Eclipse at Noon by James Axler
Eclipse at Noon by James Axler
Prologue
The paths across the side of the tree-lined valley seemed endless to the terrified woman. If only she’d thought to bring a blaster, she could have gunned down the madman who pursued her with such relentless ferocity. But she’d trusted Straub.
As she ran and dodged, water showering off overhanging branches, Countess Katya Beausoleil swore a dreadful oath to herself to slaughter Straub, slowly and in the utmost agony, for what he had done to her.
Ryan Cawdor was about thirty yards behind, clumsy with his wounded leg, unable to run flat out. His arms were stretched in front of him, fingers aching to grasp the slender white neck and tear and mangle and throttle it, to force the life from the protruding eyes and smile at the purpled tongue.
At least there would be that.
But the woman kept ahead, arms pumping, racing toward the end of the path. The observation platform over the gorge was at the dead end of the path a hundred yards away.
SHE WAS BACKED against the raw face of the cliff, trembling, mewing like a kitten, fingers knotted into the flimsy wire fence, her weight against it, making it sway back and forth. Ryan faced her, blocking the exit back toward the ville, his spine touching the rusting supports. Behind him was the drop of hundreds of feet, the last hundred or so sheer down to the thread of foaming water racing below.
“You didn’t have to butcher them all,” he yelled, voice torn from his throat in a scream. “It was just you and me.”
The countess made a move toward him, her mouth working. “Listen to me,” she began. “Straub played”
Ryan swung a roundhouse, feeling the satisfying force of the impact as the woman’s cheekbone splintered, the force of the punch knocking her down against the rocks, the back of her head cut and bleeding, her hair soaked and matted. Her bright eyes half closed for a moment.
“Get up, bitch,” he whispered, inaudible above the thunderous roaring. “I’m going to beat you to a bloody pulp and then drop you over the fucking edge. One way all the way down. Pay a fraction the price. Then Straub.”
Her eyes blinked open, and he stooped and swung her up, gripping the torn material of her dress, holding her balanced while he measured the next punch.
Krysty Wroth was in sight, stopping and cupping her hands. “Ryan! Hey, Ryan!” she shouted in a voice that would have shattered crystal at a hundred paces.
Ryan started to turn, disbelief stark on his face, his mouth sagging open. He blinked through the driving rain, seeing a blurred vision of a tall woman with a shock of bright, fiery hair. Another figure, hair like snow, was at her side, as were three others, farther back, staring at him.
“Krysty” he whispered, a rush of knowledge paralyzing him for a moment.
Katya Beausoleil pushed against him with all her failing strength, catching him off balance, propelling him hard into the frail fencing. He heard rusting iron creak and snap.
And he was staggering backward, feet brushing air, falling away.
Krysty screamed once.
Ryan was over the edge, pushing the limp body from him, rolling onto a steep slope of treacherous mud. His fingers scrabbled to find purchase, but failed to find a grip. He spread himself, his arms and legs wide, somersaulting over and over, the gray sky and the dark, shining dirt whirling around him.
He glimpsed the white dress below him, vanishing over the last sheer brink and tumbling into the water, disappearing from his sight.
He quickly reached the final frontier himself, skidding over it, hopelessly out of control.
Flying.
Flying, falling, spinning.
He hit the surface of the flooded river with a crushing, fearsome impact, trying to keep his body straight, blacking out. The shock of the icy, raging torrent brought him around for a snatched moment.
The force of the current was unimaginable, filled with sucking maelstroms and murderous smooth boulders. Ryan was sucked under and spit out into the air, then drawn deep under once more, into the welcoming darkness. His eye closed.