Chapter Eighteen

 

Krysty turned, searching for a weapon but finding none. In desperation, she seized one of the folding chairs and threw it at Elric.

He brushed the piece of furniture aside casually, as though it were only a moment's inconvenience. The chair shattered into a hundred pieces, proof of the incredible strength that was housed in his rail-thin body.

Taking another step back, Krysty stepped up into the viewing area of the vid. The bright light hurt her eyes and blinded her, reducing the Cornelius family into ghostly gray apparitions that reminded her of the actors and actresses on the screen behind her.

Then she slipped, twisting violently to catch her balance as a gust of wind caught her. There was no explanation for the wind, and no explanation, either, for the way her arm suddenly plunged through the screen behind her.

At first she thought she'd ripped a hole in the screen. Instead, she noticed that her arm and hand had suddenly plunged into the room depicted in the vid. Filmed in noir black and gray, the term given to her by Doc and Mildred, the room was a large bar area. A man in a white jacket sat at the bar smoking a cigarette while watching a black man in a white jacket playing the piano.

Amazed, Krysty stepped into the vid screen and into the room. The swell of music surrounded her. Couples danced close to her, and on a handful of occasions stiff material touched the backs of her hands. This wasn't real, she told herself as she gazed around for a way out of the big room. It was hard to see through all the people.

It's real enough, Phlorin declared. You haven't managed to escape—only to prolong the hunt.

The Cornelius family moved through the vid screen after her, picking up speed.

Krysty rushed through the crowd, pushing through the dancers and drawing a flurry of angry curses. She ignored them all, searching frantically for an exit. Phlorin's control over her mind was like nothing she'd ever experienced.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the white-jacketed man push away from the bar and come toward her. There was no way out of the big room and no place to hide.

Krysty stopped at the edge of the dance floor and turned to face the Cornelius family. You're creating this out of my mind, Phlorin, out of my memories and out of my fears. Nothing more.

Are you so certain, then, child?

Yes. Krysty stood her ground and let them come, her mind busy twisting the fabric of the dream. In some of the earliest days that she remembered Mother Sonja, her mother had taught her to banish bad dreams that plagued her. Krysty had never questioned where the bad dreams had come from as a child. Her mother had called them night terrors and seemed to be only a little concerned about them. Since learning the lessons Mother Sonja had given her, Krysty seldom had nightmares. Except for those produced by mat-trans jumps and premonitions.

This, she told herself, was neither. She forced herself calm, peering beyond the veil of emotions Phlorin created inside her subconscious.

Elric towered before her, his hand slashing out, filled with sharp claws.

Instinctively Krysty lifted her arm to defend herself. Burning pain filled her arm as Elric's nails sliced through her arm. She didn't look, using the pain as her focus. When Elric struck again, she didn't move at all.

The tall man's hand slashed through her without touching her. Angry, Elric stepped back, his lips twisted in a rictus as he hissed his displeasure.

Krysty closed her eyes, regulating her breathing, reaching inside herself to slow down her racing heart. Then she stepped out of the dream into wakefulness.

KRYSTY SAT UP in the cool, clean darkness of the night. She pulled off the covers and found out she'd started to get drenched with sweat underneath. She shivered, still feeling the hypnotic pull of the dream.

Next time, Phlorin called from within her, it will get harder and harder to resist me.

Ignoring the old woman's threat, Krysty pushed up from the ground, drawing Ryan's attention at once. She couldn't see him where he sat outside the perimeter of the campfires, but she knew he was there on watch. She sensed his attention on her at once, and his concern.

She knew J.B. had been scheduled for watch first, so she knew she'd gotten some sleep. Glancing around, she saw the companions and the others scattered across the ground, wrapped up in the blankets brought from the boat. No one stirred.

Gathering her own blanket, she crept through the campsite toward Ryan. Her movement didn't go completely undetected. With the enhanced perception that came as a result of the dream, she sensed that Jak, J.B. and Dean woke briefly and recognized her. With all the awareness, she felt like she had no privacy. Her mind was constantly buzzing.

"You should be sleeping," Ryan told her when she found him leaning against a tree just back of the campsite. He had the Steyr cradled in his arms.

"Couldn't, lover." Krysty stretched out and wrapped her arms around him. "Sleeping tonight might be the death of me."

"The old woman?"

"Yes." Krysty pulled him close, trying to get as much of her flesh in contact with his as she could.

"Won't be much longer."

One way or the other, Krysty couldn't help thinking. But she pulled back and looked up into Ryan's face. "I know." She slipped a hand inside his shirt, brushing her palm against the hard planes of his flat stomach and broad chest, drawing in his warmth. She'd always loved the feel of him, the unyielding presence he exuded.

"We'll be moving early in the morning," Ryan told her. "Sooner we shake the dust from us here, better off we'll be. Not going to leave much time for sleeping."

"I'll sleep on the boat if I'm able." Krysty put her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, slow and rhythmic. "Mebbe sleeping in the light will be easier."

His free hand came up behind her, threading his fingers through her sentient hair. Her hair coiled around his fingers in return, pulling him tight. Then she realized that his hand hadn't been placed there out of any tenderness. She sensed the withdrawal in her lover, a cold spot just beyond her reach.

