a felled tree, the limb sticking from him, still afire, its blaze suddenly sparked, it seemed, by the fuel of the man's blood. Lucas instantly tore the crossbow and arrow pouch from Dalton's lifeless, staring body, half expecting to be fired on from the other three killers. But from the darkness came only a terrified deer, suddenly skittering away like a graceful, saving angel.
Lucas raced back up along the creek, placing some distance between himself and his remaining pursuers, entertaining some thought at taking their horses. But with the lightning strike, it was doubtful the horses would have remained, most likely having returned to their stable by now. Once he located a safe place to catch his breath, Lucas saw that Dalton had only two arrows left in his pouch. In the distance now, he heard Tim Bullock cursing the sky over Dalton's body, shouting, “Stonecoat! Stonecoat! You bastard! I'm coming for you!”
Lucas, his bad shoulder throbbing now, fought with the stringing of the crossbow to ready his first deadly arrow for flight, realizing the math was all wrong-two arrows to fell three assassins who believed vehemently in their cause. The one-handed struggle with the bow was extremely difficult, taking precious time, but finally he managed to get the weapon prepared.
He lay on his back now among some boulders and overhanging trees. He didn't see Sterling Washburn or hear her approach; it was as if she'd been there all along, waiting for him, knowing he'd select this exact spot to nestle down into to hide and regain his strength. It was obvious she had not been with the other two, who had gone south, further along the river, hunting for Lucas in the shallows as he'd hoped they would. And now their eyes met, and his bow was down, lying across his chest, while hers was pointed, the red beam making its way to his heart.
She fired just as he lifted the slate stone beside him to cover his heart, knowing that she and the others always aimed for “the demon's heart.” The powerfully strung bow sent the steel shaft into the stone with incredible force, shattering it into two separate pieces and piercing Stonecoat's chest over the heart. It failed to penetrate beyond a centimeter, however.
Dr. Sterling Washburn believed him dead, and this belief made her hesitate a moment before starting to restring.
Lucas quickly brought up his bow and fired without using the laser attachment, sending an arrow in the blink of an eye into Sterling Washburn's own breast, the powerful shaft pinning her to a tree where she writhed in pain, her screams rivaling the banshee winds and the thunder overhead.
She was still flailing like a pinned butterfly against the stunted Texas box elder when Lucas got to his feet and found another location in which to hide. He fully expected Andrew Bryce or Tim Bullock to come running to the horrid sound of pain and anguish sent up to the heavens from Dr. Sterling Washburn's rain-soaked throat.
“White bitch,” Lucas said to allay any feelings of sympathy for the mass murderess. He couldn't waste another arrow on her, and he dared not linger to attempt gathering any additional arrows from her.
Lucas climbed to a higher vantage point, awaiting Bullock and Bryce.
Randy looked up to see Meredyth's rain-slicked apparition ahead of him, somewhat shielded by the rising, breathing ground fog which owed its life to the grueling heat that had baked the land all day long. Where the rain soaked the ground in meadows here, large steaming clouds were created to shroud the night's grim work.
They had heard the booming, earthshaking lightning strike followed by the sudden quaking, god-awful cry of a dying man, worse than any lightning or bobcat, Randy thought.
Meredyth ran back to Randy, their eyes meeting, both wondering the same thing. Was Lucas Stonecoat dead?
“We've got to turn around, make for the road,” Randy insisted, when suddenly several horses trotted, confused and frightened, into view.
“We've got to get those horses,” she told him.
“I've had some experience with horses,” he told her. “Approach them carefully, gently, hand out and talk baby talk to them. They'll respond if they're not too frightened.”
Each went for a different horse, and Meredyth did as Randy had suggested, but when she got within reach and snatched for the horse's reins, he bolted and ran, a second one following him.
Randy walked back with a horse in tow. She instantly refused to mount up, as he suggested.
“You go, Randy, turn back and get help. Get to the ranch house; find a phone. I'm going on.”
“I can't leave you here.”
“If you want to help, get to a phone.”
Another horse showed itself, pitched its way down an embankment to them as if on cue, and began nuzzling the already captured horse. Meredyth took this one's reins and carefully, easily climbed up into the saddle.
Randy held her hands in his across the gap between them. “Are you coming back with me?”
“No, I'm going on. Look.” On the other side of the horse, stashed into a sheath below the saddle, there was a rifle. “I'm going to do what I can for Lucas. Now, go! Get to the house and get a call out to 911, Phil Lawrence, and anyone else you can think of.”
“Are you sure, Meredyth?”
“Yes, now go… go!”
“All right,” he relented, kicking at the sides of the animal he rode, going due east in the direction of the ranch house. In the distance, he could see faint light.
Meredyth pushed on alone, praying against all odds that Lucas had killed one of them rather than that he had been killed. The runaway horse was, she believed, a good sign. She snatched out the rifle and held it up, checking out its balance and sight and determining if it was loaded. She tried to recall all that Lucas had taught her about firing a weapon.
She moved on cautiously but quickly, telling her horse repeatedly to giddap.
She realized how deep her feelings for Lucas had run; she realized that he was, in fact, the best friend she had ever known, and that he had sacrificed everything for her.
Lucas struggled to locate another safe haven in which to await his quarry with the patience of a turtle, knowing that his enemy would come. But he also knew that he had only one arrow left. If Bullock and Andrew Bryce came together, he stood no chance.
He waited. His shoulder throbbed, his leg burned, and he was exhausted, but he tried desperately to remain alert. In a moment, he heard them coming.
They were together. They had seen wjiat devastation Lucas Stonecoat could wreak, and they wisely remained in sight of one another. Lucas heard their whispers as they approached, but could not tell from which direction they came. Overhead? To his right? Left? Front? Back? It was impossible to tell in this rocky area where echoes bounced like stones ricocheting.
Lucas heard no one now, the voices falling silent, but he sensed that his two would-be executioners were extremely close, certainly within range of the deadly weapons they carried.
Lucas saw no one, heard not so much as dust flake from the rocks when an arrow burned through his side, cutting a wide, angry swath through his flesh and pinging on the rock surface he lay against, making him yelp in pain.
“I got the bastard!” It was Bullock's voice.
Lucas fired where he saw the shadowy figure raise a victory sign by lifting his bow over his head. Lucas's arrow was a shock to Bullock, who didn't quite believe it was sticking from his stomach and out his back. He dropped his bow and grabbed on to the arrow shaft in his abdomen, holding on to it as if it were the handle for a ride. This, moments before he toppled over backwards and some forty feet into the dry riverbed behind him.
Lucas had no more arrows now, and he was bleeding badly from the new wound to his side, his shoulder stitches and his leg. He feared moving and he feared staying. He didn't know where Bryce was, and he didn't know if an attempt to move now would be met with another arrow.
There was only silence.
Bryce was the only one left, but Lucas had lost. He was empty-handed, wounded, unable to defend himself. Lucas tried to soothe his frustration and anger with the knowledge that Meredyth and Randy had had time to get free, and that he had killed the lot of them, save Bryce.
“End of the road, red man!” shouted Bryce, whose eyes and red laser were directly covering Lucas where he lay in shadow among the rocks.
Lucas gulped for air, feeling the blackness and weakness overtaking him, feeling a blackout coming on, grateful that he would not feel the arrow sting, when suddenly a gunshot exploded from somewhere in his
