Wild Cards: Death Draws Five (25 page)

His lips worked frantically but no sounds, other than a wheezing grunt, came from his mouth. Ray was winding up for another blow and all Jerry could do was shake his head feebly, his eyes wide and horrified as it descended like a thunderbolt.

Somehow, at the last instant, Ray pulled it. Most of it, anyway. It still rocked Jerry’s mid-section and he felt like puking. He held on grimly, because he knew that the last thing he wanted to do was throw up all over Billy Ray. It might, in fact, be the last thing he would ever do.

“What’s the matter, Dagon,” Ray sneered. “Can’t take it all of a sudden?”

Somehow Jerry sucked air into his laboring lungs. “Nuh-nuh Dag’n,” he wheezed.

Ray looked at him skeptically.

“Jer-jer-ry.”

Ray frowned.

Shit, Jerry thought. All those identities, all those names were really catching up to him. For a moment he couldn’t remember the name that Ray knew him by. It had blown out of his brain like the air from his lungs. He forced another shuddering breath down his trachea. It hurt like Hell. “Cray-ton,” he managed to gasp.

Ray’s eyebrows went up. “Creighton? The kid’s bodyguard?”

Jerry nodded weakly.

“Jesus, man,” Ray said, “it is you. That’s how you managed to get away with the kid. By mimicking Dagon.”

Jerry nodded again, relief in his eyes.

“Hey, man, I’m sorry.”

“All right,” Jerry wheezed. “Breath coming back. Can stand now.”

Ray let him go and he stood bent over, his hands on his knees. Sounds of commotion came to them from the cabin.

“What’s going on?”

“Cabin attacked by Dagon’s men,” Jerry said. “Our men trying to hold them off.”

“Where’s the boy?” Ray asked.

“I was going to him.”

“All right,” Ray said. “I’ll go help them hold off Dagon’s goons. Dagon himself is back, too, by the way. I saw him run off a few minutes ago. You vanish into the woods with the boy. We’ll find you, eventually.”

Jerry nodded.

“Can you walk?”

Jerry nodded again, and took a step, gingerly.

“All right,” Ray said. “Good luck.”

Jerry waved back as Ray ran toward the sounds of conflict. All right, Jerry thought. All right. All I have to do is walk. And breathe.

The first few steps were agony, but his breath soon came back and all he had to deal with was the rolling waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him with every step. Somehow he fought it down and made his way to the guest cabin where it was still and dark.

He entered quietly and went to John Fortune’s bunk. There was no need to turn on a light, because the kid’s face, arms, and hands were glowing softly like a beacon in the night as he slept fitfully.

John Fortune had had a quiet day, only getting up once to eat. Jerry didn’t want him to leave the cabin, and he was glad when the kid didn’t argue. It wasn’t surprising that he was feeling a little down after his long ordeal. He was also running a temperature. Maybe he’d picked something up in the Hellhole they’d imprisoned him in, but all in all he was in pretty good shape. He just needed a little rest. Which he wasn’t going to get tonight.

Jerry checked around the cabin before waking him, finding a hooded sweatshirt for him to wear. It would be a little warm on a night like this, but he didn’t want the kid shining like a lighthouse, revealing their presence to the world.

He shook John Fortune gently by the shoulder. The kid woke up immediately and only grumbled a little when Jerry told him that they had to get going.

“I don’t know how they found us so fast,” Jerry said, “but they did. Maybe they have some precogs or telepaths or whatever working for them. At any rate, we gotta move.”

“Where are we going?” the kid asked sleepily, putting on his jeans and his shoes and pulling the sweatshirt on over his head as Jerry directed.

“For now, the woods.”

“The woods?” He put the hood up over his head and drew the drawstrings tight, leaving only a bit of his face showing. It still glowed a little, but it was the best they could do. Jerry wished that he had a mask handy.

“It’s our best bet. If we’re lucky, Dagon’s men will never find us.”

