Robert Adams - The Witch Goddess

And indeed it proved to be a grave, but a most singular grave. It was shallow and contained the almost-fresh carcass of a small deer, expertly flayed of its hide, but otherwise untouched.

“Now who,” Corbett mused aloud, “would go to the trouble of stalking one of these chary mountain bucks, then take only the skin and leave so much good meat behind?”

All of the Broomtown men seemed equally perplexed, but Erica nodded and said, “Ganiks, of course, Jay. It would be of a piece with this weird bastardization of a religion they seem to practice. Don’t you see? Over the centuries, needing hides and skins for clothing, they’ve probably rationalized to the point that the killing of wild animals isn’t sinful, so long as they neither eat the meat nor leave the carcasses out in the open to pollute.”

Corbett shook his head. “Well, if they don’t want it, we sure as hell can use it. Gumpner, have that carcass gutted and cleaned—that’s tonight’s supper. Cabell, you’re our best tracker; see if you can determine which way on this track the party that left that deer was moving.”

To Erica, he said, “I’d hoped that these days of painful trailmaking had left those bastards behind; obviously, we’re still in their territory, and moving deeper into it, for all we know. If we’re going to have to fight them sooner or later, I’d much prefer to do it with men and animals that aren’t all worn out from forcing trail, day after day, so we’re going to use this track for a while until we strike a north-south one again. Whichever way the deerslayers went, we’ll go the other.”

East they marched, making very good time, even while sparing the mounts and pack beasts as much as possible; and early in the second day on the track, they struck a north-south track, whereupon Corbett headed south along it. They moved fast now, covering as many kilometers per day as the officer thought the animals and men could endure, but they moved warily, too, with all save Dr. Braun and the captive armed and alert from start to finish of each day’s march.

On the morning of the eighth day after the eruption and quakes, gunshots from all along the camp perimeter awakened Corbett and the rest. In the gray light of false dawn, he and his men sprang up, grasping rifles, pistols, sabers and axes, only to find no one to fight… not then. One of the perimeter guards had taken a thick, short dart in the groin, and he bled to death before he could be gotten back to camp. Three dead Ganiks were found, and great pools or splashes of blood were to be seen in two more places.

Corbett took a strong mounted party out as soon as it was light enough and scouted out from the perimeter in a full circle, finally finding where the Ganiks had left their ponies while they came in afoot, to be unexpectedly greeted with large-caliber rifles firing explosive bullets. They found one more dead Ganik, too.

A bullet had obviously torn off a good part of the left arm of the savage, but that was not what had killed him. His throat had been cut… and his body had been stripped and butchered. Heart, liver and kidneys seemed to be gone from the cadaver, along with most of the flesh of both thighs, upper arms and buttocks. Moreover, the generative organs were gone and the head had been axed open to scoop out the brains.

While some of the troopers leaned from their saddles, gagging and retching, Corbett was engulfed by an ominous foreboding. Savages properly terrified of firearms and their deadly effect would not have stopped so close to those fire-spitting devices long enough to kill and butcher one of their wounded, and without the psychological advantage of advanced weapons technology, he knew that he and his small command had about as much chance of survival as a wet snowball in hell.

As soon as he and his force were back in camp, that camp was struck and the column moved out on the track southward. But it was far too late to escape their doom, and in his heart, Jay Corbett knew it. Nonetheless, he formulated contingency plans and issued the requisite orders to his remaining NCOs.

“Gumpner, Cabell, Cash, the most important thing is for someone to get back to Broomtown alive and in condition to lead a large force back up to the site of the disaster, where most of the pack train is buried, before rain and the elements have time to further damage those devices and books. The second most important thing is to try to get the two scientists—Dr. Arenstein and Braun—back to Broomtown, but do not—I repeat, do not—endanger the primary goal for the sake of the secondary one.

“I am now certain that we’re surrounded, have been for days, and are being deliberately paced by a large force of those cannibals, so none of us may make it back, but I do not want it to be for want of trying, gentlemen. When the battle joins, as it will, soon or later, you and your men must make every shot count, but be certain to save the last one for yourselves. From what we’ve learned from that Jim-Beau, none of us must allow himself to be captured alive by these savages. If all else fails you, jam the point of your dirk or bootknife in under the angle of the jaw, here, at least an inch deep, and slash downward toward the front; the pain will be short and sharp and you’ll be dead inside five minutes.”

At the first rest stop of the day, Corbett had the loads of loot from the Hold of the Moon Maidens dumped at the side of the track, then the few supply loads and waterskins redistributed among all the pack animals, overriding Erica’s objections brusquely.

“Doctor, it’s another military decision; we’ll most likely be fighting or racing for our very lives before this day is out, and I’m of the opinion that our lives are worth a bit more than a few pack loads of scrap metal.

“Oh, and don’t give Dr. Braun any more drugs today. He may have to fight, too, and he can’t do that doped up to the gills. Now can he?”

“No, he couldn’t,” she agreed, then grimaced. “But Harry is not going to like being denied his shot.”

Corbett just shrugged. “Then let him take up the matter with me. I’m trying to save his life—surely that’s worth some pain for a few days?”

Erica said, “To any other man or woman, probably, but you don’t know how selfish, how stubbornly self-centered, Dr. Harry Braun can be.”

With a long sigh, Corbett stated, “The only other humane alternative, Doctor, is simply to shoot him. You’ve heard Jim-Beau gloating over the hideous atrocities his kind inflict on helpless captives—cooking and eating them alive and all the rest.

“But he’s still your patient, Doctor. If you have reason to think that the pain resulting from discontinuance of the drugs will put him into shock, tell me, and I’ll put him down while he’s still half-conscious.”

She shook her head slowly and said sadly, “I wish now that I were a good liar, for I have a gut feeling that Harry is a… a jinx, that with him safely dead, we just might survive this predicament. But I’m not, Jay, I’m not a good liar, so I can’t say the words that would doom him, irrevocably.

“Yes, he’ll hurt like hell without a shot, but his injury is knitting nicely, so far. I doubt he’ll go into shock, but if be does, you’ll still have your pistol. Won’t you?”

“I will, Doctor,” was his grim-faced reply. Then he turned and led his armored charger back toward the van, now mounting up.

Corbett’s worst suspicions regarding their untenable situation were confirmed within two hours. Two troopers were darted from ambush—one in the van, one in the rearguard. The first, the one in the rear, took the short, stubby, deadly missile at a downward angle just behind his clavicle and had bled to death before Corbett reached him. But the other was deeply pierced in the side, just below his rib cage; Gumpner put an end to the man’s agonized screams with his axe.