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They even took the dog. Valentine didn't mind; he liked dogs. Though it was heartbreaking if you had to eat them.
As they pulled out and bumped west, witch fingers of tree branches scratched the sides of the truck.
In the dark, with the roads potholed and washed out, they couldn't go much faster than a man could trot. Patel had the Wolves lope ahead and behind, scouting and checking for pursuit.
All that marked their departure was noise, and that only briefly. A siren started up from the armory as soon as they were out of sight.
"What you figure that signifies, Major?" the man at the wheel asked.
"We'll find out soon enough," Valentine said.
Valentine shifted the machine pistol to his lap and checked the soldier's rifle and the bandolier resting on the dash. He and this version of Southern Command's single shot breechloaders were old, conflicted friends dating back to his days in the Labor Regiment. It was a fine gun, accurate with stopping power sufficient to knock a Reaper off its feet, if you didn't mind having to reload every time you fired a round.
Valentine opened the glass panel between the cabin and the back of the truck.
"Someone ask our prisoners what that noise is," Valentine said over the truck's protesting suspension.
"Alarm, sir."
"Was there someone there they didn't tell us about?"
Valentine waited a moment while Patel asked a few questions.
"Could be a gargoyle, Major. They overfly the area all the time. One might have seen the trucks leave. Could be he flew down to investigate. Gargoyles are smarter than harpies."
They're also smart enough to guide in a few Reapers.
Valentine opened the truck door, checking that he wouldn't be swept off, or worse, by the branches ahead. He searched the night sky.
The glare of the following truck's headlights made it difficult to see.
"Kill the lights," Valentine said to his driver, dropping back into the cab.
"Pass back to the following truck: Kill the lights," Valentine said to Patel. Patel lifted a brand-new walkie-talkie from the armory and spoke into it.
With the lights out on the rear truck, Valentine tried again, duck-ing under a branch that snapped and snipped as it broke along the truck's side.
A shadow hung behind the trucks, following the road. A shadow that closed in on itself, thickening as it followed their vehicles.
Harpies. Dirty, flapping-
Valentine wondered what they were carrying, apart from ugly. He wondered if the theoretical gargoyle had sent them after the trucks. They had enough cunning to know something was wrong and that they'd be rewarded for stopping the trucks.
Fixated by the shadow, Valentine starting to pick out individual wings and short, skinny bowlegs. A branch slapped him out of his trance, and he ducked back into the cabin.
"Harpies," Valentine said. "Pass the world. Honk and bring the Wolves in."
He hated those snaggletoothed bastards. A sort of cold clarity took over as he stifled the urge to get one in his hands and dismember it like a well-cooked chicken.
"We could stop under thick trees, Major."
"No, that'll just give them more time to figure something out. And let them aim."
Valentine looked at the bungees holding the cargo on the roof. He detached a couple of the S hooks and fitted them on to his vest and belt. Testing his grip, he exited the cab, closed the truck door, and hooked another bungee to the bars covering the passenger window.
"Stop a sec and pass me up the gun and bandolier," Valentine said. "And try to keep to the left."
As the truck ground into motion again, Valentine now hanging on the outside with his foot on a fuel tank, he found that the side-view mirror protected him from the bigger branches. All it did for the smaller ones was bend them back to give them a little more energy for a swat.
