The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [95]
It was not good. The escapees now found themselves caught between the advancing and wary Necromonger troops and the rising sun behind. If they went forward, without cover, the soldiers would mow them down in seconds. If they tried to retreat and find a place to hide, the ascending sun would soon poach them just as effectively.
Kyra saw it and lay figuring the odds. So did the Guv and his companion, who had crawled up alongside her. At least if they all charged together, they might catch a soldier or two mentally napping. The trick would be to take down the squad advancing toward them and get close in to the hangar before other troops realized what was happening and could bring heavy weapons to bear. She licked her lips. Not because they were dry, but in anticipation. If there was anything she hated, it was sitting and waiting. Once you let the other guy take the initiative, you’ve lost half the battle already.
“Figure one minute to get inside that hangar.” She glanced back over her shoulder. The soldiers might change course, but the sun would not. “We gonna do this or not?”
Lying on the ground, it was immediately apparent what Riddick was going to do. It was plain to see: it just didn’t make any sense. To all intents and purposes, he was relaxing, popping nuts from a bag he carried into his mouth.
“Wait.”
The convict flattened out on already too-hot volcanic rock alongside the Guv hissed at him. “What am I waitin’ for? To turn into freakin’ charcoal?”
Riddick glanced in his direction, not raising his voice. Hardly ever raising his voice. “Just wait.”
Kyra glared at the convict. Frustrated and frightened, the man looked to the Guv for direction. The Guv said nothing; just kissed his battered, scarred wedding ring for whatever luck it might hold, and— waited. There was nothing else to do. They would all hang together or, as the ancient saying went, they would surely hang separately.
There was a faraway look in his eyes, and when he spoke it was as if he was trying to speed his words, at least, on their way to someplace off this world. Someplace better.
“Her name was Ellen,” he murmured reminiscently, his tone haunted. “I never really forgot. And we lived on Helion Prime.”
Riddick nodded once, understanding. He usually did understand: he just rarely found any reason to show that he did.
On the other side of the rise, the squad of soldiers had begun moving upslope in the direction indicated by the suspicious lensor. A noise made them halt, and turn. Behind them, the hangar doors were rumbling open. Anticipating that others of their number had made it inside and were operating the relevant instrumentation, they paused only out of curiosity. In a moment, they would resume their climb.
Except that the figures who appeared in the open portal wore no body armor, wore nothing common to Necromonger society, wore no insignia of any rank. In fact, the only thing they wore besides strange uniforms were expressions of utter bewilderment. In this they were matched by more than one of the now flabbergasted soldiers.
Then someone let off a shot, and looks of confusion were obscured by the sound and fury of concentrated gunfire.
On the other side of the rise, Riddick finished the last of the nuts, cast a thoughtful glance in the direction of the rising sun, matched the number of shots fired to the number of seconds expired, and finally turned, unlimbering his own weapons as he did so.
“Now we get nitty-gritty,” he said to Kyra. He might also have winked, but if so, it was hidden by those omnipresent goggles. Leading his army of three, he started over the top of the rise.
Recently trapped between the advancing soldiers and the rising sun, the escaped convicts