One arm broken and a shoulder and fingers and a wrist and both collarbones and her jaw and most of her teeth. She bit down, tasting sand and grit.
There was something wrong with one of her eyes, as well.
But she was alive.
Probably a few others would have survived, and they would come looking for their Chief. All Margaret needed to do was hang on until then. Nothing was impossible, and then she would begin the long road back to health.
And to her vengeance.
That thought was pleasant and it held off the pain for a little while.
Time passed and a serene moon drifted high above her, washing the arroyo with its silver light.
The helpless woman would not have been noticed if it hadn’t been for the glittering of the badge, still pinned to the ragged remains of her uniform.
The golden arrow piercing the silver sun.
It attracted the attention of the hunters of the moon.
Margaret Tabor came jerking back into painful consciousness again, woken by the sudden howling of the wolf pack at the scent of food.
They were all around her, sitting in a circle, red tongues lolling from mirthless jaws, their lean gray shapes poised and watchful.
She looked at them, too weak even to scream.
Once they had decided that the broken, bloodied thing was helpless, they closed in on it.
EPILOGUE
The digital watch on Jim Hilton’s wrist showed just a minute or so to midnight.
It was the last day of December, 2040, and January was waiting in the wings to make its entry.
He was standing outside the hut that had been allocated to him and to Heather and to Carrie Princip, in the sheltered community known as Aurora, in the heart of the Cascades in what had once been Washington State.
It had been a slow trip back, through deteriorating weather, with wounded men and women. But they had eventually reached their destination on December 30.
Nanci Simms had taken Sly Romero under her wing, insisting on sharing her quarters with him, and they both stood nearby, looking out over the wide valley. The snow lay deep and even, like an old postcard.
The McGills were in their own hut, gathered around a piano that Zelig had somehow obtained for them, and their singing came faintly out to the listeners.
“This Land Is Your Land.” Finest of songs about pride in the past and future of your country.
Jim had one arm around Carrie, the other around his daughter, and felt his eyes suddenly prickle with tears.
“Don’t cry, Dad,” said Heather, squeezing his hand.
“Crying for those who didn’t make it,” he said. “For what they’ll miss.”
“But others are here, Jim.” Nanci Simms walked over with Sly, their boots crunching in the fresh whiteness.
“And there’ll be more and more.” Carrie shook her head. “What time is it, Jim?”
“Fifteen seconds off midnight. Soon going to be a new day.”
“And a happy New Year,” said Sly, beaming. “Nanci tell me to say that for Steve, so’s he knows it’s a real good new year for me and all.”
Jim smiled, hearing the faint click of the watch changing the day, the month, the year.
“Here’s to sanity and a happy new life, everyone,” he said.