A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [87]
Then his strangely expressive lips shaped a single word: “Food.” His voice was a rumble, but the meaning was clear enough.
Pulaski relaxed a little. Food? Well, that was something they could surely stand to part with. After all, big as he was, the warrior could hardly take it all with him.
“Kopaa’kar,” she called to the med nearest the end of the train-never taking her eyes off-the intruder, as if-she could hold him with her gaze as surely as he held her. “Uncover the food. Let him take what he wants.”
As Kopaa’kar hurried to comply, the warrior’s attention was turned in that direction. Pulaski felt grateful as he moved away, drawn toward the last wagon.
She was shaking, she realized as she watched him go. But that was all right. He’d take some food and soon he’d be gone.
Just as she thought that, she felt another kind of scrutiny-a more familiar kind. By now, she had developed a sixth sense about it.
The flying machine, like the intruder, seemed to come out of nowhere. And as if it were a kindred spirit, it headed right for him.
The warrior noticed it before it had come within half a dozen meters of him. For some reason, he seemed to feel threatened by it. And with alarming quickness, he tried to squash it with his ax.
The flying machine jerked out of harm’s way-and the ax struck a covered mound of wagon cargo instead. There was a craak-the sound of equipment breaking beneath the tarpaulin.
Then, with a snarl, the warrior ripped his weapon free and went after the flying device again.
Pulaski couldn’t believe it. She had come this close to avoiding any damage at all. And now every one of their precious instruments were in danger.
How could she just stand there and watch? She had to do something.
The flying machine was staying just a step ahead of the warrior-all the time keeping him before its lens.
An idea came to her-a way to end the destruction-and she lunged for the nearest wagon. With any luck, there would be some metal support-pole components among the cargo-hah. Wrestling with the tarp, pushing aside other pieces of equipment, she got a grip on one of the long pieces of metal. Fortunately, it didn’t offer much resistance-it just slipped free.
By now, the machine was retreating in her direction-pursued by the flailing warrior. It was facing the other way-still oblivious to her presence.
Just before it came within striking distance, Pulaski realized that she was smiling-in anticipation of what she was about to do. It was like finishing the job she’d started back in the enclosure.
Then the machine retreated a little more, and Pulaski swung with all her might. She felt the impact as the metal strut connected solidly with her target.
And a moment later, her eyes were scraped raw as the damned thing exploded in her face.
She recoiled, staggered, fell against something hard. Tried to squeeze out the pain along with the tears.
My god, she thought, I’m blind. I’m blind…
But she wasn’t. When she opened her eyes, they hurt-like the rest of her face. But she could see fine.
That wasn’t the problem at all. The problem was that she didn’t have the slightest idea of where she was-or how she’d gotten there.
When she looked around, she saw a host of strange faces gathered around a long line of wagons-the entire tableau framed by a severe, mountainous landscape. At her feet, there was a smoking, sparking machine of some sort.
None of it looked familiar. None of it.
Her mind reeled with the immensity of her loss. Something had happened to her memory…
Someone walked past her-someone big, with an ax in his hand. He kicked at the sizzling hunk of debris on the ground-and looked at her over his shoulder.
He was dangerous looking-not the kind she’d want to get too close to. But the sight of him kindled a spark inside her. A spark of recognition. Did she… know him? Yes-she did.
The name escaped her for the moment. But she knew exactly who this one was. A scene flashed in front of her-the inside of a cabin, and a group of people standing around