64 Burial Party (1/2)
The teenagers began to die a couple of hours later.
The boy that had tried to be a hero was the first to go. Sven had amputated the little fingers on each of his hands with clinical precision, cutting them off midway between their joints. Losing the top part of a little finger wasn't the end of the world. The kid would regain normal use of his hands once the wounds healed. There would be no infection: Ulla had sterilized the wounds with hot tar, which had the added benefit of stopping the bleeding.
Sven watched her closely as she did that, and detected a hint of pleasure in her face when the kid screamed while she dripped smoking tar onto the wound. And she knew she was being watched! If he'd had his back turned, she'd have probably grinned from ear to ear. He had to do something about her, and soon.
The unhappy kid that died first had been walking at the head of the column of four captives. He had been moaning and blubbering all along so no one paid attention when he let out a longer moan. But then he just dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had just been cut.
Sven ordered the others to keep going: he wanted to reach the mine well before nightfall, so that they could check its surroundings for hostile presence. Maybe they'd even be able to locate the kids' camp - they'd said it was just a few kilometers away from the mine. He stayed behind with his team: Henrik, Ulla, and Lasse.
They stood and watched Ulla examine the kid for signs of life. After a while, she looked up at them and shook her head.
”Dead as a doornail,” she said, and Sven noted that she didn't smile. Maybe she felt the kid's death reflected badly on her first-aid skills.
”Sorry, guys,” Sven said. Henrik grimaced.
”I've already dug a grave today,” he said. Sven nodded.
”Right,” he said. ”Ulla, go with Lasse. Find a spot that will make it quick and easy - soft soil, no stones or tree roots. Go on, move. I want to find the camp of those hotshots before the end of the day.”
He and Henrik waited by the fresh corpse, watching Ulla and Lasse as they moved around, with Lasse prodding the ground with the end of his bow from time to time. It was clear he didn't have great respect for the bow as a weapon, and Sven sighed. He would have to have a stern talk with the guys who were working on a prototype crossbow. It was taking far too long.
”Do you think he died of shock?” asked Henrik, looking at the dead kid. Sven shook his head.
”No,” he said. ”Someone pulled the plug on him, back in the Old World.”
”You mean the guy removed his implant?”
”Yes.”
”Why didn't he do it sooner? As soon as you cut off the first finger?”
”Those kids are smart,” Sven said. ”They want to find out more about us. That's why they're keeping the other three alive. This particular kid probably didn't like the pain.”
”The guy who controlled him could feel it?”
”Of course. Not as badly, maybe it was more of an itch than real pain. I wouldn't know. I haven't had any fingers amputated. Hey, Ulla's found a final resting place for the poor bastard. She's waving to us. Grab his legs.”
They carried the body to where Ulla and Lasse were already hacking at the ground with their axes. Henrik was carrying a short shovel whose edges were as a sharp as a sword's, and a shallow grave was ready in next to no time. They put the boy's body inside, covered it, and then moved to catch up with the rest of the party, walking as fast as they could without breaking into a run.
As they walked, Sven took a good look at the sun and tried to work out his chances of finding the kids' camp before night fell. They weren't good. They had at most three hours of daylight left, and it would take nearly two to reach the mine.