Ryan wrapped the stiff cloth around it like a shroud.
'Keep him for a'whiles,' muttered Finn. 'Way from the fuckers.'
As Finnegan gently put the body into the grave, Lori began to sing.
'I once was lost; but now am found...'
All of them stood around. J.B. had looked at Ryan meaningfully when Finn took the dead man's blaster and wrapped it with him, ready for the grave. Standing orders from the Trader had always been that a dead man's possessions, especially weapons, should be shared among the survivors. Ryan shook his head at the Armorer. Times had changed. They all had blasters. There was no point in burdening themselves with another.
Besides, he figured that Finnegan would have tried to chill anyone who aimed to stop him.
'...was blind, but now I see...'
Doc mouthed the words along with the girl. But none of the others had ever heard the tune before.
The rain came in gray sheets, dripping from the ghostly veils of Spanish moss. Small pools of water glistened in the folds of the canvas shroud, reflecting the somber sky. The wind had fallen to a gentle breeze. With full darkness still an hour or more away, Ryan was becoming concerned that they might be vulnerable to a sneak ambush from the locals.
'Want to say a few words, Finn?' he asked.
'I don't fucking know any words. Someone else best do it.' He looked around the circle.
Ryan did it, knowing it was his job. It wasn't for anyone else, once Finn had refused. That was the way of it. First the closest comrade, then the leader.
That was the way.
'This is Hennings, on his last ride. Hennings... I don't even know his other name Ч Finn?'
'Arnold,' muttered the fat man.
'Arnold? You certain?'
'Yeah.'
Ryan wiped a bead of rain from his nose. More water had run behind the patch on his left eye, and he lifted it, allowing the cold liquid to trickle down the unshaven cheek.
'Henn was a good blaster. Never run from you. Always stand at your shoulder in a firefight. There aren't many men you can say you trusted with your life. Henn was one of them. Now he's gone and we'll all miss him. Times we'll talk of him, around a good fire.' He stopped, looking at the others. 'That's all I got. Anyone else?'
Finn nodded. 'Yeah. Just ride easy, Henn. I'll see you over the next hill.'
The slopping chunks of wet earth fell on the tarpaulin with a flat, final sound. Each of them took a turn, with Finnegan snatching the shovel and filling in the rest of the dirt and flattening it as best he could.
'We got a marker?' he asked. 'Can't just walk away from Henn and fucking leave him here like a dog.'
'It's best, Finn.'
'How come, Ryan?'
'Put a marker, and they'll find it. Dig him up. Do... do fireblast knows what to him. That's not right. Few days, and the grass'll cover him snug and safe.'
Finnegan nodded his agreement.
And so they left Hennings, sleeping alone and undisturbed among the trees.
Although the swampwag was equipped with headlights, Ryan figured it would be suicide to drive after dark. It would be like carrying a great sign asking folk to blast you. As soon as it got too dark to drive safely, Ryan ordered Finn to pull off the road among a grove of live oaks.
J.B. found some strips of dried fish in the buggy, and they divvied them out. Ryan appointed guards, in pairs for extra safety. A fire was too hazardous, but the night promised to be mild and humid.
Krysty sat next to Lori. 'That was a right pretty song. I think mebbe I heard old ones sing it, back in Harmony. Where did you learn it?'
The girl looked down, blushing in embarrassment. 'Back redoubt, Krysty. Quint sing when he ice someone. Every time. I hear lots time. Called 'A Mazing Grace,' I think. Seemed right sing for poor Henn.'
'Guess it was,' said Krysty.
Alone in his bed about thirty miles from where Ryan had set the camp, Baron Tourment lay in an uneasy sleep. The grotesque exoskeleton lay propped at the side of the king-size bed, once available at a special A tariff for visitors to the motel. The heavy curtains were drawn across the picture window, shutting out the last shreds of the storm's lightning.
The giant black, who often had nightmares, generally slept alone nowadays. After twice strangling bed companions in his sleep, he had agreed to forgo more deaths.
He was restless, tossing and turning, tangling the sheets about him. Once during the night he dreamed, his right hand touching and fondling himself, bringing himself to an erection of terrifying proportions. Beneath the pillows was a silver-plated pearl-handled Magnum pistol that he'd found in the loft of a big house on what had once been the exclusive side of West Lowellton. His hands reached for the heavy pistol, caressing it, stroking the cool metal.
And all the while he was asleep.
Just before dawn he began to thrash and mumble, but the words were inaudible Ч apart from the repeated muttering of, 'Strangers, strangers.'
Ryan and Krysty took the last watch of the long night. They took turns circling the swampwag at a distance of between fifty and a hundred paces. The false dawn came whispering in, with a pink glow in the east and the promise of a fine morning. Then darkness returned, followed at last by the sallow light of true dawn.
'Wake the others, lover?' she asked.
'Soon. Let 'em sleep long as they can. A jump really scrambles up your head. And losing Henn like that...'
The sentence trailed away into the stillness. The air was cool, with a faint mist hanging over the trees behind them. They heard the delicate clicking and chirping of insects, rousing for the new day, and the songs of birds to the east.
The Atchafalaya Swamp was coming to life.
Krysty laid a hand on Ryan's arm, just below the elbow. 'Why do we do this, love?'
'This?'
'Keep running. Fighting. Now... dying?'
'I figure you can live easy or hard. Easy, and you never stand up for a thing. Hard, and...'
'And what, Ryan?' Her grip tightened on his arm, making him wince at her latent power.
'Once you start with fighting and killing, Krysty, then it's killing and killing and more killing.'
'Why? When do you stop?'
'When the reason for the fighting and the killing is done and ended.'
'When will that be?'
'Maybe tomorrow. It's always going to be tomorrow. Until one day you find it's come. That's all there is.'
About a mile ahead of them, a thin column of gray smoke was curling up into the morning sky. Ryan and Krysty noticed it simultaneously.
Ryan set his boot on the ladder into the swampwag, 'Time to wake 'em,' he said.
Chapter Six
After some discussion they agreed that the safest bet was to leave the buggy behind, hidden under cover, ready in case they needed a fast-footed run from danger.
J.B. suggested that they split into groups, circle around and then meet back at the swampwag, but Ryan
