Eric Flint - Time spike

Don't ask me how contract hit men go about their business. I never even had to clean up after one. I did get plenty of shootings and knifings, but they were just hothead stuff." "Just wait," Boyne hissed. "Won't be that long. Kidd's probably set already. He's just waiting to give you two a chance to get here." About a minute later, it all broke loose. James didn't even see Kidd coming out of the darkness until he'd already shot the first Spaniard. The first thing he saw were the gun-flashes. The gunshots didn't sound like much, really. Bang-bang and one Spaniard went down, gushing blood from his neck. James was sure he never saw the man who'd killed him. Bang-bang.

Another Spaniard down. Some of the blood spouting from his neck went into the fire and started hissing. Bang-bang. Another down. The same neck wound. James was a little surprised. He'd thought Kidd would go for head shots. The men still had their body armor on but they'd taken off their helmets. Bang-bang. Another down. This was the first man who'd started reacting before he got shot. The other three had been killed so quickly that James didn't think they'd had any real idea that they were in danger, beyond-starting with the second man-a completely unconscious rush of adrenaline. But even the fourth man hadn't managed to do more than start getting one leg under him. The fifth man had good reflexes. Instead of trying to get up like the other one had, he just grabbed his gun and flung himself to the side.

Bang-bang. The man screeched and clawed his leg-but still didn't let go of the gun. "Well, fuck you too!" Kidd snarled. Bang-bang. And that was that. The last man was on his feet, bringing up that big clumsy rifle. No, it was probably a musket. Kidd moved quickly, circling to the man's right, making it awkward to bring the musket around. James was expecting the same double-tap, but Kidd shot the man in the leg instead. Right about mid-thigh. That was enough to stagger him, even if he somehow managed to stay on his feet. But he dropped the gun.

Kidd almost shot him, then. It would have been an easy kill, given his deadly marksmanship with a pistol. The Spaniard wasn't more than fifteen feet away. James could see Geoffrey struggling with his training and instincts. But, after maybe a second, he lowered the pistol a little, strode up, and sent the man sailing onto his back with a tremendous cross-step sidekick. "Come on down and cut his throat, guys!" he yelled. "I only got but two rounds left. That one bastard made me miss. Worthless motherfucker." James was still trying to figure out if they wanted to keep the Spaniard alive for questioning when Elroy made it all a moot point. He'd gotten so used to the Boomers that he sometimes forgot just what a murderous crew they could be. The first thing he did when he got down to the clearing was go over to the children. They watched him coming, wide-eyed and obviously petrified. He made what he hoped were reassuring gestures and sounds-that's all his words would be to the kids; just sounds-and started untying them. The knots weren't too hard to get undone, fortunately. He hadn't wanted to pull out his shank to just cut the ropes, figuring that would terrify the poor kids even more. After he untied them, he rose and stepped back. They stared up at him, still wide-eyed and still saying nothing. Suddenly, as if they had a single mind, the three kids lunged to their feet and raced into the woods.

"Oh, hell!" James exclaimed. He was an idiot. He should have realized the kids would be as scared of the Boomers as they were of the Spaniards. They obviously belonged to some sort of primitive Indian tribe. The boy, not more than eight years old, already had decorative tattoos on his face. Not many-nothing compared to the tattoos that had adorned the corpse of his father. But not even lifers in a maximum security prison tattooed their faces that way. The older girl had had a small tattoo also, on her chin. God only knew what they made of the firearms. Geoffrey's murderous gunplay must have seemed like black magic to them. Boyne came up. "Do we go after 'em, boss? Maybe we oughta. They won't last long in the woods, just by themselves. Not with dinosaurs and who-all knows what else roaming around out there."

James hesitated. That had been his immediate inclination also. But the children would just think they were being pursued, and would race still further into the woods. "No. That'd backfire, I think. Let's just make camp here, and hope the kids will come back eventually."

By the time the Boomers got Elaine there, on her litter, James had been able to move the bodies to one side of the clearing. But that was about it. He didn't know what to do with the corpses, though. Digging a mass grave would be a lot of work for people who were already tired from a long day's march. Even if they had shovels, which they didn't.

Gathering enough wood for a big funeral pyre wouldn't be much less work. They didn't have axes. Those weird-looking half-spear/half-axe things of the Spaniards didn't really look like they'd serve too well for the purpose. They were obviously designed to chop flesh, not wood.

When her litter was set down, Elaine stared at the small pile of corpses. Then, stared up at James. "Did you…?" "Well, no. Not exactly." Kidd came up, grinning. At least, "grinning" was the technically correct expression. Personally, James thought that grin would send a great white shark racing for deep waters. "I shot 'em,"

Kidd explained. "It's what I do, girl. Well. Did, anyway. But it's like riding a bicycle. Once you learn, you never forget." Amazingly, the grin widened. By now, the great white would be looking for an underwater cave to get away from the monster. Elaine might have swallowed. It was hard to tell, in the dim and flickering light throw out by the campfire. But all she said was, "Yeah. I guess." Geoffrey turned to James. "Me and John found a decent sized creek just a little ways off. Probably why they made camp here." "Good. We need water."

Boyne came up in time to hear that. His grin wasn't much better than Kidd's. "Better get what we need now, then. Pretty soon, that creek's gonna be where these bastards sleep with the fishes. You won't want to be drinking from it after that, I guarantee you." "Huh?" "Think about it, boss. With all the damn critters running around, we can't just leave the bodies here. And there ain't no way we're digging a big grave. We got no shovels. Come morning, there's likely to be some huge dinosaur chomping on 'em-and not being any too particular whether what he chomps is dead or alive." "It's a big creek," Kidd chimed in. "Not big enough to carry the bodies downstream, but at one spot nearby there's a good sized pool in it. We weight the bodies down with some rocks-we can use the same rope they used to tie up the kids-and they should all wind up sinking below the surface. Maybe not more than a few inches, but we'll be gone soon enough that shouldn't be a problem." It was a grisly proposal, but it seemed the most practical.

And it wasn't as if James had any sentimental attitude about the corpses. Those men had been as vicious as they come. Serve them right to wind up as fish food. James looked over at the corpses. "Okay, fine. But I want to save the rope, if we can. Rope's likely to be useful. I think we can just loosen that body armor they're wearing, stuff some rocks in, snug 'em back up, and that'll be enough." "We don't want the armor?" asked Boyne. "Boss, that's a lot of steel. We could make stuff out of it." "With what?" demanded Kidd. "We ain't got no tools that'll work metal." He shook his head. "Fuck the armor, John. We can't do anything with it and just the way it is, as armor, you saw how much good it did them. I got some great big dinosaur chasing me, the last thing I need is to be hauling around thirty-forty-fifty pounds of steel on my body. I bet I can dodge a dinosaur, if I have to-but not wearing that crap." James was doubtful that dodging dinosaurs was all that easy. But Geoffrey did have a point. It wasn't likely any dinosaur's jaws would be slowed down all that much by the armor. Whatever it was called. He thought the term might be "cuirass," but he wasn't sure. "Okay, let's do it. As far as the steel goes, John, if that creek's not big enough to carry bodies downstream, it sure as hell won't be carrying any steel armor either.