“Pity we can’t use the wag to search the ville,” Mildred said, glancing longingly at the vehicle. “But that perforated muffler makes so much noise it would announce our presence to deaf people.”
“Any chance you refilled the wag?” J.B. asked, zipping up his leather jacket midway. Away from the canopy, the desert breeze blew strong, seeming to go straight down his collar.
“Sure, not much else to do,” the boy answered while licking his fingers, then wiping his greasy mouth on a sleeve. “Mebbe Doc is just off at the shitters.”
“For two hours?” Mildred shot back incredulously. “Damn well hope not.”
“Could have fallen in,” J.B. said with a frown. “Old wooden planks get weak and it happens sometimes.”
The physician frowned. “Hell of a way to die. Drowning in a pit of shit. Stay here with Dean, and I’ll go check.”
“Nobody is going anywhere alone,” J.B. stated forcibly. “We wait for the others to come back, then we check.”
“He could die by then!”
“And it could be a trap. We go with what we know. I’d sure as hell hate to lose Doc, but I’m damn sure that I would rather keep you, Millie.”
Just then, Jak appeared at the open doorway of the barn holding Doc’s sword. The ebony sheath was missing, and the blade was darkly stained with blood.
“Night creep,” the teenager stated. “Got him.”
“Can you track them?” Mildred asked, pulling her piece. Suddenly the silence of the ville seemed to be the stillness of a waiting trap, with enemies watching from every shadow.
Jak shook his head. “Not on bare stone.”
“Now we recce the outhouses,” J.B. said, working the bolt on the Uzi. “Millie, stay with Dean. Let’s go.”
Jak and the Armorer charged into the night, their faces grim masks.
Pulling a metallic envelope from a pocket, Dean ripped it open and used the U.S. Army moist towelette to clean his hands of the grease from dinner, then checked over his Browning Hi-Power. His gut was starting to tell the boy death was on the move and coming their way.
“We didn’t find him,” J.B. reported ten minutes later, stepping into view. “And we did a once around the block in case it was just a mugging. Just some ville hardcases out to steal his blaster.”
“He gone.” Jak brandished the sword, the ebony stick now poking through his gun belt. “But we found sheath.”
“Where?”
“Near shitters. Must have ambushed there.”
“Well, don’t sheath the blade!” Mildred advised. “We might need that blood.”
“My very idea,” Ryan said from the street, holding a dog on a leash.
Standing close by, Krysty had her blaster hard against the back of Sparrow. The man was shivering in the cold.
“Saw what was happening from the window,” Ryan said with a scowl. “No sign of Doc from up there, so we brought some help.”
“Your turn,” Krysty said, nudging Sparrow forward with the muzzle of her blaster.
Ryan passed the man the rope leash. “Find our friend, and you keep breathing,” he growled. “Run off, and we’ll torch that pesthole with your brother still inside. Get me?” It was a lie, but Sparrow didn’t know that.
“Sure, sure, no prob. Houston is a good tracker. We found lots of folks for the baron,” the fat man sputtered, tightening his grip on the rope and scratching the animal behind an ear. “Just show him the blade.”
Jak held out the steel and the dog approached it warily, then started to sniff, his tail wagging in excitement.
“Got the scent, boy? Good. Now go find the runaway. Find the runaway, boy!” Sparrow released the rope and the dog sprung forward, his nose checking the ground here and there, spreading across the street, then starting back again.
Mildred curled a lip at the wording. Runaway, eh? Sounded like the ville did keep slaves. Maybe they simply hadn’t encountered them yet.
“What if this doesn’t work?” Dean asked grimly, muted thunder rumbling on the horizon.
His father glanced at the keep rising above the ville just as lightning flashed, silhouetting the structure for a split second. “Then we grab the baron and trade his ass for Doc.”