Stroking the neck of a horse, Krysty looked up the riverbed. “They’ll know we’re coming.”
“But not when,” Ryan said. “We’ll use that.”
“We had best tend our mounts before departing,” Doc rumbled in his deep voice. “They have been used most strenuously for quite a while.”
While Dean climbed the bank and got some green grass for the animals, the companions let the horses drink from cupped hands, but not too much. They didn’t want to slow them down. When the grass arrived, the poor things ate as if ravenous. Afterward, Mildred went to the clear stream, intending to refill the canteens, but upon testing the water she found it was heavily polluted. Totally undrinkable.
“You okay to ride?” Krysty asked in concern. “Took quite a beating.”
J.B. slapped the clip into the rapidfire and worked the bolt, chambering a round. “Try and stop me.”
“The dozer works,” Dean offered, “and we have juice. Found a cache in one of the cargo containers.”
“Too slow, and they’d hear us coming for miles,” Ryan stated. “Besides, we used most of the juice getting here. Had it in high gear all the way. Damn near blew the engine.”
“Correction,” Mildred replied, looking at the growing puddle of fluids on the ground. “We did blow the engine. Looks like a cracked block.”
“Aced,” Jak agreed.
“Then we ride,” Ryan said, stepping into the stirrup of a big stallion and hoisting himself into the saddle. The animal was larger than a normal horse, like those back at Front Royal. Its rib cage was noticeably wider, its legs longer. It probably could run forever without getting tired. With practiced hands, he patted its muscular neck and scratched behind the ears. The horse snuffled with pleasure in response. Even as a kid, Ryan had always liked horses, and any animal worth its brass responded to kindness better than the whip. The gray men were triple stupe.
“Just like the Carolinas,” Dean said, climbing into the saddle behind Jak.
“Wish we had the Leviathan,” Mildred said, as J.B. offered her a hand, and she awkwardly climbed onto the beast right behind him.
“When find, what do with girl?” Jak asked, adjusting the reins. He was pleasantly surprised to find the horse was bridle wise and well tempered. “Could make litter and drag behind.”
“Ann will ride on her own horse,” Ryan said, gently kicking his heels into the stallion’s flank. “There’ll be plenty of extra mounts by then.”
The companions started off in single file, staying very close to the left bank to hide their approach from any scouts in the northern trees. The majority of the island stretched to the north, so that would be the logical place for the gray men to go. The plan made sense, but it was only a guess. They could have a ship moored in the southern harbor.
Keeping the animals at a leisurely trot, the companions watched the embankments for any sign that the riders had climbed out of the natural passageway. The miles passed and the sides slowly lowered in height until only a few feet tall, easy passage for the long-legged horses.
“Over there,” Doc whispered, gesturing with his stick at the embankment. Dark earth showed where the ground had been churned from the passage of hooves.
Shaking the reins, Jak rode over to that section and studied the pattern of the scuff marks in the dirt.
“Bullshit,” he announced. “Fake trail.”
Walking his mount to the other side of the riverbed, he slid off and looked over the ground. Not a mark showed in the soil, and not a leaf was out of place in the grass.
“This way,” Jak stated without hesitation. Drawing his blaster, the teen stepped out of the riverbed and started through the field of green grass.
Dean took the reins and led the way, the rest of the companions following close behind. Nobody questioned the Cajun. Jak was the best tracker among them.
Ryan moved to the left, the Steyr resting across the saddle, and J.B. took the right side, the Uzi tight in his fist. Both men scrutinized the trees ahead of them, while Doc and Mildred kept a watch behind.