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“What are you doing?” asked Dahlia in a tiny whisper.
“Roll with it,” he said, hardly moving his lips. In a much louder voice he said, “My niece wasn’t exaggerating about the Rovers. They’re quite a savage bunch. Unwashed, unintelligent, uncouth, but there are a lot of them and they are coming.”
The woman was still unconvinced. Dahlia saw her eyes roving over the rest of the Pack. There were people of all colors in her group, and they looked pretty raw and wild, too.
Before the woman on the walls could answer, there was a sudden shrill blast of whistles from the woods. Not one, but many.
Church pointed to the forest. “That’s them. They’re coming. Either let us in and we can fight them together, or we’ll get out of here before they show up. I certainly don’t like the idea of fighting all of them in an open field.”
The whistles were still distant, but it was clear they were drawing closer. Dahlia wondered if it was intended to spook the people behind the walls, or to gather the various gangs of Rovers together. Or both.
The woman on the wall pursed her lips, giving her face a pinched, shrewish cast. The same man who’d whispered to her earlier now produced a pair of binoculars and handed them to her, pointing to a section of the forest three hundred yards to the west. The woman looked for a moment through the glasses and then jerked them away from her eyes, her shrewish expression instantly replaced by one of naked fear.
Before she could speak, Church turned away and said, very loudly and clearly, “Okay, kids, we need to move. Everyone head to the east woods. We don’t want to be here for this and—”
“No!” cried the woman. “No, please, come inside.”
The gates began to swing outward.
Church gave Dahlia a wink, but he sustained his drama for a bit. He stopped, glanced up at her with a troubled, doubtful face; then cut looks at the woods and at the Pack.
“Maybe we’ll do better on our own,” he said slowly.
“Please,” cried the woman, “they’re coming. I can see them.”
Dahlia had to fight to keep a smile off her face. She understood how Church was playing this. Instead of begging, he made her ask. Made her, in fact, beg.
With a show of great reluctance, Church sighed, nodded, and then walked toward the open gates, curtly waving for the Pack to follow. Dahlia hurried to fall into step beside him.
“You played the entitled white asshole card pretty well,” she said quietly.
“I’ve met more than my share of them,” said Church. Then he added, “Stay sharp and play your role, too. I don’t like this set up at all. Keep your eyes open and your emotions in check.”
“Yes, Obi Wan.”
“Hush now.”
The Pack entered the town of Happy Valley. Dahlia turned to see the doors being swung shut and a heavy crossbar being fitted into place. It spoke of security, but it also scared her.
Outside the whistles rose in volume and one of the guards on the wall cried: “They’re coming.”
— 35 —
THE WARRIOR WOMAN
Rachael screamed and backed away, but her back slammed into the crossbar, and before she could twist away Glory clamped one iron hand around her throat. The bloody knife rose and then plunged downward.
Rachael twisted and slammed her leather bracers at the madwoman’s wrist, deflecting the knife and causing the point to drive two inches into the crossbar. Then Rachael kneed the woman in the crotch and tried to head-butt her, but Glory twisted her waist and took the knee against her own thigh, changed angle and slammed her own forehead into Rachael’s face. The savage blow missed her nose and instead mashed an eyebrow, which split and spurted blood.
Then Glory seemed to jerk backward and Rachael saw that Jason had somehow managed to free an arm and caught the killer’s sleeve. Glory staggered and went down to one knee, but was up in an instant, slashing with her weapon. Bright rubies filled the air and Jason screamed and sagged back, his inner arm, shoulder, and throat opening with a terrible wound.
“No!” screamed Rachael and launched herself at the woman. Glory snarled and spun back to Rachael just in time to parry a kick. Her blade whipped out and drew a burning line across Rachael’s abdomen. The T-shirt parted like a gaping mouth and blood welled as Rachael backpedaled, not knowing how seriously she was injured. Jason sagged down against the restraints as Claudia began screaming and thrashing.
Then a hand clamped around Rachael’s ankle and she looked down in horror to see that Kyle—dead Kyle—had grabbed her. The newly awakened creature struggled to rise as he snapped his teeth in her direction. Glory backed up a step, uncertain of her next move, though she was still smiling.
She’s enjoying this, thought Rachael. She’s worse than the orcs.
Rachael kicked at Kyle, but he caught her foot with his other hand and she fell hard on her butt, her head snapping back against the upright post. Claudia kept screaming and everywhere there was blood and death.
