18
The Margins
Dwayne and Hammond were waiting at the head of the trail as the others climbed the gully to join them. They could hear hunting horns to the north resounding through the woods.
“They’re getting their shit together,” Dwayne said. “This next part is an easier march, but it’s over open ground. From here we just stay close and make for the field area as fast as we can.”
Dwayne took command naturally, and the others followed his lead. It was habit as much as a sense of loyalty. Their old Top had seen them out of some really bad shit in the past. If it ain’t broke…
“Four of you? There’s only four of you?” Caroline said and looked around. Two men in boxer shorts, one unconscious. Two other men armed to the back teeth, but still, only two of them. “This is what my brother sent back to get me?”
“Four of the best, Celine,” Hammond said. “Let’s wait on the post-game for this, okay?”
Chaz said. “Jimbo ain’t getting any lighter.”
“You’re walking drag, Hammond,” Dwayne said and placed a hand on Caroline’s shoulder. She didn’t seem to notice as she stood returning Hammond’s glare.
“Sun’s coming up,” Chaz said. “Can we move? Now?”
The group climbed over the ridgeline and onto the grassy glacis that led up to the lip of the mesa. There was no cover except for groupings of rocks and patches of low scrubby heather and stunted trees. The sun was rising over the mesa before them, creating the pink dawn light peculiar to desert climes. They humped forward as quickly as they could. Chaz invited Caroline to dig into his backpack as they walked and retrieve a plastic bottle of Gatorade. She sipped at it as Dwayne cautioned her to.
“Take it slow,” he said. “Your stomach is empty, right?”
“Yeah,” she said. “There wasn’t really anything on the menu I cared for.”
Hammond walked backward, covering the ridgeline below them with the Minimi. Beyond the tree line, the bleats of horns sounded more frequently. Soon the skinnies would be climbing after them in force, and Hammond watched the ridge and the tree line for signs of the first scouts to come into sight. The skinnies were close but not exposing themselves. They’d developed a healthy respect for their quarry’s reach.
A long blast on a horn from the edge of the woods was answered by another ahead of them. “Shit,” Dwayne whispered. The group dropped low and, from their vantage, they could see spear points against the dawn sky visible over the waving stalks of grass, dozens of spears between them and their goal. The skinnies were moving to block the path to the mesa top.
“Contact forward!” he called back to the other two Rangers.
“We can’t stay here,” Hammond said. Still no movement from the tree line.
“And we’re running low on ammo,” Chaz said. He laid Jimbo down on the grass and trained his rifle on the growing collection of spearpoints gathering two hundred yards before them.
“And they have all the ammo they need,” Dwayne said and lifted a handful of stones to let them fall to the tumble of scree at their feet.
Hammond stood without a word and double-timed past the group for the mesa.
“Hammond!” Dwayne called out.
Hammond didn’t answer. He just trotted toward the spearpoints catching sunlight ahead. Chaz shouldered Jimbo and stood. He started after Hammond.
Dwayne helped Caroline to her feet and walked behind her as they moved over the open ground.
A collective roar went up from the mob of skinnies at first sight of their prey moving toward them through the grass. The hunt leaders blew long bleats through the horns. A thunderous blast emerged from a horn fashioned out of a tusk that had to be supported by two males. It was answered in kind by more horns in the tree line. The strangers were trapped between the two groups with nowhere to escape.
The skinnies began to pound the butts of their spears on the rocks in a ragged rhythm. They were stoking their rage. These strangers killed their chiefs, their shaman, and their witch mother. They’d roast them alive over their firepit and peel their skin away in strips as they crisped. They’d feed their guts to the dogs. Many more of the village would die, but only revenge mattered. The tall strangers would die, and the village would go on.
From their vantage point, the rank of hunters in the grass below the mesa lip could see their brothers already emerging from the shelter of the trees. They would drive the strangers forward onto the waiting spears of the growing mob waiting ahead. The children who accompanied the hunters on the climb up from the beach were already gathering rounded stones in piles. Some stood and clacked stones together over their heads in time with the pounding of the spear butts.
Dwayne turned back to see skinnies behind them, forming a wide half-ring to cut off any sideways flight. They were effectively trapped. The large force above them was cutting off retreat. A growing force below them was driving them forward. The two groups could rush simultaneously and overrun them at any moment. The skinnies had proven that they were willing to absorb punishing casualties and still keep coming on. The only chance for the Rangers was to break through the smaller force waiting ahead of them and gain the high ground of the mesa top.
Their options had shrunk to desperate flight followed, if that succeeded, by a holding action of undetermined length.
The skinnies dropped out of sight as Hammond sent a burst downrange from the Minimi. They were learning. They were laying prone and letting the fire go over them. Spearpoints moved to the right and left, a pincer move to match the one below them. The two arms would meet, and the Rangers and Caroline would be in the center of a tightening circle. The rocks would fly and then it would be hand-to-hand with any
