The pilot couldn’t avoid the big bird. He tried to bank his craft, but the albatross pursued, running straight over his head into the pusher-prop. Feathers flew in all directions, and the sound of the engine popping died instantly, its last echoes gasping across the icy beach. The airwag dropped into the ocean and disappeared in a heartbeat.
“Gone,” Jak said.
Ryan nodded, confirming the albino’s statement. Still, he waited for a while in case they had both been wrong. It wasn’t likely, and it didn’t happen. He turned, knowing J.B. could see him. The Armorer had held his position with the others in case Jak and Ryan had been forced to abandon theirs. Ryan waved them up.
Then he stood and started down the steep side of the bowl-shaped depression, wondering whose fight he’d interrupted and which side he’d joined. More than anything, he hoped the fur-clad people had a way off the iceberg. He didn’t relish the thought of being adrift somewhere in the Arctic Circle, but it beat the hell out of drowning.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ryan kept the Steyr in both hands as he walked down the incline. Despite the help he had given them, the fur-clad people hadn’t chosen to come out of hiding. The line of warriors shifted, coming on point to face him. Since there appeared to be only one of him, they were braver.
One of the warriors stood and approached Ryan. He carried an ice ax in his hands. Someone had altered the handle, though, adding a four-foot-long bone shank instead of the foot-long metal handle, increasing the weapon’s reach.
Ryan halted just out of what he considered to be easy bow-and-arrow range.
Through the narrow face of his hood, the fur-clad warrior looked Indian. His features were dark, with marked cheekbones, his hair a raven’s-wing black. He wore fur mittens that covered his hands but allowed him to use his ax freely.
The man spoke in a guttural language.
“Don’t understand a word you’re saying,” Ryan said in a nonthreatening voice. He looked past the man and saw that despite his actions of gunning down their attackers, he had gained no new friends. That was okay, though. It proved that the crowd he was facing was a savvy lot.
Even as he stood there, several warriors were seeking out the men he had shot. They finished off those who survived with knives, and took the weapons, brandishing them and yelling in that same guttural language as the warrior who addressed Ryan.
“You speak English,” the warrior said.
“Yes,” Ryan replied. And from the look on the man’s weathered face, he didn’t know which of them was more surprised about the other’s ability.
The warrior nodded. “You’re Russian?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Ryan shrugged. “I’m from a place called Deathlands. Heard of it?”
The warrior shook his head.
“Had another name a long time ago,” Ryan said. “Called itself the United States.”
“American,” the warrior stated.
“Guess so.” Ryan didn’t really consider himself anything but free. But when the companions had made a jump to Moscow, Ryan had been surprised to find how much patriotism remained in him for the old, dead country. “Those men were Russian?”
“Yeah.”
“Who are you?” Ryan asked.
“My name’s Harlan,” the warrior said. “I’m chief of this tribe. Have you got boats?”
Ryan shook his head. “I was hoping you would have.”
Harlan narrowed his eyes. “How did you get here?”
“That’s a long story, Chief.”
“Don’t have time for a long story,” the chief said. “As soon as Vitkin finds out his search-and-capture team is dead, he’s going to come hunting.”
THE ALLIANCE between the companions and the fur-clad people was uneasy. Ryan and his small group sat together, except for Doc and Mildred, who helped with the wounded. The med kits they had packed in the redoubt to carry them through their excursion exhausted quickly, but most of the Inuit were taken care of.
Ryan knew Chief Harlan didn’t buy his story about having been part of a trading ship that had blown off course and went down only a short distance from the iceberg, but the Inuit leader didn’t press the issue. Ryan didn’t want to give up the gateway, or the redoubt, if he could help it.