tied the cord in a secure knot beside one of the eyelets. “And there we have it,” I said, taking the barrels and snapping them apart to take up any slack I’d left in the cord. “One improvised but very serviceable nunchaku combat flail.”
“I’ll be damned,” Losutu said, sounding like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or appalled. “Do the Spiders know about this?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “Don’t care, either. McMicking? You or me?”
“Me,” he said firmly, taking the nunchaku from my hand and giving it an experimental swing. The swing turned into a bewildering and convoluted routine that ended up with one barrel in his hand and the other tucked securely under his arm. “This should work just fine,” he said, giving Losutu a tight smile. “You see, Director? Sometimes you
Losutu didn’t reply. “Then I’m driving,” I said, pulling out the stretcher’s leash control. “Let’s go.”
The hallway was still deserted as we made our way aft, as was the first-class coach car behind it. As I maneuvered the stretcher along the twisted aisle created by the rearranged chairs, Bayta and Losutu collected the cards and other flammables that had been left behind and added them to the pile on the stretcher, dousing everything with the remnants of the various alcoholic drinks. Passing through the vestibule, we entered the bar end of the dining car.
And found ourselves in a scene straight out of the Reign of Terror. In three different places around the room well-dressed Juriani, Halkas, Bellidos, and Cimmaheem stood in tight knots, silently and methodically attacking the dented spheres and broken legs of the Spiders in the centers of their circles, beating them with fists and chairs and tables and anything else they could find.
Beside me, I heard a strange gurgling sound from Bayta, and sensed her start to totter. Grabbing her arm, I pulled her close to me and kept moving.
We’d gotten perhaps four paces into the room when someone noticed us, and the whole crowd stopped what they were doing and turned in our direction. I braced myself, but the Modhri apparently had more important things on his mind right now. Again in perfect unison the walkers turned back and resumed their attacks on the Spiders.
“What are they doing?” Losutu muttered from beside me. “Don’t they realize who we are?”
“Of course they do,” I muttered back. “Group mind, remember? What one walker sees, the whole Modhri sees. He just figures that whatever we’re doing, we’re dead anyway.” I nodded toward the bar. “You and McMicking— go.”
Losutu hesitated, reluctantly detached himself from Bayta and me, and followed McMicking to the bar, the two of them slipping through the opening and disappearing into the storage room beyond. I kept an eye on the three lynch mobs, watching for any sign of trouble and trying not to think too hard about what they were doing. It was clear that these particular Spiders, at least, were already goners, and that there wasn’t anything we could do to help them. But that didn’t make it any easier to watch.
Two minutes later McMicking and Losutu reappeared, their arms laden with bottles of
The same spectacle was taking place there, except that the mobs in that half of the car seemed to be mostly second-class passengers. The Modhri had apparently promoted them to first-class for the occasion. “Anybody know how many cars there are in this train?” I asked as we reached the far end and opened the door.
“There are eleven total in front of the first baggage car,” McMicking said. “Three down; eight to go.”
I nodded as we all crowded into the vestibule. “Let’s just hope the Modhri keeps thinking we’re not worth bothering with. Hold it here a second,” I added as the dining room door closed behind McMicking. “Dump the rest of these bottles on top of the stretcher.”
“This isn’t going to buy us anything, you know,” Losutu warned as we began opening the flambe bottles we were carrying and dumping the contents onto the stretcher. “Doing it in here, I mean. They’re bound to smell it as we go past.”
“Probably,” I agreed, hunching down to loosen the stoppers in the bottles we’d racked on the bottom so that they would be ready when we needed them. “But it’s better than letting the Modhri watch us while we do it. Every few steps we can buy for ourselves are worth it.”
“That should be enough,” McMicking said, emptying one final bottle over the stretcher. “Better get going before he misses us. And here,” he added, pressing an igniter into my hand. “This’ll have a longer reach than your lighter.”
The next car back was a second-class coach. There were a few people sitting around, mostly panting or nursing arms and legs where flailing Spider legs had apparently caught them, but there weren’t nearly enough to account for the entire passenger list. Some of the missing were probably the ones we’d just seen in the dining car, with the rest presumably gone somewhere aft. Draped across the seats, I also saw the battered remains of four more Spiders.
Fortunately, this bunch didn’t look like they could stop us even if the Modhri had wanted them to. None of them made any kind of move as we worked our way through to the rear of the car. Unlike the previous groups, though, they watched us closely as we passed through their midst. Whether or not the Modhri had decided we were a threat, he was definitely starting to get curious. Bracing myself, I led the way into and through the vestibule.
The next car was much like the one preceding it, with only the injured and those too tired to fight still present. There were definitely more of them, though, along with the crumpled remains of six Spiders. I wondered how many were left, decided it was a mostly moot point. Bayta was still twitching occasionally, so apparently they weren’t all gone yet.
We were midway through the next car when our luck finally ran out.
I’d noticed the difference the instant we’d stepped through the door. Before, the walkers had either merely given us a cursory glance and returned to their other activities or watched us more closely without showing any interest in taking action. Here, in contrast, we were the center of attention as soon as the stretcher cleared the vestibule.
And unlike the previous two cars, this one wasn’t populated only by the injured and the stragglers. The majority looked like they’d been through the wars, but were just as clearly ready for round two.
Bayta noticed it, too. “Frank?” she murmured tautly.
“Just keep walking,” I murmured back. “McMicking?”
“I’m on it,” he said, brushing past Losutu and me to take point. “You said this group mind thing sees everything everybody else sees. Does he feel what they all feel, too?”
“I think so,” Bayta said.
“Good,” McMicking said grimly. “Let’s see how much he likes pain.”
Second-class seats weren’t quite as mobile as those in first class, but they were maneuverable enough that the walkers had been able to clear a large area in the center of the car. I expected the Modhri to make his move when we reached that open area, and I wasn’t disappointed. The stretcher had just rolled past the last row of seats when a group of ten Juriani and Halkas got up and strolled almost leisurely to form a line blocking our path. Some of them carried bits of table or chair from the dining cars, while others had shiny metal rods that had probably once been parts of Spider legs. Others, mostly the bigger ones, seemed to have only their fists. I glanced over my shoulder, saw a similar group moving up behind Losutu to block our retreat.
“Keep going,” McMicking said, picking up his pace as he strode forward to intercept the group ahead of us. They watched him come, their faces carrying bizarrely similar looks of anticipation, and raised their makeshift weapons for the kill.
They never had a chance to use them. McMicking was two paces away when he pulled his new nunchaku out of concealment beneath his jacket and slammed it hard across the biggest Halka’s head.
The alien staggered back, and I could see a ripple of shock run through the whole group as the sharp and unexpected pain jabbed through the combined mind. McMicking didn’t give the Modhri a chance to recover, but continued whipping the nunchaku across heads and arms and ribs and legs, going first for disabling shots and second for blows that would cause the most pain.
A pair of Cimmaheem who had been sitting on the sidelines heaved themselves to their feet and started toward me. I grabbed one of the flambe bottles from the stretcher’s rack and squeezed it hard, sending the stopper and a