“I hope someone will,” John Fortune muttered as they exited the cabin and plunged into the trees behind it.

“Don’t worry,” Jerry said with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel. “It’s not like we’re headed off into the Amazon, or anything. I mean, we’re only about an hour, hour and a half north of the city.”

He glanced back as the trees closed among them, hoping to God that they were doing the right thing.

♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

Memphis

The Angel sat in an uncomfortable chair in the Memphis airport. Soon it would close down around her and she would have to leave, find a hotel for the night, and come back in the morning.

It had not been a good day. Her flight had been diverted to Memphis due to engine trouble. By the time they’d realized that they weren’t going to be able to fix it and get the plane back in the air, it was night.

Their plane had been full, and hundreds of passengers scrambled to get the few available seats on the flights headed east. If Ray had been with her, he could have conceivably used his Secret Service pull and gotten them one of the coveted seats. As it was, she just had to wait and take her turn as it came up.

She prayed it would come soon.

♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

New Hampton: The Woods

It was dark in the forest. Damn dark. The ground was uneven. Half-buried rocks lurked everywhere. Bushes and shrubs and fallen trees all clutched at their ankles and tripped up their feet. And there were mysterious sounds. Jerry had no idea what was making them. He didn’t think there were bears or wildcats in these woods, but he wasn’t sure. But men with guns were chasing him and John Fortune, and he was unarmed. In retrospect, Jerry thought, perhaps it would have been wiser to take the gun Pann had offered him. But he wasn’t the greatest marksman in the world. Probably not good enough to stand up to Dagon and his men. Running had been the wise course, the only proper action to take. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best he could come up with.

“You all right, John?”

“Uh-huh.”

The kid looked at him. Jerry couldn’t see much in the moonless night, but he could discern a glimmer of excitement on the boy’s features. To him, this was an adventure, exhilaration intruding upon what had been an otherwise terribly sheltered life. Jerry could understand that. But long experience had taught him that things that started out exciting sometimes ended in disaster, even for the good guys.

“Jerry, what happened in Vegas, anyway? How’s my Mom?”

They hadn’t had a chance to talk over the events of the previous days. Now was as good a time as any, but Jerry didn’t get into details. Actually, he didn’t know Peregrine’s fate anyway. He didn’t want to lie to the kid, but neither did he want to depress him unnecessarily.

“So, my Mom’s all right, then?” John Fortune asked after Jerry told him a sanitized version of the battle at the Mirage, and how he had eventually rescued him from St. Dympna’s.

“Maybe—watch out!”

He grabbed John Fortune’s arm, steadying him, before he could trip over the fallen tree that blocked their path. They weren’t following an actual trail. They were just wandering aimlessly through trees. While that tactic might throw off pursuit for the moment, Jerry knew that it wasn’t a feasible long-term strategy. He didn’t know what kind of technology Dagon might have access to. Night scopes. Heat detection devices. If Dagon had anything high tech with him, or maybe some kind of ace, they were sunk. He could only hope that the attackers hadn’t planned on a night hunt through thick forest.

“A road!” Jerry exclaimed as they stumbled out of the trees and onto a dirt path. “Thank God!”

“It’s not much of a road,” John Fortune said.

And it wasn’t. It was a simple dirt lane leading deeper into the woods.

“But it’s all we’ve got,” Jerry said, “and it’s got to lead somewhere.”

“I’m kind of hot in this sweatshirt,” the kid said.

“All the more reason to hurry. The sooner we get on down the road the sooner we find someplace we can relax. But you’ve got to leave that hood up for now, and keep your hands in your pockets. Otherwise you’ll betray our position by glowing like a king-sized firefly.”

“I understand,” John Fortune said, “but I can sure use something to drink.”

They went down the trail. It curved in lazy swathes through the forest, but it was smoothly surfaced gravel, without potholes or ruts, well-maintained, and nice and level. At least they didn’t have to worry about tripping over unseen branches anymore.

