Robert Adams - Bili the Axe

That moment came at last, and, like a coiled spring suddenly released of tension, the shaggy man was on his booted feet and, in an eye-flickering rush of movement, behind the watcher. In a rhythm born of long practice, the left hand was clamped cruelly tight over the mouth and the body bent painfully backward over the knee sticking into its spine. The long, cruel knife blade came around for the throat-slash…

Old Johnny Kilgore waved the sooty knifeblade before the eyes of his “victim.”

“You daid meat, Jimmy Lewis. I done kilt yer ass, by naow.”

“Not quite, Johnny, not quite.” There came a sudden popping and crackling of brush and fallen branches from at least three points behind the shaggy man. Then the officer who had spoken and two troopers armed with rifles—scoped, sniper models—came from out the woods, their faces soot-darkened and the nets covering their helmets festooned with plant materials, the metal itself smeared with random patterns of mud.

The officer added, with a grin, “You’ve been under close observation almost from the time you left your ponies. Where did you get the smaller one, anyway? He looks like a real Ganik pony.”

Kilgore released the sentry and sheathed his big knife. Shaking his head, he remarked, “Gump, you’n yore boys is a-gittin’ good, dang good. Yawl won’t be gittin’ bushwhacked by no Ganiks, not if yawl stays thet sharp.”

Smiling warmly, the officer nodded and holstered his big pistol. “We all had a good teacher, Johnny. Generations of Broomtown men will bless your name and memory, you know.

“But, back to that scrawny bag of bones you’ve acquired… ?”

Old Johnny shrugged. “I foun’ ‘im wand’rin’ up yonder a ways, and he won’t awl I foun’, neethuh. Foun’ whutawl ‘uz lef of a Ganik, too. A wild bunch Ganik looked fer to be, to me.”

In a tight voice, the officer demanded, “Did he see you?”

“Not hardly!” The old cannibal chuckled. “Some critter, some dang big critter, had plumb chawed the life outen thet Ganik. An’ whutawl the littler critters an’ the birds an’ awl had done lef of Mm, won’ much fer me to see ‘cept his clo’s an’ boots an’ knifes an’ awl.”

Johnny shoved aside the close-fitting cap stitched together from two well-matched human scalps and scratched at his bald pate with filthy, cracked fingernails. Then puzzled, he added, “But fer the life of me, I cain’t figger haow one pore bunch Ganik got hisse’f this fer south by his lonesome to git chawed to death.”

“You’re certain he was alone then, Johnny?” probed Gumpner.

The old man shrugged again. “Had to be, Gump. Been any mo’ boys with ‘im, eethuh he wouldn’ of got chawed a-tall, or they’d of took awl his knifes an’ his boots afore they lef ‘im fer the critters. Ganiks, they lives hard an’ they don’ let nuthin jes’ go to waste.”

Gumpner tugged at his neat, iron-gray chin beard for a moment, then said, “Johnny, that bear we had to kill—could that bear have been the animal that killed this Ganik you found?”

Johnny bobbed his head once. “I thought ‘bout thet, too, Gump. Could be, could sure be. It ain’ thet much distance less’n you stick to the trail, ‘long here, an’ ain’t no cawse fer no bar to. Bars don’t eat folks often, but thet ’un, he might of come after the pony an’ thet pore boy he darted him too fer back. So the dang pony, he got away, and the bar, he chawed thet pore dumb Ganik to death. Mighta happund, Gump.”

“So, it was just the one man and his pony, then, Johnny?”

Kilgore gave another single, curt nod. “I backtrailed ‘im, Gump. Foun’ wher he camped up the trail the night afore he ‘uz kilt. Won’ nobody but him an’ the one pony. An’ thet ain’t no particul of right in it, neethuh, Gump. Ganiks, they ain’t nevuh liked bein’ alone; the bigger the bunch they rides with, the better they likes it. Suthin’ damned funny musta happund up nawth, elst thet pore boy, he woulda been with two, three othuh Ganiks, enyhaow.”

The officer turned to the two snipers. “Go fetch in those two ponies.” Then, to Johnny, “There’s a little brook between here and the camp. You can wash the worst of that stink off and then we’ll go on in. I’m certain that the general will be relieved by your message.”

Corbett was vastly relieved at the prospect of not having to fight Ganiks yet. Old Johnny, on the other hand, seemed aggrieved, attesting, as he squatted by the cookfire, “It jes’ ain’t no fun no mo’, gin’rul. Thesehere boys is done got so sharp, I cain’t hardly nevuh ketch ‘em no mo’. I spent me a whole passel of time a-plannin’ an’ awl, lef the ponies way, way back, then took up close to two hours fer to go the las’ lil ways aftuh Jimmy Lewis, an’ it awl looked perfic’. Then I come fer to fin’ out it’d been rifuls awn me dang near the whole damn way. It jes ain’ no fun no mo’!”

Corbett sipped at a metal cup of strong coffee and grinned. “It’s your fault, then, Johnny. You’re too good a teacher for your own good, apparently.”

The old Ganik still looked and sounded hurt and offended, however. “But, gin’rul, it won’t fair fer to tell Gump an’ them I wuz gonna try to jump ‘em today.”

From where he squatted with his own coffee Gumpner said, “Johnny, neither the general nor anybody else told any of us that you planned to try the perimeter today, only that you would try to do it from time to time, as you’ve been doing periodically for months. It just happened that one of the outer line of sentries, a fellow up a tall tree, spotted you sneaking across that little ridge back there, and passed on the signal to the perimeter.

“He didn’t recognize you—all he reported was a Ganik headed at us afoot. He had a scoped rifle and could likely have dropped you, then, but he was aware that the general wants live prisoners. It wasn’t until I got up there that I saw you and realized you’d chosen this time and place for one of the general’s impromptu problems. Still, you taught me and two snipers even more than you had in months past about camouflage and the fine art of bushwhacking. All I can say is, thank God you’re on our side, Johnny.”

The order of march for the next few days remained the same in all respects save that Johnny Kilgore rode with the point rather than ahead of it. They made good time in the week before any other singular events occurred, and Corbett was able to report the appreciable progress in the nightly conversations with Dr. David Sternheimer, via the big transceiver.

“Were we on the main trail, the big eastern one, David,’ we’d be making even better time than this. But I still agree that it will be better to stick to the one we came south on, this smaller, western one, for all its narrowness and twists and turns. Not only do Gumpner and I and some of the others who were with me last year know this trail well, there’s the additional fact that the Ganiks themselves use it seldom, so it will be an unfortunate coincidence if we run onto any of the uncouth bastards.”

During the conversation one night, Sternheimer had said, haltingly, “Now, Jay, you know that my belief in some of this parapsychological stuff is very limited. Nonetheless, I have this… how shall I say it?… this ‘feeling’ that Erica still is alive… somewhere. It’s most likely simply a matter of pure and unadulterated wishful thinking, of course. But… but, Jay, please, as a personal favor to me, keep your eyes open. Any sign, anything… ? Since that vicious bastard Braun did what he did to her… she… I now know that she meant far more to me than I ever… than I ever allowed myself to consciously realize… admit.

“You see, Jay, we still are subconsciously bound by the strictures, the morals of the world in which we matured, even though that world hasn’t existed for almost a millennium. In the beginning, when first Dr. Arenstein came down to work on the Project, she… just being near her, seeing her, hearing her voice, it… well, she aroused me… sexually, I mean.