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cub as it rolled its way past the dented front of their trusty van. It
couldn't have been more than a couple of months old, its bright button eyes
staring fearlessly up at the two intruders.
"Cute," said Jim.
"Shoot it, quick, Dad. Be good eating."
"It's a little cub." He was shocked at his daughter's instant, cold-blooded
reaction. "I couldn't& Heather, it'd be like blasting Bambi."
"Bullshit, Dad." Her hand reached for the Ruger. "Give it me, if you won't do
it.
We need meat."
It was true.
The kick of the gun ran to his shoulder, and the furry bundle rolled over
dead.
The echoes of the shot seemed to ring through the trees forever.
As father and daughter began together to butcher the little carcass, Jim kept
his handgun ready. He knew from books and vids that the next likely event
would be the appearance of the giant, enraged mother of the cub.
But nothing happened.
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The melting snow continued to drip from the trees, and low clouds blew their
sullen way across the forest. The blood ran away, turning pink in the
trickling water, and Jim tossed the furry skin and innards off into the
undergrowth.
A profound depression settled over his soul.
The memories of so many deaths plagued him, and he began to anticipate a
future that seemed ever more hopeless. Despite the occasional clues, there was
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no real guarantee that Aurora even existed.
Perhaps they'd never find it and wander the deserted blacktops and avoid the
hostile fortress communities forever, just he and Heather. Until death would
relieve them of their lonely suffering.
He stood up and wiped the blade of his sheath knife in the soft earth, then
dried it on the leg of his pants. Being on the move again would be the only
way of shaking off the pervading sadness, he decided.
"We going, Dad?"
"Yeah. I'll find a good place to leave a note for the others. If they are&
I'll nail it up to the board by the main entrance to the woods."
Just then they both spun around, alerted by the sudden noise. Out of the
shadows beneath the trees something big and bulky was rushing fast toward
them.
Breathing harsh and heavy.
Jim drew the Ruger and waited, motioning Heather to stand behind him.
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The large shape burst out, water glistening on its shoulders, teeth bared.
Bared in a smile.
"Hi Jim and hi Heather. It me, Sly."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jeff Thomas couldn't stand the suspense.
When he'd heard the voice of Nanci Simms as she threw back the bolts on his
cell door, the ex-journalist of the
West American had nearly fainted. It wasn't something that he'd ever done
before, though there'd been some desperate moments during his twenty-five
years of life.
He'd stood up slowly, but the small room seemed to have filled with a dense
mist. His own voice sounded hollow and very far away. "Hi, Nanci. What a
surprise."
"We're leaving, Jeff. Now."
She took his arm as he stumbled and nearly fell. Then she thrust a heavy .38
in his belt. "Pull yourself together. Flake out on me now, Jefferson, and I'll
cause you some swift and grievous suffering before I kill you."
"I didn't mean to leave you," he heard himself mumbling as they moved out into
the corridor. "How's your leg?" But it seemed as if the woman wasn't hearing
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Axler, James - Earth Blood 02 - Deep Trek.htm him. He felt as if he wanted to
throw up on the floor.
When he saw the two examples of Nanci's brutal handiwork, he did throw up.
"We'll talk about you leaving me in a while. First things first, Jefferson."
He remembered her sliding back the massive security bolts on the door at the
end of the corridor. The surge of cool fresh air, cleansed the stench of blood
and death for a few precious moments.
Then they were in a surprisingly clean four-by-four and hurtling through
darkness, breaking a fence and shots whizzing around them.
But it was all like a dream.
Nanci was at his side, lips tight, whistling "Marching through Georgia"
quietly to herself as she steered the vehicle over sand and rock. She was
driving much faster than Jeff thought wise not that he was going to tell her.
He wasn't about to say anything.
Nanci broke the silence when they'd been going for something close to
forty-five minutes.
"She'll put a chopper up after us."
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