Timothy Zahn: Cascade Point

Their apparent leader—who looked to be all of twenty-five—recovered first from the shock of my face. "Uh, howdy," he said. "My name's Duke. We were wondering if maybe you could spare some food." "We haven't got much ourselves, but I guess we've got a little extra," I told him, studying the six as unobtrusively as possible. They were all younger than I was, by twenty years in some cases, which probably gave them a slight edge in speed and maybe stamina. All were armed with knives, and two of them also sported club-sized lengths of metal pipe. On the plus side, I was much better fed than they were and had had a good deal of combat training and experience. If I'd been alone with them, I would have judged the odds as roughly equal. But Heather's presence put me at a dangerous disadvantage.

I would have to remedy that, and while I still had the initiative was the best time to try. "Heather," I said, turning to face her, "why don't you see how much rabbit meat is left from last night."

"Okay," she breathed and started to open the door behind her.

But Duke was smarter than I thought. "Colby," he called to one of the boys nearest Heather, "go with her and give her a hand."

"That's not necessary," I said, as Heather hesitated and Colby moved to her side. "She's perfectly capable."

"Sure, man, but she is blind," Duke soothed. "Hey, Colby won't take nothing."

"Yeah," Colby agreed. "C'mon, kid, let's go in."

"No!" I barked, taking a step toward him. I knew instantly that I had overreacted, but I couldn't help it. Attached to Colby's belt were two sheaths, one of which was empty. From the other protruded a hilt whose workmanship I recognized.

Perhaps Colby saw me looking at his empty sheath, or maybe it was something in my voice that tipped him off. Whichever, when I raised my eyes to his face I found him staring at me with a mixture of anger and fear. "He knows!" he croaked, and reached for his remaining knife.

He never got a chance to use it. Even before the words were out of his mouth I had taken the single long stride that put me within range; and as the knifetip cleared the sheath, I snapped a savage kick to his belly. He doubled over, and I had barely enough time to regain my balance and turn around before I found myself surrounded. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Heather disappear into the cabin, one of the boys in hot pursuit, but I had no chance to go to her aid. Knives glinting, they moved in.

I didn't wait for them to get within range, but charged the closest one. He probably hadn't been attacked by an unarmed man in years, and the shock seemed to throw his timing off. I deflected his knife hand easily and gave him an elbow across the face as I passed him. The others, yelling obscenities, ran forward, trying to encircle me again. One came too close and got his knife kicked from his hand. He backpedaled fast enough to avoid my next kick and drew the metal pipe from his belt. Clearly surprised by my unexpected resistance, my attackers hesitated, and I used the breathing space to pull my bowie knife from my boot.

For a second we stood facing each other. "All right," I said in the deadliest voice I could manage, "I'll give you punks just one chance. Drop your weapons or I'll carve you into fertilizer."

I'd never fought with a knife in actual combat, but the training was there, and it must have showed in my stance and grip. "Duke...?" the boy I'd elbowed began.

"Shut up, Al," Duke said, but without too much conviction.

A sound from the cabin door caught my attention. Heather, struggling against an arm across her throat, was being forced outside by the punk who'd been chasing her earlier. "Not so fast, you son of a bitch," he called at me, panting slightly.

"Attaboy, Jackson," Duke crowed. He turned back to me, eyes smoldering. "Now you drop your knife, pal. Or else your broad gets it."

"Don't listen to him, Neil!" Heather shouted, her sentence ending with a little gasp of pain.

"Leave her alone!" I took a half step toward the door—and heard the faint sound of cloth against skin behind me.

Heather shrieked even as I started to turn, my left arm rising to block. But I was too late. The whistling iron pipe, intended for my head, landed across my shoulder instead, still hard enough to stun. I felt my legs turn to rubber, and as I hit the ground the world exploded in front of me and then went black.

—

I must have been out only a few seconds, because when my head cleared I was lying on my back with Duke and two of his pack standing over me. I wondered what they were waiting for, and gradually realized Heather was shouting at them. "Don't kill him! I'll make a deal with you!"

"You don't have nothing to offer that we can't take by ourselves," Duke said flatly, his glare still on me.

"That's not strictly true," Heather shot back, her voice tinted with both horror and determination. "Rape isn't nearly as enjoyable as sex with a willing woman. But I'm not talking about that. I can tell you where there's a big cache of food and furs."

That got Duke's attention, but good. He looked up at her, eyes narrowed. "Where?"

"It's well hidden. You'll never find it if you hurt either of us."

"Willy! Zac! What've we got?" Duke called. I turned my head slowly toward the cabin as two of the boys came out the door. Heather, I saw, was no longer being held, though Jackson stood close by her with his knife drawn.

"Not too much in here," one of the two called back. "A couple days' worth of food, maybe, and some other stuff we can use."

Duke looked back down at me. "Okay, lady, it's a deal. Zac, go see if you can find some rope."

"You gonna tie him up out here?" Al asked. "Someone might find him."

"Naw, we're gonna take them inside. But I want his hands tied before he gets up." Duke grinned down at me. "You've got a good place here to hole up. We almost missed it."

I didn't bother to reply. A moment later Zac brought out most of my last coil of nylon rope, and in two minutes my hands were tied tightly behind my back. I was then dragged to my feet and marched at knifepoint into the cabin. Heather was already inside, her hands similarly tied.

"Let's put 'em in the kitchen," Willy suggested. "We can tie 'em to chairs there."

We were taken in and made to sit down, but they ran short of rope and only I was actually tied to my chair. Al suggested instead that Heather and I be roped to each other, but Duke decided against it. "She can't get into any trouble," he scoffed. Stepping over to me, he inspected my ropes and then drew his knife, resting its tip against my Adam's apple. "Okay, girl, I got my knife at your friends throat. Give."

She gave them directions to my upstream "refrigerator" hollow. "You'll probably need to walk—there's too much undergrowth for bikes," she concluded.

"Okay, we'll go take a look." Duke sheathed his knife and glanced at the others. "Jackson, you and Colby stay here and keep an eye on things. And keep your paws off the food—hear?"

"Gotcha," Jackson said. Colby, mobile but still hunched over from my kick, nodded weakly.

Willy caught Duke's eye, glanced meaningfully in my direction. "Why bother with guards?"

" 'Cause if she's lying we want him in good shape, so we can take him apart for her," he said calmly. "Let's get started."

They left. Jackson and Colby hung around a little longer, until the sounds of conversation from the others faded into the distance, and then went into the living room where they'd be more comfortable. The swinging door closed behind them and we were alone.

I looked at Heather, wishing I had something encouraging to say. "Did they hurt you?" I whispered instead.

"No." She paused. "They're going to kill us, aren't they?"

There was no point in lying to her. "Probably. I blew it, Heather." The words made my throat ache.