It hurt her, feeling it and knowing it was there. He doesn't trust you, Phlorin taunted in the back of her mind.

Ryan doesn't trust you, Krysty said. She held on to her lover harder. You should know. He chilled you once.

You, me. It's the same difference now, Krysty.

It's not going to stay that way.

You can't be sure of that. How do you know that I won't take over your arm at some point, have you pull out your blaster and blow a hole in this man?

Krysty shivered at the thought. She hadn't even considered that. But Ryan had. That was why his fingers were tangled in her hair. Because Ryan won't let you.

And he'd chill you before he let himself be chilled?

Yes. And the truth of her answer gave Krysty strength. Ryan was a survivor. He wouldn't let even her take his life without a fight, and he wouldn't be diminished. He'd still be every inch the fighting warrior she'd fallen in love with. The joy she felt burned her eyes, turned to tears that dripped across her cheeks. You can't kill him. No one can.

You're so sure.

"Cold?" Ryan asked.

"Just a chill, lover," Krysty said. "Somebody walking over my grave, like Doc would say."

"Wrap up in your blanket."

"Rather wrap up in you."

"I'm on watch."

"I promise not to be too distracting." Krysty's fingers unbuttoned the front of his trousers, feeling Phlorin retreat in the back of her mind. Why don't you stay and play? She had Ryan's cock in her hand, feeling the way it stiffened at her touch.

You're an abomination, Phlorin stated.

Krysty didn't argue, but took Ryan into her mouth, bathing his hot flesh in the heated caress of her kiss. Ryan kept his hand twisted in her hair but he quickly gave himself over to her touch. And for the first time in hours, Krysty felt truly at peace.

RYAN OPENED HIS EYE and stared up through the canopy of branches overhead. Dawn streaked the sky, threading it with orange and gold that slashed through the retreating purple.

He heard Jak walk over to him before he saw the albino.

"Time move," Jak said. "Wasting daylight."

Ryan nodded, then shifted gently to extricate himself from the arm and leg Krysty had draped over him in the night. She hadn't slept well, and he was surprised to find her asleep now. Cold fear touched him briefly when he thought her slumber might be something else. He placed his fingers against the side of her neck, and relaxed when he felt the thumping of her carotid artery.

He shook her slightly, watching her sentient hair pull back tightly against her scalp. As her eyelids flickered and she fought her way to sleep, he slid the SIG-Sauer from under his thigh and holstered it He'd kept it in his hand the whole night against the possibility that Krysty might have lost herself in her slumber. He wouldn't have killed her, but the old woman trying to take over her mind might not have known that.

"Morning, lover," Krysty said in a tired voice. Her eyes cracked open reluctantly, exposing the bloodshot lines threading through them.

"Get much sleep?" Ryan asked.

"Some. I don't know." Still, she forced herself to her feet with effort and helped him gather the bedding they'd shared during the night. "Sorry. I know I kept you up."

That had been the truth in more ways than one. After she'd finished getting him off and he'd finished his turn at watch, she'd taken him to bed and had sex with him twice more.

Ryan hadn't thought she'd gotten much pleasure from the encounters herself. But she'd been driven, giving her all each time with a fierce abandon that had exhausted them both.

"Sore?" she asked.

"Feels like I spent the night in a rough-riding wag with busted shocks," Ryan admitted. His groin was tender to the pressure even from the weight of her leg lying across him. Her own passion had sparked his, and the anxiety filling both of them had found release.

She smiled, pleased with his answer. Some of the haunted look left her eyes for a moment. "Makes me feel good to hear you say that, lover. Been a while since we've had something like that."

Ryan rolled up the bedding and tied the restraining straps. "Made things better for you?" He hoisted the load to his shoulder.

"Gave me a little more control," Krysty admitted. "Phlorin doesn't care much for the sex. She's never had it."

"I guess she can't say that now."

"She still doesn't care for the idea of having shared it."

Ryan shook his head. "She's less than a fucking ghost. Whatever you think she shared, she won't be keeping that."

"Mebbe, lover. I hope so. But I also know that whatever she is inside my head, she's capable of taking my life away unless we do something about it."

"We're going to," Ryan promised.

Krysty knew she'd drawn the promise from him again in spite of the fact he'd already given it. He saw her brow wrinkle in displeasure, disappointed in her own weakness.

He reached out and touched her face. "It's going to be okay," he told her. Red clouded his vision as the anger at his own inability to fix the problem now hit him for a moment.

"I know," she said, and her acceptance helped him curb his own emotions.

THE CAMPSITE CAME ALIVE slowly. Breakfast was a repeat of the previous night's meal, only gone cold. The only thing heated up was the coffee sub they had, and that only because the pot had been kept going all night to fuel whoever had been on watch.

Ryan joined J.B. and Mildred at the water's edge. The Armorer cleaned his glasses with his shirttail and looked at the murky brown water roiling with moss.

"Going to be bastard tricky getting back into the boat without getting leeches all over us," Mildred commented.

"Then there's the piranha," J.B. pointed out.

