James Axler – Shadowfall

He still didn’t have that same extra sharpness of sight as Dean. But he could make out movement.

Pink-gray shapes lumbered between the trees. Now he could see that there had to have once, way before the long winters, been a farm in the canyon, and it was the ancient predark orchards that had attracted the large herd of mutie animals. There were rambling apple and pear trees at the bottom of the valley, the ground below them thick with windfalls.

“Looks like it might be where they live,” Dean said, dropping his voice, even though the pigs were a good quarter mile away and a thousand feet lower.

“That’s what I thought.”

“We can probably work our way around the top end of the canyon, then drop down into the next ravine along.”

Ryan glanced sideways at his son, seeing how quickly he’d tumbled to why they’d come this difficult way. “Why do that?” he asked.

“Because it’d be triple stupe to go down where all the pigs are” He stopped, grinning. “That’s why we came this way, instead of sticking to the bottom road. Part of this special plan, isn’t it, Dad?”

“Could be. Let’s go slow and careful and see what we can see.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

The brushwooders had taken the horses. All that was found in the abandoned clearing was a scene from a slaughterhouse.

The ten bodies lay where they’d fallen, every one with his throat neatly cut. Bill Rainey went quickly around the circle of corpses, his boots squelching in the blood-sodden grass. Already the blowflies were humming busily around the lakes of congealing crimson, sensing a feast beyond any imagining.

“This one looks like he mebbe tried to fight back a little,” J.B. called, pointing down with his good right arm, the left one tucked snugly inside his jacket to ease the pain from the musket ball.

“Magnus. That’s his twin brother, Marcus, lying next to him. Sweet couple of boys.” The sec boss was weeping openly, holding up his carmined hands to the gray dawn sky. “You must’ve been sleeping, Jesus, letting this happen. Ten innocent men, butchered like little lambs.”

“Best move,” Jak said, limping to the far side of the clearing. “Got horses. Could follow us.”

BUT THE BRUSHWOODERS didn’t pursue them. Ditchdown was all for a vengeful chase, once the corpse of his aunt, Rosie, had been found with its neck snapped.

“Catch them easy,” he said.

Straub shook his head. “Time for a serious change of plans,” he said calmly. “Now we know the kid we held belonged to that monocular son of a bitch, Cawdor, and not the valuable son of the baron. When I finally get my hands on father and son, I’ll take pains to see that they have pain. There’s”

“What’s ‘monocular’ mean?” asked the leader of the brushwooders, running his hand through his damp hair.

“One-eyed.”

“But why not go after them all?”

“Tracks show only one came in for the boy. Cawdor is my guess. Bet you a peanut to a honey stick the rest are hotfooting it toward the ville.”

Ditchdown stamped his foot in frustration. “Then why not get after them?”

“Baron’s lost thirteen of his men in the last day. He was always weak. Now we got the edge. In a day or so we can go in slow and easy and the ville’s ours.”

TRADER WAS FOR WAITING to see if Ryan and Dean turned up safely.

“Can’t abandon friends. One of the greatest rules of living in Deathlands. Might be the number one rule.”

Krysty pointed at him angrily. “Just keep your nose out of this, Trader. Ryan told you precisely what we were to do. Things’ve gone wrong enough as it is.”

“Not Trader’s fault,” Abe said, the first time he’d spoken in the past hour.

“Krysty’s not saying it is.” Mildred looked at Doc for help. “We’ve learned that what Ryan says is generally the best thing to do.”

“I could not agree more.” Doc wiped his forehead with his swallow’s-eye kerchief. “Where rank confusion offers choice, best listen to a single voice.”

THE DESCENT from the ridge was more dangerous and difficult than Ryan had hoped.