The inner door stood slightly ajar, and Mildred had the momentary illusion that something had moved inside the rest room. But she decided that it was only the leaves that carpeted the tiled floor.
She was conscious of the growing pressure on her bladder, and she pushed open the heavy door with the heel of her left hand, her right already reaching down for the silver buckle on her thick leather belt. Her head passed directly through the lancing sunshine, making her blink, blinded for a moment. The door swung shut behind her, and the bitter, feral smell was much stronger.
Mildred heard a rustling sound, though she was standing quite still, and there wasn’t a breath of wind in the claustrophobic building.
And she became suddenly aware that she wasn’t on her own. There was the whisper of steady, rhythmic breathing, and a patch of darkness in the black shadows in the far corner.
Her vision was already adjusting to the mix of light and shade, and she froze, hand inching toward the butt of the Czech revolver on her hip.
It was an enormous black panther, crouched on its haunches, the tip of its tail flicking from side to side. She could see the golden eyes, fixed on her, the ears flattened along the angular skull. The beast, at least twelve feet in length, began to make a purring sound and it stretched its front paws, honed, curved claws scratching on the floor.
Its jaws opened, and she caught the taint of its hot, rancid breath, seeing the ivory glint of the teeth.
“Good God,” Mildred whispered, aware that the short hairs were prickling at her nape. There was a dreadful temptation to scream out for help, knowing that J.B. and the others would be with her in less than five beats of the heart, their blasters ripping the magnificent creature to ragged fur and shards of bloodied bone.
But her razored mind overrode that temptation, knowing that the panther would leap at her and bear her to the ground, powerful hind legs ripping at her belly, spilling her guts all over the floor, teeth clamping on her skull, crunching the fragile bones, squeezing eyes from their sockets. That would take only a brace of beats of her heart.
“Slow and easy,” she whispered to herself, keeping her eyes locked to those of the beast.
Her fingers were on the butt of the ZKR 551, resting there, waiting to make the next move.
The panther growled, deep in its chest, and its back twitched with the desire to charge and rend and kill.
Mildred stood very, very still.
OUTSIDE, THE SIX companions had found a patch of shade to sit down in. The conversation had turned, amid that wilderness, to which kind of wood could best be hewed and which burned with the best flame.
“I have hacked away at a log of black walnut,” Doc said ruminatively. “There is something slippery about it. However careful you might be in setting the blade of the ax into a straight line, the black walnut always splits in an oddly curved way, with a gentle bent to it.”
“That’s true, Doc,” Ryan agreed. “But nothing burns cleaner and fresher than a cord of apple wood.”
“Cherry’s mighty sweet,” Krysty said. “Uncle Tyas McCann cut down a whole ancient orchard on the edge of Harmony. Whole place, burned it for a winter and a half. Lovely scent.”
“Seasoned pine fine winter. Or piñon, most any time. In swamps was hard finding good dry wood.”
J.B. looked back over Ryan’s shoulder, toward the block of rest rooms. “Mildred’s takin’ a long time,” he stated. “Think she’s all right?”
“Would’ve shouted if she wasn’t,” Ryan said. “Mebbe a stomach bug got her.”
The Armorer stood, stretching. “Think I’ll just step over and see whether— Dark night!”
There had been a sudden, shockingly violent trio of noises: a scream, a thunderous roar and a single pistol shot. Then silence.
Chapter Six
Mildred had managed to get the revolver three-quarters out of its holster. Her index finger caressed the trigger, her eyes still fixed on the panther’s face.
The animal was bowstring tense, muscles twitching beneath the coat of fine black fur. Its ears were still flattened against the skull, eyes glowing in the dim light.