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using a scrap piece of rock to scrape a stretched piece of hide as a
preparation for curing.
A stream trickled out of the bamboo forest, going down the sloped side of the
crater and through the pungi-stick wall and forming a pool at one end of the
ville.
In the center was a banked pile of glowing red coals ready to cook dinner.
About forty people, adults and children, were walking about in loincloths and
crude sandals. Here in the safety of their home, the gray men had removed
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their camou.
They were covered with tattoos, but appeared to be norms.
Near the center of the ville was a pit in the ground covered with a lid of
stout logs and guarded by several of the women, each armed with a long spear.
As the companions watched, an arm clawed through the wooden grating and the
women stabbed it back down into the pit, the tips of their spears becoming
dabbed with crimson in the process.
The lid was removed and the gray men jabbed at the trapped people until one
was
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exit the prison. Instantly, he was swarmed upon and ropes tied to his arms and
legs. With five or six tattooed people on each rope, the chosen prisoner was
hauled to a tree and held there helpless while old women jabbed out his eyes
with sharp sticks, and then cut the tendons in his legs. Even if set free, the
man would never walk again.
Now his clothes were cut away with great care not to damage the skin. Naked,
he was bound tight and the ropes looped over a tree branch, then he was hauled
off his feet to dangle upside down. Next, a barrel was shoved underneath. Doc
and
Jak muttered curses. Born and raised on farms, they knew what was coming next.
Without a qualm, the prisoner's throat was slit and his blood flowed into the
barrel. When the corpse was completely drained, the stomach was slit apart and
the intestines slithered free to be saved in a woven basket. Evidently, all
body parts were consumed.
The sun was nearing the horizon, and the rad pit was illuminated by the banked
coals, giving the ville a reddish tone like a nightmare, but it was all
terribly real.
Now the head was sawed off and given to an old man who peeled off the scalp as
an aid to plucking out the hairs, probably to make ropes. Another oldster
broke off the jaw and removed the teeth, for saws and arrowheads. Meanwhile,
young woman neatly removed the skin from the corpse, and the raw carcass had a
wooden pole shoved down the neck stump until it exited the anus. The limply
dangling arms and legs were cut away and put into a tent filled with smoke,
curing the meat to make it last.
Sprinkled with herbs, the skinless torso was placed on a spit above the coals,
and old women started turning the food slowly, chatting among themselves as
dinner began to cook. Sticks with rags tied to the ends caught the melting fat
and were used to baste the meat in its own juices. Soon the smell reached the
companions, and they fought the urge to retch.
"Cannies," Doc muttered, looking away. He had encountered man-eaters before,
but this methodical processing of the aced man was demonic. It demeaned humans
to no more than cattle.
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"Any sign of Ann?" Ryan asked, squinting into the crimson pit.
"Not yet," J.B. answered, moving the brass scope around the camp. "Got a live
round says she's in that hole, though."
"Need diversion," Jak stated forcibly. "Stampede horses, set fire bamboo?"
"We could use several diversions, my friend," Doc stated. "There are a lot
more cannies than there are us."
Ryan rubbed his jaw. If they knew which tent contained the stores of black
powder for the blasters, they could toss in some firebombs and rock the whole
ville. The stampede wasn't a bad idea, except that the horses were as passive
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as an old eunuch. And most of their explosives were in the lost munitions bag.
This was going to require some thought.
"Whatever we're going to do had better be soon," Krysty warned, pointing
below.
"They're getting the tree ready for another prisoner."
Unslinging his longblaster, Ryan handed it to Mildred, along with most of his
spare ammo mags. Then he pulled out the panga and started drawing in the dirt.
"Okay," he said, "here's the plan."
Chapter Eight
Searching around, Krysty found a flat rock and slid it carefully to the very
edge of the crater, then wiggled it snugly into the dirt to make sure it
wouldn't move.
Setting the Steyr SSG-70 on the rock, the woman placed a handkerchief on the
ground nearby and laid out a neat row of the extra mags for the longblaster.
Taking a look through the scope, she could see the cannies in wire-sharp
detail,
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moving the crosshairs from one to another. Very soon now.
TAKING POSITION inside a clump of young bamboo, Mildred used a knife to gently
saw through some of the jointed tubes until she had a good view of the secret
ville below. Taking a tiny piece of a bandage from her med kit, the physician
rubbed it in the dirt until it was no longer white, but a dull brown. Tying it
to the end of a bamboo stick, Mildred eased it into the open where a breeze
stirred the strip of cloth. Thrusting the other end of the stick into the
ground, the physician watched the fluttering rag and tried to gauge the wind
shear. She had never attempted this great a distance with her ZKR target
pistol, not even back when she went for the gold medal in the Olympics. But
lives were riding on her accuracy today, not just a medal.
If they wanted to live the night, there was blood to be spilled. Somehow, the
physician didn't think the Olympic committee would have approved.
FORCING HIS WAY into the stands of tough bamboo, Dean got his blaster ready
for a fight. If the advance party was found, Krysty and Mildred would give
them cover to reach the top, then he was to give everybody cover to reach the
horses.
Then they would cover his own escape. It was a good plan, but something deep
inside the boy, honed from surviving a hundred fights, warned that this wasn't
how it was going to happen this night.
CIRCLING THE RIM of the crater, Ryan crawled on his belly until he was at the
top of the ramp going down into the ville. Staying low, he continued onward
until reaching the flow of carbonated water from the spring. Easing gently
into the water, the man felt his clothes soak through in an instant, and a
chill swept over his body. Damn stuff was cold. Sliding along the muddy creek,
Ryan paused every couple of feet to listen for any reactions to his presence,
then moved on.
Getting through the wall of pungi sticks was a lot easier than he had thought.
The flowing water had undercut many of the sticks, making them very loose.
Very gently, Ryan pulled them out of the sucking mud, placed them aside and
moved forward a little. A cannie guard would have to be watching very
carefully to detect his passage. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]