Eclipse at Noon by James Axler

There was a sudden dull thud, like a powerful spring being released, and a vicious crack. Just in front of him Ryan saw a sharp movement in the leaf mould, as if some living creature had sprung from cover and snapped at J.B.’s ankle. The diminutive figure gave a shocked gasp of pain and went down like a poleaxed steer, clutching at his lower leg.

Where the massive mantrap had clamped shut on him.

Chapter Thirty-One

Ryan flung himself down on top of his oldest friend, holding onto the slim, writhing figure, his right hand fumbling for J.B.’s open mouth. He clamped his fingers over the stretched lips, squeezing tight.

“Hang on, hang on” he whispered in J.B.’s ear, aware of the Armorer’s harsh, agonized breathing. “Get it off you, soon as the patrol’s gone by.”

He felt J.B.’s head nodding, the movement stilling, with only the faint metallic chinking of the thick chain that tethered the trap deep into the ground.

Ryan risked a glance up, aware of the risk of the filtered lights from the fortress camp picking out the pallor of his face among the trees.

The patrol was moving at a slow walk, covering both sides of the narrow trail to the south, blasters at the hip. As the men moved through the dappled moonlight, their skillfully camouflaged clothing made them occasionally invisible. They were fully on the alert, their heads turning from side to side, seeking the fugitives, Ryan and J.B., not knowing that they were lying within twenty feet of them.

Ryan pressed his face into the dirt, straining his hearing, catching the faint padding sound of combat boots moving away and past.

Beneath him he was aware of J.B.’s pounding heart and the faint sound of his fingers scratching in the pine needles as he fought against the crushing pain of the serrated teeth of the mantrap.

Finally Ryan risked another glance.

The trail was deserted, and the forest of spruce was silent. From the nearby camp he heard the sudden crash of broken crockery and a bellow of laughter, sounding as if it came from the small kitchen block.

“They gone?” the Armorer whispered, his breath slicing between Ryan’s fingers.

“Think so. Gotta be quick. Could be back here any time. How is it?”

J.B., half sitting up, groaned. The chain clinked again. “Bad.”

“Broken?”

“Can’t tell. Numb. Caught me just above the ankle. Top of my boot might have saved the worst of it.” He was breathing hard, his tense voice suggesting that he was on the ragged edge of shock.

“Best take a look at it.”

“Help me sit straight.”

Ryan slid an arm around his friend, feeling him trembling. J.B. reached for his right hand and gripped it tightly, so tightly that Ryan winced in pain, feeling his sinews creaking under the pressure.

“Pains me,” J.B. breathed, clasping Ryan to him. “Knew that if I cried out, we were lost.”

“Be fine. Sit still now. Can you let go of my hand so I can take a good look at the problem?”

“Sure, sure.” The grip relaxed, the Armorer giving a shuddering sigh. “Be all right. Going to take some work to ease open that spring.”

Ryan moved sideways so that his own shadow no longer fell on the mantrap. He peered at the damage, weighing up what should be done. What could be done. Then he glanced back over his shoulder to check that the sec patrol wasn’t making an unexpected return toward its base.

The trap was nearly five feet long, with a double row of sharp teeth. But the intention of the device was to catch and hold, rather than to snap or amputate. The points were covered in a coating of what looked like thick rubber, which muted the effect of the powerful spring that the Armorer had triggered. If it hadn’t been for that protection, Ryan had little doubt that J.B.’s lower leg would have been splintered like a dry branch. Arteries could have been severed, turning the thing into a cold killer.

He reached out and touched it tentatively. J.B. pulled away and winced, gasping in pain. “Careful, amigo,” he breathed. “Kind of touchy.”