Molly sat on the ground. 'I need a drink.'
'I'd settle for an explanation,' Tracy said.
'It's simple, really, if you know Fallows. He sent these two clowns to be caught.'
'Why?' Rydell asked.
'To tell us he was going north. In the meantime, he heads south.'
'I don't know. That's quite a stretch to make in logic.'
'Not really. If Fallows had wanted me dead, he would have sent a couple guys with more experience. He's got them. And he would have given them guns. He's got them too. Instead he sent a couple amateurs who he knew I'd kill, or capture and torture. You have to know one thing about Fallows, he wants to kill me himself.'
'Jesus,' Tracy said. 'All this just to shake you off his trail.'
Eric shook his head. 'That's the clever part. He knows I wouldn't fall for this. We used the same device in Nam a couple times. Rattles the nerves. He just doesn't want it to be too easy for me.'
Joseph Baldwin cleared his throat, leaned on his shovel. 'I don't know who this Fallows is, but he sounds damn dangerous. And smart as the devil.'
'Maybe smarter,' Eric said. 'Okay, everybody, grab your gear and let's go.'
'What about him?' Rydell nodded at Foxworth.
'Kill him.'
'No, Mr. Ravensmith,' Foxworth pleaded. 'I told you what I knew. It's not my fault Colonel Fallows didn't tell me the truth. I told the truth.'
Eric ignored him, spoke to Rydell. 'We don't want him warning Fallows, and we don't want him following us. So kill him. Use a knife or your bow.'
'Please! I won't follow you. And I swear I won't warn the colonel. Why should I? The son of a bitch hung me out here to die.'
Rydell stared at Foxworth. 'I-I don't think I can. Not like this.'
'Why not?' Eric said angrily. 'He killed your friend. He murdered Tag Hallahan, remember him? He's the guy you were joking with about his red hair a few hours ago. The same guy you just buried a few minutes ago. The one with two arrows sticking in his body. This guy fired one or both of them.'
'No! No, I missed,' Foxworth said. 'I couldn't shoot him like that. I missed on purpose. I swear to you.'
'I know, Eric,' Rydell said. 'And I want to do it, I want to kill him. I thought I could. But I guess I can't. Not in cold blood.'
'He's not like you yet,' Tracy said, her eyes blazing at Eric. 'He's still too human.'
'Unfortunately that's not a valuable quality against Fallows. Not if we want to get Annie and Timmy back.' He cocked his crossbow, snatched a barbed hunting bolt from his quiver, and nestled it in the groove. Then he aimed it at Foxworth's heart. 'One of your own arrows, Ariel.'
'Jesus, mister. Jesus.' Foxworth blubbered through the tears, his broken jaw slack and quivering. 'Please, I…' But his sobbing prevented his continuing.
When Tracy spoke to Eric, her voice was quiet, yet with a stainless steel edge. 'What makes you think Annie will want you the way you are now? You aren't the man she married. You're Dirk Fallows. In that way he's already killed you.'
Eric glared at her a minute. Then he spun back to face Foxworth, lifted the crossbow to his shoulder, aimed down the sight, released the safety, and pulled the trigger.
Foxworth began screaming even before the trigger was pulled, and he continued screaming once the arrow drilled through his right kneecap, boring out the back of the leg and embedding itself in the back of the calf that had been folded under him.
'I can't move it! Help me!' Foxworth whined, trying to unfold his leg, but unable to because of the barbs dug into his flesh.
Eric turned his back on all of them and marched off toward the south.
'Come on,' Tracy gestured, and they all scrambled after him.
Joseph Baldwin looked at Foxworth writhing on the ground, then at Eric and the others as they trekked grimly through the mesquite trees. He shook his head. 'That's one hard man,' he said, balancing the shovel on his shoulder as he walked back down to the cabins, whistling.
24.
'It's my fault, I know. Sorry.'
'It's nobody's fault,' Eric said. 'Forget it.'
Season sighed. 'It's this damn wound. I know it slowed us down for the past few days. Now they're even farther ahead, aren't they?'
'A couple days. Three at most.' Eric leaned back into the shade using his pack as a pillow, 'We'll catch up.' They sat around resting from their night's march. Molly was already asleep, for once not even bothering to complain about her blisters. Rydell lay next to her, his head propped on his hand while he read a sun-faded copy of Newsweek they'd found the day before in an abandoned VW bug.
Tracy was fussing over Season's wound. Two days ago Season had gotten a sudden fever, chills, nausea, and they had lost half a day's travel. Eric hadn't complained or acted sullen. He'd merely made camp and treated her symptoms, even joked with her a little. Everyone noticed the change in him. Sure, he was just as determined as ever to rescue his family, to kill Fallows. But he was also kinder, compassionate, more the way he used to be before Jennifer's murder and the kidnapping.
Eric tilted his Australian bush hat over his eyes, felt the stares of the others as they tried to figure him out. He knew he was acting differently toward them and he knew why. Tracy had been right. He had become Dirk Fallows, and in that way Fallows had already killed him. Had already won. Eric couldn't allow that. There had to be a greater purpose to survival than just… existing. Essence precedes existence. That's what Annie would tell him now, had told him several times in the past few months. 'Our survival has to stand for something, Eric,' she'd say. 'Something more than a testament to our ruthlessness and cleverness. Bugs can claim that.' They'd argued good- naturedly about it, mostly for the fun of it, he'd thought then. But now he could see how important it really was to Annie. He couldn't even remember his arguments now, or if he could, they seemed silly, cynical. Tracy had been right, he couldn't go to her now as just another version of Fallows. If he did, he didn't deserve her. That's what Big Bill Tenderwolf would have said.
He heard Tracy's voice. 'Rydell, would you cover guard duty for me while I search for the ladies' room?'
'Sure thing, Trace.'
'Take your bow,' Eric reminded her without opening his eyes.
'Got it, Coach.'
Eric dozed, his mind drifting like a curl of smoke among giant photographs. Annie in the bathtub. Timmy concentrating on a chess move. Jennifer wobbling on her skates. Then he turned a corner and the photos were more sinister. Annie screaming for help. Timmy crying.
Jennifer, her throat red and grinning, a mockery of her lifeless lips, Philip and Tag, their bodies covered with hundreds of arrows like porcupines. Fallows, floating above it all on a magic carpet, a silk turban on his head, laughing. There was one other photograph, turned at an angle away from the light. Eric strained to make out the face, but couldn't. He knew only that it was Cruz, the man who'd murdered Jenny, who'd cut her throat. He edged closer. Closer. Turned the corner.
'Eric! Come quick!'
Tracy's cries, like a sharp slap, brought him swiftly to consciousness. He was on his feet and running, the loaded crossbow in his hand, before she'd finished calling. Behind him he heard the others following. He didn't wait.
Eric's feet kicked up puffs of sand as he ran, nimbly dodging brush and rocks as he sprinted ahead. He was still twenty feet away when he saw Tracy dragging something out from behind a clump of mesquite trees. He stopped, gaped with shock.
'Holy shit,' Season said, running up behind him.
