AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Without Ahn-Kha's reliable strength alongside him, he felt like a piece of his spine had been plucked out.
"He did it," Duvalier said as they saw the pursuit convoy crest another rise in the distance.
They crested the hill, and thanks to its commanding view Valentine went through Thatcher's inventory. He'd brought some good topographical maps of Kentucky, and between the two of them they made a good guess as to where they were. Several lights could be seen between the hill and the northern horizon, but they were so distant he couldn't tell if they were electric or burning homes.
"What do you suppose that is?" Duvalier asked, pointing southwest.
"I don't see anything," Boothe said, but she couldn't without Cat eyes.
A garbage pile, perhaps? It looked like a plate of spaghetti the size of a football field.
"That's a legworm dogpile," Valentine said. "Look at all the tracks."
"What, that hump down there?" Thatcher said, squinting to try to make out what they were talking about. "I saw three of them all tangled up once after a snowstorm."
"Let's get off this ridge," Valentine said. "Take a closer look. Maybe some of their tribe is around."
Valentine pointed out a tree at the bottom of the hill, and had Thatcher find a path toward it. Gail's breathing was labored and Duvalier gave her the walking stick. Valentine hung back to check the rest spot, and waved Duvalier over.
"You dropped this in the road," Valentine said, giving Duvalier back her can of explosive-filled meat.
She looked at it, puzzled, and whipped her bag off her back. The wing locks were still clicked shut. "Then it jumped out on its own."
"Someone left it?"
"Everyone was in a hurry to get out of the truck. Maybe it got kicked out in the confusion."
Valentine only remembered the sound of feet hitting the ground. "Let's not leave anything to luck, good or bad," he said.
They caught up to the others at the bottom of the hill, and walked out into the horseshoe-shaped flat with the legworm dogpile roughly in the center. What might have been utility poles at one time could be seen against the horizon, a few miles away. The peak of a funnel-topped silo and a barn roof showed.
Legworm trails crisscrossed the ground everywhere, but none looked or smelled fresh. Maybe their minders were on the other side of the valley.
Gail collapsed, crying. "Legs won't hold me up anymore."
Boothe listened to her heart and breathing with her stethoscope. "She's healthy, just out of condition."
"We can rest for a little," Valentine said.
Then need came, terrible need. Valentine felt them on the towering hill behind, moving like an angry swarm of bees.
Reapers.
They'd home in on the lifesign-he had a pregnant woman, and bitter experience told him that Kurians hungered for newborns like opiate addicts sought refined heroin; he might as well be running with a lit Roman candle-and that would be the end of them.
"We're in trouble," Valentine said.
"What-" Duvalier began.
"No time," he snapped. He handed her his rifle. "You and Thatcher head for those telephone poles. Doc, you and Pepsa go into those woods and find low ground. Lie flat, flat as you can." He tossed her Thatcher's 9mm.
"Reapers?" Duvalier asked.
"Coming down the hill." Boothe went as white as the cloud-hidden moon. "Hurry." He grabbed Gail's wrist. "I'll lead them off. Maybe I can lose them."
You won't. Too long until sunup.
"How?"
