The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [29]
Shoot! she thought anxiously. If you miss, you have time for a second shot. If you wait another four or five seconds, you don’t! The seconds seemed like hours, and then, finally, a single shot rang out—and all hell broke loose.
Camels screamed in pain and terror, men screamed even louder, as bodies and body parts were hurled in every direction. A rifle flew through the air, straight at Lara’s head. She ducked at the last second and threw herself to the ground, then felt a heavy object land on the back of her left thigh. She rolled over quickly and saw that it was a camel’s head, the eyes still open.
She jumped to her feet and surveyed the carnage. Four camels were dead; the other two lay on the ground, twitching feebly. Five Mahdists had been killed almost instantly. The sixth was crawling away, his white robes drenched in blood.
Another shot rang out, and the Mahdist pitched forward on his face and lay perfectly still.
Wonderful, she thought irritably. You couldn’t let him live long enough to question him. You had to be macho to impress me.
Lara’s three companions approached her, rifles at the ready in case one of the Mahdists was faking, but none of them were. Gaafar walked over to the two dying camels and put them out of their pain with a bullet to each one’s head.
“Which one of you fired the shot that hit the grenades?” asked Lara.
“That was Hassam,” said Omar. “He is the best shot.”
“I was very nervous,” admitted Hassam. “It is not like target practice, or even like hunting. If I had missed, you would surely be dead now.”
“So would we all,” agreed Omar. “Lara Croft may owe her life to Hassam’s marksmanship, but all four of us owe our lives to her quick thinking.”
“You look unhappy,” Lara noted. “You just killed all the bad guys. What’s the matter?”
“I am ashamed.”
“Why?” she asked curiously.
“Hassam is a better shot than I am. Gaafar is far stronger. Both are much better suited for adventuring in the desert. I am the leader because I exercise the only muscle that counts”—he placed a forefinger to his head—“the one between my ears. And yet when the attack came, I did not think of what was clearly the only possible means of victory.”
“I have a feeling you’ll have more chances to redeem yourself,” said Lara.
“Part of me almost hopes so, just so that I can redeem myself,” answered Omar.
Lara looked at the dead men and camels. “Should we bury them?”
“No, it would take too much time.”
“They have already gone to Allah,” added Hassam.
“I don’t mean for religious reasons,” said Lara. “But to hide them, so no one will know what happened.”
“When they don’t report back, their superiors will know they’re dead,” answered Omar. “It is better that we reach the Sudan’s border as quickly as possible. We have no allies here; at least we have some there.”
She shrugged. “Whatever you say. Let me just climb up on Seattle Slew here, and we’ll be off.”
“What is a Seattle Slew?” asked Gaafar.
“The name of a very famous racehorse in America,” said Omar. “I saw him once on television.”
“This is an Arab camel,” said Hassam. “He should have an Arab name.”
“I don’t know any Arab racehorses,” said Lara.
“I do,” said Omar. “Since he has no name, we shall name him after one of the greatest of our racehorses—El Khobar.”
“El Khobar,” she repeated approvingly. “The Fleet One. I like it; I just hope he can live up to it.” She paused. “Do you ever have camel races?”
“For pleasure, yes. But there are no racetracks for camels. The horse is our animal of choice.” Omar smiled. “Unfortunately, the desert is not our environment of choice. The Sudanese love water and trees and moderate weather, just as you do. But to borrow a phrase I have heard in the American movies, we must play the cards we are dealt, and we have been dealt both sand and camels.”
“Not to denigrate horses or camels, but I think my own steed of choice would be a Land Rover,” said Lara.
“Not in the deep and shifting sands of the desert,” said Gaafar. “If we are attacked any time between here and Khartoum, it