AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Now he's made an enemy of one," Valentine said.
"My David, you will do me the honor of hearing this oath." Ahn-Kha drew his utility knife, and taking great handfuls of his Golden Mane, began to trim it down to stubble, with a good deal of nicks and cuts in the process.
He threw his head back and made a high wailing call as he cut his hair.
"For your benefit, my David, I will translate. 'Hear me, souls of the fathers in Paradise. Before I join you, I will take my fallen brother's revenge from General Martinez.' "
"I've never wanted to do a Grog before, but I'd consider it with that one," Scheier whispered to Jarvis.
"Ouch," Jarvis said. "That's not a team change, that's a different league."
"You'll have to wait in line behind me, old horse," Valentine said, after a moment to let Ahn-Kha collect himself.
"You take my words lightly?" Ahn-Kha growled.
Valentine felt a stab. He'd never had so much as a harsh word from the gentle giant. Ahn-Kha laughed at misfortune and bore hunger and discomfort with the same equanimity as he accepted sirloins and featherbeds.
"I'm sorry, my friend. If we survive this, I'll say good-bye to Colonel Lambert and follow you right to Martinez's headquarters, if that's what you want to do. What we have to do now is find your people and see if there's anything that can be done to help them."
Ahn-Kha tweaked both of Valentine's ears and flicked his own forward. "I forget, sometimes, my David, that you are not my people. You are only human, as you humans most accurately say."
Valentine wondered if he was blushing. He'd seen mother Grogs take their offspring's ears in this manner to chide them. He tweaked Ahn-Kha's snout.
"Did we just see a moment, here?" Jarvis said.
"Kiss already!" Scheier laughed.
Valentine had been among his squared-away-and-zipped-tight KZ refugees too long. He'd forgotten how free and easy the Southern Command's men and women were, especially when out cutting bush and chewing jerky.
"My friend is right," Ahn-Kha said. "I must see to my people before indulging in matters of old wrongs, no matter how grievous. Let us not waste time in getting me to them."
"To do that, you're going to have to go into the Gray Baron's stronghold. That's where he's got them now. They're digging holes and setting up building frames."
"We keep tabs on him," Jarvis said. "The Gray Baron's forces are the toughest between here and the Rio Grande. They get plenty of practice against the Missouri Grogs, and us, now and then. He's really dangerous."
"Wish we could still say the same about Southern Command," Valentine said.
They left the rolling hills of Southern Missouri behind when they crossed the Missouri west of Columbia and cut into prairie country.
Valentine had been nervous about the crossing, but the old interstate bridge was still intact. Scheier floated an old boat chair across and explored the other side in the predawn gloom and pronounced it safe. She'd scared off a couple of Grogs by stomping around their camp, breaking twigs and making hissing noises through her teeth.
The river, at least here along the small length Valentine had seen, would be difficult to navigate. While the Mississippi still had a few channel markers in difficult areas and the odd lock and dam working, the Missouri had run totally wild. Unless they could find enough bass boats to float Ahn-Kha's people to Saint Louis, travel by river would be impossible.
The open prairie presented its own challenges. Water wasn't difficult thanks to the spring-rains had filled every brook and pond.
The land, dotted with the blues, whites, and yellows of the tiny spring blossoms, harbored its own host of dangers. To those who haven't experienced it, prairie country is flat with horizon-spanning views.
But in this stretch of Missouri, prairie grasses and brush grow head height or higher between the deep-rooted oaks, widely spaced in their competition for midsummer water. There are many paths and game trails, but there's every chance of meeting a hunting-or worse, raiding-party of Grogs.
Valentine knew enough about legworms now to prefer running into them. Their snap-crackle-popping sounds of feeding and movement carried far across flat country. Grogs on legworms could be avoided, provided care was taken.
So, in a sweaty single file, with Duvalier at the front of the column and Ahn-Kha at the rear-where he could keep an eye on the flagging Victoria Pellwell and her ratbits-they entered prairie country under brushstroke clouds.
Valentine would stop at times and observe the column as they trudged past, making up some excuse to check in with Ahn-Kha. Duvalier, steady as always and traveling light with her loose-limbed stride, a teenager's purposeless shamble that looked busy without drawing attention to itself. Bee followed in her usual spot alternately trailing or leading Valentine like a hunting dog. She wore her sawed-off shotguns in hip holsters, and had a modified Kalashnikov across her chest and a big-game rifle with an extra-long stock in her hand. She'd already brought down one deer yesterday with a single, well-placed shot through the ears and was eager for another. They wouldn't go short of meat if she had anything to say about it. Valentine gave her an encouraging lift of the chin. Bee liked being acknowledged.
Her nostrils flared and the mountain of she-Grog muscle moved on.
Then came Frat and his Wolves in their traditional leathers, camouflage ponchos thrown over their shoulders like capes. Frat seemed at ease in the prairie country, with eyes up and moving. The Wolves, burdened with carbines and communication gear and supplies, bore their loads with the familiar patience of oxen.
