Part 9 (1/2)
”I'll worry about getting home first. Take care!”
Eveready, still standing in the water, turned the canoe and pushed them southward.
”Get running, Alistar, it's every man for himself,” Eveready said. ”You heading north or south?”
Valentine listened with hard ears.
”I thought we could make the run together,” Alistar said, deflated.
”Not a chance. I have to move fast and alone if I'm gonna draw one of these off. Take off, boy. I hope you make it, but I can't have you around me.”
As they drew away, Valentine heard a shout from the Cat's muscular throat, perhaps strong enough to be heard across the river by the Hoods' ears: ”Halloo! Hoods, come on over. Eveready's in the house, and he wants to par-tay. Bring it on, you balless b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. I got forty-five sets of teeth around my neck, motherf.u.c.kers. I wanna make it an even fifty!”
The canoe glided southward, propelled by current and oars. Valentine realized he was achingly tired; they had marched all day on light food. Water was not a problem; the center of the big muddy gave them all they could desire, clear and cool.
”Hernandez, turn in. Just relax for a couple hours in the bottom of the boat. Burt, you'll be after him. Take the stern for now. I'll take the third s.h.i.+ft.”
Hernandez almost collapsed into the center of the boat, asleep in a few seconds with his head pillowed on his pack.
”Jeez, he didn't even put his blanket down,” Burton observed, after gaining the stern.
Valentine paddled on. ”Anyway, you give off less lifesign when you're asleep. Just in case it was him.”
”I thought it was me,” Burton said.
”Funny, I thought the same thing,” Valentine admitted. Both men chuckled. The canoe shot southward.
Splas.h.i.+ng... an overactive imagination at work?
”Did you hear that, Burt?” Valentine whispered.
”Hear what?”
”Hard ears, Wolf. To the left. Didn't he say they made a lot of noise swimming?”
Burton quit rowing as both men concentrated their ears to the left. Over the wind and noise of the river, a vigorous splas.h.i.+ng could be heard.
”Oh, h.e.l.l. Sorry, Burt. Looks like I guessed wrong.”
”Let's pump it, Val. We still got a chance. The f.u.c.ker's a ways off, still. Hernandez,” he said, knocking the sleeper with his foot. ”Nap time's over, you got to do some rowing.”
Hernandez yawned, pus.h.i.+ng one arm into the sky and rubbing his eyes with the other.
”Jeez, that felt great. How many hours did I sleep?”
”About two minutes. Get up here and row,” Valentine ordered.
”What?”
Burton tossed the oar toward him. ”Reaper is swimming for us. Don't drop your oar this time.”
Propelled by terror, the three men pushed themselves to a stroke every two seconds.
Valentine used his hard ears to locate the splas.h.i.+ng, which began to fade first to the left, and then astern.
”We're leaving him behind. I think,” Valentine said through gritted teeth.
A few minutes would tell the tale. Valentine counted strokes. At 214, he realized the ominous splas.h.i.+ng was getting louder.
”h.e.l.l, a Hood,” Burton swore, puffing. ”How fast is it going?”
”Faster than us,” Hernandez said.
Valentine could not resist looking over his left shoulder every few seconds. The moon was up, but high, thin clouds muted its three-quarter face. Their strokes began to slow as exhaustion set in. Valentine saw a pale figure, arms whirling like paddle wheels, splas.h.i.+ng along behind them.
”I can see it now,” Burton said, resigned. A horrible image of the Reaper closing remorselessly on them flickered through Valentine's mind. It would swim underwater the last few feet, push up and turn over the boat, then tear each of them to bits in the water. He looked back at the steadily gaining swimmer, moving through the water at a speed no Olympian could match, pale back visible in the moonlight.
It had removed its robes to go faster through the water.
”Take a rest,” Valentine ordered, picking up Trudy. The magazine held thirty rounds.
Another magazine rested in a leather pouch on the offside of the stock.
”What do you mean, take a rest? We gonna shoot ourselves?” Hernandez asked.
”I'm going to take a crack at him with Trudy,” Valentine explained. ”It took off its robes to go faster through the water.”
”Jesus help you shoot straight,” Hernandez babbled.
Valentine carefully tucked himself against the stern. He sat down, bracing his back against Burton's seat. He brought the rifle to his cheek and set the sights for a hundred yards. The two other Wolves panted as Valentine tried to quiet his own respiration and steady his trembling muscles. Exhaustion or fear? he wondered.
Breathing out, he fired three times, pausing for a second between each shot. The thirty- caliber carbine sh.e.l.l had a fair kick, but braced as he was, knee against the side of the canoe and back braced by the bench mounted behind him, the recoil was negligible.
Machinelike, the Reaper swam on. At this distance, Valentine couldn't make out splashes to see if he was. .h.i.tting. He let the distance close another twenty yards, then fired three more times.
The Reaper dived.
Valentine scanned the surface of the water. How far could it go without air?
The wooden stock felt comforting against his cheek. He lowered the barrel slightly.
The thing breached twenty yards closer, and Valentine shot five times, missing in his panic.
It disappeared underwater again.
Calm, calm, his mind told his body, but the body refused to cooperate. He quivered, unable to control the nervous tremors.