James Smith - The Flock

"Come on, Adam. Get your butt in gear. Give him a hand," he suggested to Kate who he could see was still just standing there, watching them.

Levin jumped stiffly off the sill and made an even clumsier landing than Ron had. Riggs, afraid that his panic-stricken companion would twist an ankle and be unable to run, stepped forward to keep him from falling, which Adam would have done if not for Riggs' support. Still holding Levin up, Ron turned his eyes toward Kate who was at the window, leaning out, squinting at both of them.

"You coming, Kate?" Even as Ron asked it, he could see that she was bringing the.357 up, toward himself and Levin. But seeing her doing that, it did not occur to him that she could be aiming the weapon at them.

The shot broke the air into a billion bits of sound. Ron saw a puff of smoke appear around the big pistol, enveloping Kate's right hand. He saw the recoil from the weapon force her long arm up almost half a foot, her shoulder back an inch or so. Adam Levin's chest exploded, the exit wound a fist-sized crater that erupted in a shower of hot, crimson wet, spattering Ron's face with a horrid warmth.

Levin was dead in an instant, and the silly look on his face seemed almost a kind of reflection of the complete, numbing shock that was burning through Riggs. He had been supporting Levin, his hands on the man's torso, almost beneath the armpits. Later, but not right then, he would wonder how the bullet had missed him, had gone completely through his former captor and had ricocheted off some bone, sparing him a similar fate. Adam Levin first stiffened, for a mere split second, and then slumped to the ground like an enormous but leaking water balloon, almost taking Riggs with him.

Letting the dead man fall, Ron looked up at Kate. The barrel of the.357 was coming down from the recoil, and she was bringing it to bear on him. "What," he started to say, just forming the word with his lips but unable to make any air come up from his throat.

"I can't let any of you get out of here," she said. "It's time for you to go." Once more the pistol roared in her fist and Ron squinted, trying to prepare for the impact, for death.

The blow did not come. She had missed. He dove to the ground, rolling to his left and toward the building, trying to put the wall between himself and her aim. It would save him for a second, maybe, but then all she would have to do was lean out and take aim again. He was looking for something to pick up and throw at her. He chanced a quick look her way.

And he saw why she had missed him.

Mary Niccols had hit her from behind. And now she was punching her again, Mary's fist meeting solidly with Kate's skull. The impact of the punch forced Kate into the window and partially out of it.

"Mary," Ron screamed. He ran forward, looked to see where the pistol was, but Kate no longer held it in her now open hands. Even through his fear, he was enraged and reached up, grasping Kwitney by the roots of her hair, dragging her through the shattered window. She fell at his feet and he delivered a kick to her rib cage. "Damn you." She grunted as he kicked her.

Before he could kick her again, Mary scrambled through the window. "Let's get out of here," she said. "There's at least three armed men behind me somewhere. I got past them by hiding up behind the ceiling tiles. But they're going to be on us any second," Niccols said, her voice a very harsh whisper.

Ron put his fingers in Kate's hair and jerked her to her feet. "All right," he said. "But what do we do with this one? Is she coming with us, you think?"

Mary's work-hardened hand also grabbed a handful of Kate's long brown hair and pulled her back as Ron started off. "Bad idea. They might not be so quick to shoot at us with one of their own along, but she's a deceitful bitch. No telling what she might do out there. More trouble than she's worth, right?"

"Right. Just leave her here," he said, turning. "This way," Ron grunted, heading out where he had seen Billy Crane running before the woods had swallowed him. Behind, Mary was still standing with Kate, and Ron now saw where the pistol had gone. He watched Mary raise the weapon.

"Don't do it," he said.

Niccols brought her muscular right arm up and suddenly sent it down. The butt of the pistol met the back of Kate's skull. Kwitney went to the grass, her lanky frame lying still there in the fading light. Ron, his knees buckling, reached out to support himself against a pin oak sapling. A moment later, Mary reached him.

"Let's get going. Now."

Riggs followed, feeling the underbrush slapping against his legs, keeping his eyes front and looking for some sign of Billy Crane. He hoped the other man was not too far ahead. They would probably need the protection of his shotgun. Although he was running as fast as he could to keep up with Mary, Ron spoke between breaths, feeling relatively fresh despite the stress.

"I thought you were going to kill her. I wasn't sure."

For a moment Mary didn't answer. There was only the slap of grasses and tough shrubs against their pant legs, their boots thumping against the earth as they raced away from the Eyesore. But after a few seconds, she did answer.

"I almost did, Ron. I almost blew her brains out. She was going to kill you just like she killed that poor jerk, Levin."

I know, Ron wanted to say. He kept it to himself and would not have voiced it even if the sound of gunfire had not suddenly erupted behind them.

Just as the forest offered them some cover, they heard the first shot come, listened to it whizzing in the underbrush as it sped through the vegetation.

"Keep going," Ron said between gasps. "Billy Crane came this way. I think he knows where he's going, and he's armed a lot better than we are."

"Sounds like a plan," Mary said, the two of them now side by side. They let the forest take them in.

The Scarlet rogue was ahead of the Flock. They were moving in a manner not unlike that used during a typical hunt. It was something he recognized and had been a part of more times than he could count. Spread out: they had done that. Give the prey no way to run but forward: that had been achieved; behind him was the bottom of an inverted wedge, probably three deep with adults. To the left and right of him was a line of strong members moving forward to pace him and outrun him if he tired; they were working as a group and would feed off their collective energy and purpose. Be careful, but relentless: this was the aim of the party and they would not deviate from that path unless the safety of the entire Flock was at jeopardy.

And although the Scarlet was still relatively young, still not the planner his elders were, he knew that was the weakness of his family. They would break off the chase if the well-being of the group became an issue. And only one thing could cause this.

Man.

And Man was here, now, in the Flock's domain, and in numbers. The big rogue did not know just why the men were here, except that he could feel something emanating from their group that was not unlike the song the Flock would croon when the hunt was on. From behind him, too close for his own comfort, he could feel that song moving perfectly from one flock member to the next. He heard it from his own Egg Mother, and from that damned Walks Backward, who he knew had wanted his own death for a long time. If there was any single number among the Flock that he feared, it was that one, the guardian who swept the way clean of their sign and watched everything, those eyes seeing it all. The Scarlet hoped that it would be possible to kill him before the Sun rose.

He was being herded toward the southwest. That thought was maddening to him, that he could be moved and chased like something to eat, like one of the frightened deer that sustained them. The inverted wedge that kept him moving was coming from the northeast, where the extended family had been bedding and hunting in recent days. It was far from the new activities of the men, where they had built their wooden and stone nests and had brought their dogs on which the Scarlet had been feeding.