“Hey!” John Fortune said. “A light.”

Jerry nodded. He had spotted it himself. It was dim, rather diffuse. As they walked up the curved road they could see that it looked like a flashlight, or something of that relative size and power, sitting on the ground. It cast its light upon a wooden sign standing before an even smaller dirt lane, perhaps a driveway, diverging from the road. As they approached Jerry could see the figure of a small garden gnome leaning against the sign, as if he were guarding the turn-off.

Jerry looked up at the sign. The small floodlight only illuminated part of it.

“Nursery...” Jerry read aloud. He and John Fortune looked at each other.

“Some kind of garden store?” the kid asked.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe they have a telephone. We can call for help.”

“Maybe.”

“What are you folks doing out in the woods so late at night?” a tiny voice asked.

Jerry felt his heart surge up into his mouth. He grabbed John Fortune by the arm and yanked him backward, stepping in front of him. Jerry looked frantically in all directions.

“Hey!” John Fortune said, peering around him. “It’s the garden gnome. It speaks.”

“Of course I speak,” the gnome said. “Why the Hell not?”

Jerry looked down at him. What he had thought was a two-foot high statue was a little man... or something resembling such. He had a fat, jolly face and a white, pointed chin beard, and wore garden-gnome type clothing.

“Cool,” John Fortune said. “Do you live here?”

“Sure do,” the gnome said. “I keep on eye on the place at night. You folks in trouble or something? I heard some gunshots earlier, but that’s not too unusual around here. At least in hunting season, which this ain’t.”

“Uh—” Jerry began.

“You bet,” John Fortune said. “Kidnappers are after me. They have guns, but we don’t.”

“Kidnappers!” the gnome exclaimed.

“Uh—” Jerry said.

“Yep. I’m John Fortune. I just became an ace. My Mom’s Peregrine, the ace. You know, she has a TV show, Peregrine’s Perch, but she and my Dad also make movies.”

“I guess you do need help,” the gnome said. He pressed a button on the floodlight control panel, then shut off the light.

Jerry felt as if he were drowning in darkness. “What’d you do that for?”

“No sense lighting up our location if guys with guns are looking for you.”

“Good idea,” John Fortune said. “Are you going to help us?”

“Sit tight,” the gnome advised. “I rang for the boss. He’ll be here in a minute.”

“The boss—” Jerry began.

“He owns this land,” the gnome said, waving airily about. “And he don’t allow no hunting. Not even of kids.”

They stood silent for what seemed a minute. Maybe two. “Where is he?” Jerry asked, getting impatient.

“Right here,” a low, deep voice said, not six feet from Jerry’s side. A light suddenly flashed in his eyes, strong enough to almost blind him. He automatically threw up a hand and turned his head aside. The light went from Jerry’s face to John Fortune’s, who let out a plaintive, “Hey,” and blinked.

“Say,” said the garden gnome, “you’re not the boss.”

The man with the flashlight looked down, surprised. “Shut up,” he said when he saw who had spoken, “before I stomp you flat.”

No doubt about it now, Jerry thought. Dagon’s men had found them, damn it. Again. They were infuriatingly competent. There were actually two of them this time. The man with the flashlight and a silent companion.

“You won’t be talking so big in a minute or two, fella,” the gnome said.

“I said, shut up.” The man raised a hand canon with a gigantic bore, spotlighting the blinking gnome with his flashlight.

“Hey—” Jerry said. He knew the man was going to shoot. Even a glancing hit would tear the gnome to pieces.

From nowhere there was a sound in the night as if the mother of all mosquitoes buzzed past them. The tough guy with the pistol grunted, like someone punched him in the gut. He swayed on his feet, staring at the aluminum arrow shaft planted directly in the center of his chest.

“Jesus Christ,” his companion said.

The man with the flashlight looked at him. Jerry could see that the arrow had gone nearly all the way through his body. Half a foot protruded from his back and blood dripped off the razor-tipped four-bladed head.