The Last Hard Men - Brian Garfield [76]
Hal said, “He’s awake.”
Burgade spoke. “Susan.” His voice was a croak.
“She’s all right, sir. She’s fine. She’s right here.”
Hal slipped fingers under his head and lifted him up so he could see.
Susan sat crosslegged on the ground. Both hands were pressed to her temples, her face was preternaturally white, but she was looking at him and she made a tiny, jerky smile that came and went so quickly he wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it.
Hal said, “Here. Drink.”
The canteen touched his mouth and he sucked on it greedily. He lay back and groaned.
Hal said, “You’ve got a busted arm and a busted rib. But you’re going to be all right. We’ll just wait here until you’re mended enough to go down.”
“Weed,” Burgade said suddenly.
“I know. I’ll go down and bring him up later today, when you’re a little better.”
Eight of them, Burgade thought, and I killed seven. He felt sick but he held it down.
Wind moaned across the rim. Burgade heard halting little footsteps and when he turned his face he saw Susan getting down on her knees beside him. She reached out with both hands and cupped the sides of his face. Her eyes were very wide and glistening. He saw the tears crawl down her cheeks.
Susan removed one hand from his face and reached for Hal’s hand and drew him down beside her. Hal smiled at her and she sat there with one hand on each of them and cried it all out. Afterward Hal lifted her to her feet and held her in his arms, and Sam Burgade smiled at the sky.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1971 by Brian Garfield
cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
This edition published in 2011 by MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Integrated Media
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