Part 4 (1/2)

Saundra didn't back away from him. Instead, to his surprise, she came to him and dropped to her knees. She looked him in the eyes.

”Yes,” she said softly. ”It was pretty horrible. And if there'd been another way, I wouldn't have wanted you to kill them. But there wasn't another way. I know that. Our clients know that.” She paused. ”And you know that.”

Simon didn't say anything.

She leaned into him and took him into her arms, holding him tightly. ”I was afraid for you. I thought they were going to kill you. I didn't know you could do that.”

”Honestly, neither did I.”I was trained to fight monsters, not men. But he couldn't tell her that, of course.

He remained quiet, leaning into her, feeling her heat against the cooling night and the loneliness around him.

Back in the camp, Simon got out one of the tarps they used to set the tents up on. He placed it on the front of one of the Land Rovers, then grabbed the dead poacher lying in the fire by the feet and dragged him out of the coals.

The fire had burned away the man's hair and his face. Only a grinning blackened skull remained. The stench was stomach-churning and seemed to hang in the air all around the campsite.

Simon used water from the stream to put out the smoldering clothing that had melted to the dead man's upper torso. When he was certain the fire was finished, he dragged the dead man to the tarp. Then he went back for the next one, grabbing him by the boot heels and depositing him with the other.

At first, no one else moved. They only watched in silence. Then Saundra helped him with the third while two of the male clients dragged the fourth over to the tarp.

”What are you going to do with them?” Blaisdell asked. He was an American, working on a book, he'd said.

”Take them back to Cape Town.” Simon grabbed one end of the tarp and folded it over the corpses. Saundra took the other end and helped him.

”Why? So they can have a burial?” Anger edged Blaisdell's words. ”They don't deserve that. They should be left out here. Let the animals get them.”

Simon started to reply, but knew he was going to be heated about it.

”Then those animals might develop a taste for human flesh,” Saundra interrupted calmly. ”Furthermore, seeing these men come back in this condition might give pause to anyone else who might try something like this. We're not doing them any favors. They're dead. They don't care anymore.”

Blaisdell dropped his head and backed away. ”I'm sorry. But I liked Dalton. He didn't deserve what happened to him. Neither did Carey.”

Simon silently agreed.

When he and Saundra had finished wrapping the dead men, they wrapped them in ropes and secured the grisly bundle to the Land Rover. It was too much like a big-game hunter's trophy kill to suit Simon, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Picking up the remains of Dalton and Carey was worse. Simon and Saundra fired shots into the air to scare off the larger predators that didn't give way to the lights from the Land Rovers. The smaller carnivores ran and hid at once.

Simon took another tarp and a large flashlight. He also wore one of the pistols he'd taken from the poachers. Then he went after the remains.

Carey's body was mostly intact, but Dalton's was scattered. They had to pick it up in pieces. Saundra got sick and finally could no longer help. Simon pushed himself through the queasiness and made himself complete the task.

Dalton had a wife and children. They'd want to bury as much of their father as they could. Finding everything he could took Simon the biggest part of an hour.

At midnight, miles from the campsite and well on their way back to Cape Town, Simon stood guard while Saundra took care of the clients. He kept his hunting rifle across his knees.

Most of the clients were quiet. If left to their own devices, Simon felt certain they would have eventually gone to sleep in the tents. But Saundra had insisted on heating some of the soup stock they'd brought.

After their clients were taken care of, she brought a bowl of soup to him. It was crowded with chunky vegetables and beef, a substantial meal. Despite the scent of death that still hung in Simon's nostrils, the soup smelled divine.

Saundra sat cross-legged across from him with her own bowl of soup. They ate in silence for a while.

”I don't think we can count on any return business with this group,” Saundra said. ”Nor any good word-of-mouth from any of them. Not even the travel writer.”

Simon nodded. She was just talking. He knew that. ”You feeling any better?”

Glancing at her, Simon nodded. ”I'll feel even better when we get back to Cape Town.” ”That should be by tomorrow afternoon now that we have the Land Rovers.”

Simon shook his head. ”I didn't think to check the fuel.” He started to set the bowl aside.

”I already did. We've got enough.”

Some of the tension unwound from Simon's stomach. Saundra was bright and capable. It felt good that not everything was riding on his shoulders.

”How's our other guest?” Simon referred to the surviving poacher.

”Hurting. Scared. I think the bleeding's finally stopped. I thought we were going to have to cauterize the wounds.” Saundra ate some of her soup. ”He's worried that he could be crippled for life.”

”With the court system, he won't live long enough to get through rehab.” Saundra looked at him. ”You sound different.”

”Different how?”

She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. ”Cold.”

Simon thought about that. His father and the other Templar had taught him that about life. When he'd grown up, he'd trusted little outside of the Templar. Most of his life had been spent down inside the Underground in London. For the first few years he'd been homeschooled there. He hadn't gotten out into the real world until he was a teen.

And he'd never been able to make friends. He couldn't bring those people back to the Underground and show them the dojos and training schools that were set up there. He hadn't been able to have fights, either. The first time he had, he'd nearly killed the two boys who had tried to hurt him. He still didn't know what Grand Master Sumerisle had had to do to get him out of trouble. But he hadn't been allowed out of the Underground complex for a month afterward.

”I just want to get back,” Simon said finally. But he also wanted to talk to the poacher, to learn more about that supposed invasion of London.

The man was sleeping in back of one of the Land Rovers. He lay atop a pallet of tusks. Simon hadn't gotten rid of those because disposing of them would have been useless. Someone would have claimed them. And they were valuable. The money gleaned from the sale could help pay for Dalton's and Carey's funerals.

”Wake up,” Simon growled.

The man opened his eyes and looked groggy. Saundra hadn't mentioned giving him painkillers from the med kit, but Simon suspected that she had.

”What?” Fear and suspicion tightened the man's voice.

”What did you hear about the London invasion?” Simon stood with his arms folded across his chest. ”You woke me to ask that?”

Simon reached out like he was going to grab one of the man's heavily bandaged feet. ”Don't,” the man moaned. He bent his knees and pulled his feet up toward him.

”Tell me about London.”

”There's not much to tell. We heard about it in a bar before we left Cape Town. They had some vid, too, but it looked like a bunch of c.r.a.p if you ask me. They showed these images of these...things. I don't know what else to call them.”

”What did they look like?”