James Axler – Deathlands

“What if I run off?” Jak grinned, his white face pale and taut with pain, his hands clutching at his stomach. “You haven’t thought about that, Chief?”

“Oh, yes. We guard you. It is not for long because” He checked himself. “We need your being a god for a short time. Perhaps a hand of days.”

Mildred suddenly drew her revolver, stepping in very close to the native, ramming the muzzle under his chin. “Why don’t you call out and get your people to bring the antidote, Chief? Before you get to be dead.”

“No,” said Ryan. “I know what he’ll”

But Itzcoatl himself answered. “If you kill me, then I go to live with the gods. So, let it be. I do not know who holds the antidote, or where he is. One of our priests has left the village with it. He will return when a certain note is played on the drum and trumpet and pipe. Only one person in the village knows that signal. I do not. You can shoot us all, every warrior and woman and child, and it will not save the god’s life.”

“Think he’s telling the truth about the illness, Mildred?” Ryan asked. “Could be bluffing.”

The woman glared at Itzcoatl, easing the hammer down on the ZKR 551. She turned to Jak. “Get on the bed,” she said. “Let’s take a look at you.”

The albino stripped off his shirt, showing his wiry frame, the skin like ivory, the whipcord muscles gleaming in the light of the torch on the wall. He was biting his lip, sweating like a rainstorm. He laid his right hand across his solar plexus. “Here,” he said quietly.

“Fine. Arms at your sides. Now.”

The examination took only a couple of minutes, while everyone, including Itzcoatl, watched her in silence. She looked in Jak’s red eyes, then checked pulse and respiration, probed at the glands in his throat, down in his groin, making him wriggle uncomfortably. She concentrated on his abdomen.

“Try to relax, Jak,” she whispered. “You’re stiff as a board, honey.”

“Hurts. Like animal eating guts from inside. Fingers going numb.”

She straightened, looking at Itzcoatl. “All right, you bastard! I believe you. He’s dying. How do we know you got the antidote?”

“Because I tell you so,” the chief replied with an impressive dignity. “I tell you how it is. Now, time passes. Will you go?”

“Got us over a barrel, Jak,” Ryan said, ignoring the native chief.

“Sure. I know it.”

“He digs wisely,” Itzcoatl said. “Now take what you want and go. Take the gun of the god. He will not need it.”

Dean glanced at his father, then removed the big Colt Python and stuck it in his belt beside his own Browning Hi-Power. Jak made no move to stop him, his ruby eyes looking around at the solemn faces of his friends.

“So long,” he said quietly, his voice tight with pain. “Make it quick.”

Ryan nodded. “He’s right. So long, friend.” He leaned over him, whispering, “This isn’t the end.”

“Hell, I know that,” Jak replied in his ear.

Everyone said their goodbyes, either by a clasp of the hand or with a kiss on the feverish cheek. It took only a half minute to collect their possessions and leave the hut without a backward glance. Half the village, all armed, stood outside, watching their exit.

Itzcoatl stood in the doorway. He looked genuinely sorry. “You have given us so great help,” he said. “We have no grudge with any of you.”

Ryan looked up at him. “How about if we call back here in a couple of weeks, Chief?”

Itzcoatl didn’t answer, staring beyond Ryan and the others at the surrounding wall of jungle.

“Yeah,” the one-eyed man said. “I get the picture.”

“We going, Dad?”

He patted Dean on the shoulder. “I guess afraid so, son. Now.”

“I NEVER HAD ANYONE throw me my guns and tell me to run.” J.B. Dix stopped suddenly when they were a mile away from the village, halting in a moonlit clearing.

“Don’t talk too loud,” Ryan warned. “Natives only left us a couple hundred paces back. Could easily be tracking us from the trees.”