“I confess that I do not entirely blame them. It was as unpleasant an earthquake as I think I have ever encountered. There is a fire…” He waved his blue kerchief to try to clear the air.
She managed a rather wobbly grin. “I fear the old homestead’s done for, Doc. Got my felines out of the way. Looks like they all sensed it coming and headed out into the woods. Collect them together later. Main thing is for us to get our asses into gear and out of here.”
“I am with you, ma’am.” The old man had another coughing fit as the smoke thickened, and he could now glimpse the red-gold glow of flames, burning on the first floor.
“Best take it careful outside. Those religious crazies could be anywhere close by,” she warned.
The kitchen and living quarters were well ablaze, bright fire dancing along the tumbled ceiling. Doc thought he glimpsed a dead ginger cat, pinned beneath a fallen rafter, but he felt it better not to draw attention to it. He followed Maya toward the open front door.
She hesitated a moment, just inside, glancing behind her, shaking her head sorrowfully. “Best part of a lifetime going here,” she said.
Doc took her by the arm and led her gently out, blinking into the light, moving off the veranda to lead her past the cottage garden.
“Least you’ve got your blessed cats and you also have your life,” he said, taking in several deep breaths, savoring the clean freshness, while behind them the flames were roaring into an inferno.
“You’re a fine person for looking on the bright side of life, Doc,” she said, shaking her head ruefully.
“Better to look in the mud and find a diamond than find mud among the diamonds. Or some such saying. I disremember the details.”
One of the sec men suddenly appeared from behind a fallen apple tree, holding his rifle at the high port, eyes wild, bleeding from mouth and nose.
“Hold it there, bastards!”
SEVERAL OF THE BUILDINGS of Hopeville had gone down under the quake, and at least a quarter were ablaze. The gusting wind was whipping up cascades of red-and-orange sparks that whirled into the air, vanishing among the mighty trees. A few men and women, looking shell-shocked, wandered around the ruination of their settlement, one or two making halfhearted efforts to throw buckets of water onto the fire.
“Best get our weapons,” J.B. shouted, still gripping Mildred by the wrist.
“Makes sense.” Ryan glanced at Krysty. “You manage it, lover?”
“With you. May Gaia aid me.”
An elderly man saw the prisoners making a break for it and opened his mouth to yell a warning.
Without breaking step Jak plucked out one of his concealed throwing knives and flicked it toward the old man. There was the distinct click of his wrist snapping with the effort of hurling the leaf-shaped blade.
It struck the brother with a fearsome accuracy, sticking in the right eye, driving through, pulping the liquid orb, penetrating the front of the brain through the optic nerve, beginning the rapid process of dying.
The man’s arms flung wide as though he were welcoming an invisible comrade. A watery thread of blood inched over the stubbled cheek. The lines went down in his legs, and he stumbled and fell, fingers scrabbling in the wet dirt.
“Head for Wolfe’s house,” Ryan shouted. “Over there.” The big building was one of the few that didn’t seem to have been damaged by the storm and the following quake, standing rock solid at the head of the single street of the ville.
The ground trembled in a violent aftershock, making Ryan stagger sideways, clutching at Krysty to steady himself. Somewhere there was the sound of a woman screaming in terror. Jak had darted over to retrieve his knife from the twitching corpse, resheathing it out of sight.
Nobody else in Hopeville seemed to be aware that the prisoners had escaped.
DOC REALIZED that the sec man was terrified, eyes staring, mouth gaping, breath coming fast. His voice was thin, high and ragged. “Stop there! Don’t move.”
But the muzzle of the Winchester rifle was wandering from side to side.