Ryan gazed into the black and evil eyes staring back up at him. The piranha glided easily through the water, schooling in lethal pools.

"Guess they took the feeding we dished out last night and decided to stay on," Mildred said.

Glancing around the campsite, Ryan called out to Jak, "Save some of that rope. We're going to need it."

The albino nodded, sorting it out from the gear they'd brought out from Junie.

"Climb over?" J.B. asked.

"We get a line across," Ryan said, "we can do it."

"Won't be easy with the children we've got tagging along," Mildred said.

Ryan glanced at the children and the others they'd rescued from the coldhearts.

Mildred looked hard at him. "We can't leave them here. These people were barely making it along whatever path they were taking. We abandon them here, we might as well bury them."

Ryan felt the back of his neck grow hot. "Fireblast, I know it. The situation we're in ourselves, taking on other responsibilities is a bastard nightmare." He turned his eye to the doctor. "But I'm not going to cut them loose here. We'll see them off someplace safer—if we find one in these woods—and get clear."

"YOU MISS, you're more than likely going to be fish shit by nightfall if you don't make it back to shore."

Jak looked up at Ryan and nodded. They both stood in the big tree they'd chosen to rig up the ropes. They'd tied one end to a large branch above the albino, out as far as they could reach.

Grabbing the other end of the rope, Jak scampered back into the tree, choosing a branch that would give him enough of an arc to hopefully reach the boat. He stood on the branch barefoot, feeling the rough bark against the soles of his feet.

Ryan concentrated on swinging the panga, hacking small branches out of the way.

Jak knew they'd already removed all the ones that mattered, but he also knew the big one-eyed warrior was concerned about him. However, none among the companions was more able to achieve the feat that lay before him. He didn't feel any unease himself. If he couldn't have made it, he damn sure wasn't going to swing out over the piranha-infested waters.

"Make me promise," Jak said with a straight face.

Ryan looked up at him. "What?"

"I fall in water, you shoot me in head. Gonna need relief."

"Sure," Ryan replied, slipping the SIG-Sauer free of leather. "In fact, if it looks like you aren't going to make it, I'll shoot you before you hit the water."

Jak thought about that, wondering how his joke had gotten lost in the translation. He tested the rope in his hands, pulling it taut and checking the pull of the branch it was tied to. "Joking, Ryan."

"Yeah," the big man said. "Me, too. Real fucking funny, wasn't it?"

Mentally Jak made a note that humor wasn't exactly something Ryan seemed capable of at the moment. Without another word, he took two running steps forward along the branch, then hurled himself out from the tree.

He kept the tension on the rope, transferring all his forward motion into a swing toward the moored boat. He checked the swing, letting his natural acrobat's ability guide him. The pull of gravity tugged at him, increasing his speed. In a heartbeat, he was out over the water.

His forward motion slowed, and he knew he couldn't risking losing all of it. Releasing the rope, he spread his arms wide in an effort to keep his balance as he hurtled toward the boat's prow. He was higher than he'd anticipated, coming down faster than he'd wanted. At least he was coming down near the boat.

When his forward motion stopped, he thought for an instant that he'd missed his target. The second rope had created more drag than he'd thought it would, or maybe he just hadn't gone as far out as he'd hoped. In the next instant, the bobbing deck was below him.

He landed hard, tucking into a roll and coming up on his feet. A feeling of exhilaration filled him as he turned to face the others. He smiled, then he started pulling the second rope across so they could rig the transfer.

IT TOOK ALMOST AS LONG to get the passengers aboard the boat as it did to rig up the ropes. Ryan glanced at the midmorning sun sourly. They'd lost much of the morning.

He stood back at the pilothouse with Morse, who bawled out orders to his sons. They raced up and down the rigging like monkeys as the other passengers and the companions settled in.

Junie slunk back into the river's current reluctantly, almost mired in the slow waters near the bank. Then the sails belled out and caught the wind. Her prow sheared through a low sandbar with a long grating sound that left Ryan wondering if she'd torn her bottom away.

Morse laughed as he worked the wheel. "Not to worry. Old Junie, she's a workhorse, not some nervous filly."

Ryan tightened his jaw and said nothing. He stood with a wide-legged stance that absorbed the pitch and roll of the boat as she cut to the heart of the river current. "Where's the nearest place we can do some trading for ammo and gear?"

"That'll be Annie's," Morse replied.

"How far?" Ryan asked.

Morse squinted against the breeze. "In a wind like this, if it stays with us, mebbe half a day. Be there before nightfall no matter what."

"How's she fixed for supplies?"

"Annie's a trader. Come by it natural born. Anything worth having anywhere near her, she'll have it if she wants it. Or she'll know where a fella can trade out of it."

"We're going to need ammo."

"She'll have it. She'll be willing to trade for blasters, so you can relax your brain about that. With the Slaggers in Idaho Falls getting fatter and bigger, a lot more people are wanting to get their hands on some firepower. If your friend can get those blasters fixed, she'll be willing to trade with both of us."

Ryan accepted that. Trading was only one of the options the companions had, and he knew it. With the condition Krysty was in, he wasn't going to be any more politic than he had to be.