through when he comes onstage.

That’s the way the director is visualizing it, so he wants me to get some shots to send back to him.” More gnomes stood. A living tunnel began to form. Because the shaman must have approved this stickman’s presence. How else would he know about their leader’s impending appearance?

“Excellent. Great.” Bergman worked himself to the corner of the bandstand closest to our exit as he snapped picture after picture. “Ope! I think I see the shaman coming! Already.” Bergman’s voice tried to strangle itself. He murmured, “Something’s wrong with this parade. The shaman’s standing on some kind of raft carried by uniformed guards, but he’s stiff and wobbly. Almost like a mannequin… Do they believe in freeze-drying their religious leaders?”

“We have no information that he has even been sick,” Vayl replied. “Proceed as planned.” Bergman gulped so loudly my ears popped. Then he yelled, “Everybody stand up straight! Yep, that means you people in the middle too. On your feet! Stand and face the shaman!” Even from our spot, a city block from freedom, I could hear the distant rumble of drums heralding the main man’s approach.

“RAFS! I mean, Astral!” Bergman yelled.

“What do you need?” I asked, using all my self-control to keep my voice at a whisper.

Some of the gnomes were frowning at him now. Moving toward the steps. Reaching up as if to grab him.

“A grenade would be ideal!”

“Astral, show me your location!” She stood in the entrance to our escape tunnel awaiting orders.

“Bergman, what’s her range?” I asked.

“About fifty yards.”

“Come to me, Astral. Run!”

Sooner than I’d expected a streak of black reached my feet and leaped into my arms, slamming into my chest like an oversized volleyball. I tucked her under my arm, feeling ridiculously Monty Pythonesque as I pointed her toward the front of the shaman’s parade, which had just come into view, a long row of guards carrying between them a cooking pot the size of a bathtub.

“Okay, girl, hawk a grenade as far as you can.”

I felt her entire body pulse, a repeated motion just like you’d expect a cat to make. Except her mouth didn’t yawn, releasing a rocket-propelled minibomb as I’d expected. I heard a
thunk
and looked down.

Astral had dumped a red metal sphere beside my right foot.

“Shit!” I dropped her, grabbed the grenade, and lofted it as hard and as far as I could. Fortunately my college track training hadn’t completely failed me, and the missile exploded in the air, raining shrapnel on the Ufranite guards below.

The sound itself, a
whump
so deafening I immediately glanced up to see if the ceiling was falling, terrified the gnomes into a stampede. Add to that the gong of the falling cauldron, the screams of the wounded, the wails of terrified women and children, and you have what Pete likes to call “a situation.”

“Bergman! Why didn’t you tell me the grenades came out her ass!”

“Where else would they launch from?”

“Where—where are you?”
So I can show you exactly what I think you can do with your cat and her
grenades?

“Where do you think? Booking down the tunnel! How come you’re still hanging around there?” Hard to stay pissed at a guy who asked such good questions.

I’d had to stop to launch Astral’s weapon, but I was pretty sure no one had seen me. Now I caught up to the line, still remarkably intact considering the smoke and noise. But disturbing in that Tabitha was hurrying ahead of her sons, not even glancing over her shoulder to make sure they were keeping up with her.

Only a few more steps and Vayl would be inside the tunnel. Which was a good thing, because our camo wouldn’t hold for much longer. With panicked gnomes running in random directions, he couldn’t direct their thoughts anymore. Which meant we could be spotted at—

“The prisoners are escaping!” shrilled one man, a pointy-headed, shaggy-haired example of why gnomes rarely marry outside their species. I stepped out of line to meet his rush, hoping Laal and Pajo were looking the other way as I drew my bolo.

While Vayl led the rest of our party into the tunnel, I confronted Pencil-head with a blade as long as his legs. Astral took her place next to me, arching her back and hissing as he drew his own weapon, a dagger that he spun in an intricate pattern designed to display his skill and intimidate me into making a mistake. I tossed my bolo into my left hand. Back into my right.

He snickered at my obvious lack of ability and lowered his arms. Just the mistake I was waiting for. I flung the blade just like I practiced every day on the range back in Ohio. It flew true, splitting his skull like a ripe cantaloupe. He dropped with the hilt of my great-great-granddad’s war knife sticking out from between his eyes. Unfortunately a couple of his buddies had heard his warning. And a few more saw him go down.

“Vayl,” I said as I sidled toward the exit, robokitty in tow. “I’ve got five, no make that six, gnomes in pursuit.” I pulled Grief, switched it into crossbow mode because I didn’t want to make another loud noise in a place where I could be buried alive. I paused to take a shot. “Make that five. They must not be able to afford to arm everybody the same because I don’t see rifles. All these goons have are knives and handguns.”

A shot pinged off the rock above my head.

“Are they sounding a general alarm?”

“Not yet. That last kill pissed them off too much. Plus, I think they know everybody else is too distracted with the explosion.”

“Can you hold them off until I get the boys out safely?”

“Sure.” Another shot slammed into the path behind me.
Nope. And he probably knows that. But I’d be
so pissed if he put my life ahead of those kids. And he knows that too.

“Bergman,” I said, forcing myself to breathe evenly because if I lost it now, I’d die. “How many of those grenades did you load into Astral?”

“Two,” he told me. “But, like I said before, they’re experimental. I was hoping we could try them out in a more controlled situation after the mission was over. I was amazed that one worked.” I wouldn’t go that far.

I squeezed off another bolt as the cat and I backed to the tunnel. One more down. The odds looked better, but these Ufranites weren’t giving up easily. Maybe they didn’t like the fact that we’d just tried to bury tiny bits of steel in their shaman’s face.

My remaining pursuers fell back, taking themselves out of range, though that meant they couldn’t hit me either. They fanned out, trying to surround me before I could reach my escape hatch. I could see the plan in their eyes. They knew how long Grief needed to reload now. The second I turned to run, the last three gnomes would rush me. As soon as they got into range, they’d open up with their overengineered handguns and pop me into the next world for good. With a sound only slightly louder than a Jack fart.

The two sides of me warred. I wanted so badly to escape the confines of the tunnels that my eyeballs were straining for natural light. If they could, they’d probably leap from their sockets and bounce down the path, leading the rest of my body to freedom. At the same time I felt insulted at the possibility of death by “poof.” When you get taken out, you kinda want it to happen with such an epic blast that people wish they were sitting on their toilets during the final kaboom. That way there’s less mess to clean up later on.