“I wish I could think of something like that.”
“And you never heard of any way of tricking those dogs?”
“Are you kidding? They couldn’t be tricked by anybody. They want to kill people. That’s all they think about. Even when they’re sort of lazing in their dog runs, the way they watch you—” She shook her head. “They’re the scariest things I’ve ever run up against, Fargo.”
Fargo was quiet for a time. She was probably right. Even if the dogs weren’t invincible, a man couldn’t outrun them. About all he could do was shoot them, which was hard to do if you didn’t have a gun.
The underground stream had been one idea. What were others? He wondered. He closed his eyes. Tried to picture the glimpse of the forest he’d gotten on his way in here.
He studied the mental picture carefully. The dock was out. So was any shoreline. And Nancy had ruled out caves as a place to hole up and avoid getting killed. If a man got lucky, he might be able to find the right kind of rock to crush a dog’s head with. The trouble with that was, even if you managed to ultimately kill the dog, the toll on the man would be considerable. Might lose an arm or a leg. He might kill the dog—and get himself killed in the process.
That left one possibility: the trees. There might be a way that you could find trees strong enough that you could cross them, one to another, at their very tops. It would take time, skill, and most of all luck. But right away you’d eliminate the danger of the dogs. And Noah and Burgade would have a hell of a time shooting you if you were up high enough and constantly moving among heavily leafed branches.
“What’re you thinking, Fargo?”
“Just running through ideas.”
“I’m glad they captured you.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m being selfish, I know. But the other men they kidnapped and brought here—you mentioned Daisy. All her brother could do was taunt Burgade, which wasn’t smart. Then he got dumb enough to try and race the dogs to the water. You’ve never seen anything uglier than what those dogs did to him.” She leaned across from her cot to his and kissed him on the mouth. “I’m sorry I said that I’m glad they captured you. I’m just glad we’ve got a man here finally who’s got some ideas.”
“Just because I’ve got the ideas doesn’t mean that they’ll work out.”
“Well, at least you’re not thinking of racing the dogs to the water.”
He frowned. “Poor bastard. He must’ve been pretty desperate.”
“He was more worried about his sister than he was himself. I’ll say that for him. That’s why he had to get off the island he told us—to save his sister before they found her and killed her.”
The new picture in his mind was the face of Ekert. The Trailsman owed Ekert a death—his own. And the same for Noah. How degenerate, how jaded, how perverted could you get—hunting your own species as sport. You didn’t even have the excuse of war. You were just having a good time. He owed Noah Tillman a death, too—and he was damned well going to pay off.
“I’m going to get a little more shut-eye,” he said. “Maybe by then they’ll be back and it’ll be our turn.”
“Maybe we can get Burgade’s rifle from him and blow his ugly face off.”
Fargo grinned. “You’re my kind of woman.”
They left late in the afternoon, Burgade, the dogs, and Nancy and Fargo. Burgade had given Nancy the key and she’d unshackled both herself and the Trailsman.
It was funny how serene the place was, Fargo thought, when you looked straight ahead and forgot about the rifle and dogs at your back. Most of the island was land that was untouched by white men. No timber had been chopped. No trenches dug. No shanties or shacks erected. Pure wild forest. And at this time of day, with the sun beginning to sink, there was a sense of completion, as if all the animals and birds were knocking off work after a hard day in the woods.
The illusion of tranquility was ended soon when Fargo heard Nancy curse. She pointed to a pile of bones just off the trail. Human bones long ago picked clean by various animals—whatever small pieces of meat the dogs had been too sated to eat themselves.
“Good old Burgade and his filthy dogs,” she said. She didn’t cringe from the sight. It obviously just reminded her all over again of how much she hated Burgade. She was a tough woman. No tears. Just rage. Fargo liked that.
Trees soared to the sky. Gnarled, clinging, tangled vegetation covered everything off the path they were traveling. The air was thick with the scents of wildflowers and mint leaves and loam. Butterflies and small birds of brilliant hues soared and dove in play. At a glance, there seemed to be a dozen places that looked like good spots to hide. But this was illusory. The dogs would find you instantly.
To the north were limestone cliffs, to the south a valley that stretched almost the entire width of the island. The valley was covered with a colorful variety of vegetation. What intrigued Fargo was how close its far perimeter was to the water. His eyes searched for trees. If you could elude the dogs by climbing a tree and then diving from a tree into the water.
But life was rarely that simple. No trees grew along this particular stretch of shoreline. You would still have the problem of trying to outrace the dogs to the water. And you’d lose.
When they reached a tiny clearing, Burgade planted his ass on a small boulder and said, “Go on ahead and look around all you want. I need to keep my strength for tonight. Noah always likes me to go along with him. I’ll send the dogs along to keep you company.”
The dogs.
Fargo wasn’t sure what cross-mixture of breeds they were exactly. They were the size of adult greyhounds but their coats were shiny black. Their eyes were a faintly ruby color. Easy to see why the sisters called them demons. Cold, silver spittle constantly dripped from their long snouts and the low rumble in their chest cavities was ceaseless. What struck Fargo most about the dogs was their lack of personality. Play had been trained out of them; and so had most other kinds of dog pleasures, including affection for humans. They were machines and nothing more, their behavior dictated by their trainer and master.
They set off without Burgade.
In the next forty-five minutes, Nancy showed him the caves she’d mentioned, the one possibility that just might be an underground stream, but wasn’t, and then a variety of places where they might lie in ambush and turn the tables on Noah and Burgade. The trouble again being the dogs. They might knock out or even kill Noah and Burgade with rocks but the animals would still be there.
He spent a third of their time near the shoreline inspecting the trees. Because the birches were so close together, they offered the fastest escape route. You could use two trees at the same time if you needed to, thereby insuring not only speed but relative safety from falling. The other trees he saw were too thick or too flimsy. What the birches lacked was the heavy leafing of some of the other trees. It wouldn’t be easy to hide at the top of them. But then, he decided, no matter which kind of tree they elected, the dogs could sniff them out, anyway. What they’d have to do was reach the top of the trees and then start climbing from tree top to tree top until they reached trees whose leaves would hide them adequately.
And then what? Fargo wondered. He hadn’t thought beyond finding a hiding place. But if they could put themselves in a place that would keep them away from the dogs, at least there’d been the hope of surviving the night. Maybe some turn of good luck, some unexpected opportunity might save them.
“You look sort of devious, Fargo,” Nancy joked.
“Just part of my personality,” he smiled. “Being devious.”
“You see any way to avoid getting killed tonight?”
“I’m working on it.”
“My sister and I always act like it never gets to us. Being on this island, I mean. We made a pact when we were kidnapped that we’d keep our spirits up. But now that I know we’re probably going to die tonight—”
He slid his arm around her. “Don’t think about it.”
“Is that how you handle it? Not being scared?”
“Who says I’m not scared? But I’m sure as hell not going to give up without a fight.”
She slid out from under his comforting arm. “There. That’s exactly what I needed. A little kick in the behind to get me going again. I’m mad—I’d like to tear Burgade apart with my hands—and I plan to stay mad.” She made fists, serious ones. Fargo had no doubt that she could throw a solid punch. “Now, tell me what’s going on in that
