THE TARGETED VILLAGE

THE TARGETED VILLAGE

chapter 2

I

—

L yra let out a scream. It was a terrifying moment. The force of
the impact spun the warrior woman’s body a full 360 degrees. Something shot from her chest, piercing the third man through the base of the throat and poking out again from the top of his head. Catching the short spear the man had hurled, Lyra had launched it right back. Her scream was intended to make her opponent drop his guard.

As her body spun around, it suddenly warped like a mirage. Without a word, she tumbled forward. Even the blade of the sword she attempted to use as a crutch twisted as if it were rubber.

“Die!” the man whose sword she’d batted away shouted as he dashed past the younger man operating the device. The blade he raised to strike had belonged to one of his cohorts. He was close enough that a slash would cut the woman in two—but then the man jammed on the brakes. With eyes thrown open wide, the man’s face now wore a corpselike rictus. “No . . . No, it can’t be . . . You’re—” The man’s mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish, the words that spilled from it formed by the realization of his fate.

Sheryl and the mayor turned and looked.

“—D,” the man croaked.

The young man in black took a smooth stride forward. His gait was filled with strength. However, his eyes were bloodshot, and sweat dripped to the ground from his chin. Although his foe looked like he was about to die of fright, the Hunter looked like he was about to die of an illness.

“Waste ’im, Goro!” the older man shouted to the young man, who was just as paralyzed as he was. Running over, he took cover behind the younger man’s back.

As if freed from the spell that’d bound him, the young man reached for his keyboard with his right hand. But a death bird spread its wings above him. Though he looked up in fear, the beauty of it left the young man enraptured. Even after he was split from the top of his head down through the chin, his face still wore a look akin to yearning. Falling in a bloody mist, his body had been split in two. The man behind him had also tasted D’s blade. The body that lay on the ground was pelted by a bloody rain.

Not even glancing at the other men who lay there in the stark sunlight, D went over to the young man’s corpse and used the tip of his sword to flick off the power switch.

With a thin cry of pain, Lyra returned to her normal form. Staggering, she used her sword as a crutch to get to her feet, and then surveyed her surroundings. Looking at D, she said, “Seems I’ve been rescued by an invalid.”

But the warrior woman’s eyes glowed with contempt when they focused on the mayor and his daughter, standing stock still where the stable had once been. Although they lived in a rough Frontier village, the pair had just seen a deadly battle played out that undoubtedly seemed like a waking nightmare.

“Now, I don’t want to seem like I’m complaining or anything,” Lyra said, looking down at the corpses of the first man and the youngest one, “but wouldn’t we have been better off leaving one of them alive?”

“Well, you had him right in front of you,” D said, turning his gaze to the crimson-stained young man. “But you didn’t cut him down. And it almost got you killed.”

Lyra had no response to that.

“Age has no bearing on what someone’s capable of. A fire dragon’s young will blow flames at its parents from the first second it breaks out of its egg. Out on the Frontier, even a child of three can stab somebody through the heart.”

Choking down the emotion that was building in her chest, Lyra nodded. “You’re right. I screwed up.” Turning to the mayor, she asked, “Recognize them?”

“No, they’re not from around here.”

“Drifters. I’ll go check with the hotel.”

From down the street, there was the sound of an engine drawing nearer. It was a skeleton vehicle, little more than a driver’s seat set on a bare frame with wheels that looked like three barrels lashed together. Not only was it capable of navigating even the roughest terrain, but it could also hit speeds of up to sixty miles per hour. It’d probably been purchased from a traveling merchant, and the rear seats had been ripped out and replaced with square missile launchers. The rockets’ yellow warheads poked from the circular launch tubes. Stretching back from the bulletproof tank beneath the driver’s seat like a fat silver serpent, the exhaust pipe was twice the normal size. It was fueled not by gasoline, but rather by a variety of fungus cultivated on a massive scale all across the Frontier.

Halting the vehicle in front of the annihilated stables, the sheriff hopped down. On seeing the rooted group and the remains of the stables, he asked, “What have we here?” As the mayor was one of them, the lawman’s tone was rather polite.

Lyra gave him a brief rundown of the incident. The hotel’s manager and bellhops rushed to the scene, informing them that the men hadn’t been patrons of theirs, but rather had been staying in tents at the campsite to the west of town.

“Probably killers who move around from town to town. But who hired them, and who were they after?”

After ordering the manager and his bellhops to bring the bodies back to the hotel’s barn, the sheriff cocked his head to one side. “At any rate, I’ll thank you all to head back to my office.”

No sooner did he say this than out of the corner of his eye he saw the figure in black slowly and beautifully sink to the ground.

—

When D regained consciousness, it was just after noon of the next day—and he was in the sheriff’s office.

“I heard about the bat incident at the hotel, too,” the sheriff said, gazing at the now-awake D with a strained look. But his eyes were only half open. It wouldn’t do for him to focus on the Hunter. “It’s possible that scene at the stables was another attempt against you. Until we can make a complete inquiry, I need you to stay here. Fortunately, we already have accommodations.”

“If you need to know the circumstances, I can tell you them now.”

“No, we couldn’t have that. According to the doctor, you need ten days’ rest, with no talking.”

“That doctor’s a quack.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s quite reputable, and better than a hick village like this deserves. We have complete faith in him. Just relax and get better, now.”

“Hey . . .”

“Sorry, but we’ll hold on to your weapon. You’re a key player in this.”

“A key player isn’t the same as a prime suspect. There’s no need to disarm me,” D protested, not without reason.

“This town has a special ordinance about that. Enacted quite recently, actually.”

“Just when are we talking about?”

“This afternoon. It was approved by a village assembly.”

“Who proposed it, you?”

“Yes, me—and the mayor.”

“Give me back my weapon. I’ll be leaving right away.”

As D tried to get out of the creaking bed, darkness enveloped him. It was the combined aftereffects of the sunlight syndrome and the venom from the mutated bats.

As D managed to lie down again, Rust gave him a troubled look, saying, “Now, don’t be that way. At any rate, get some rest. The questioning will wait till later.”

And with that, the sheriff locked the door and left.

Though he was in a tidy little room, apparently it was also used as a cell, and it had iron bars across the windows.

“This is a fine mess, eh?” said the hoarse voice. Despite the topic of conversation, it sounded quite buoyant. “Seems like they’re hell bent on having you as a deputy. If they wanted to, they could even use drugs. That sheriff’s a real piece of work.”

“How soon can I move?”

“My gut feeling is the doctor’s prognosis was on the money. Not for ten days.”

“Do it in three.”

“Hmph! You always want miracles. Make it five. Any less, and the aftereffects will be with you for a long time.”

Nothing from D.

“You’ll just have to be patient. Wouldn’t you be better off playing along with them instead of being sick for ages?”

“Probably.”

“Okay, then the rest is just a matter of negotiations. Leave that to me. I’ll make us enough to cover travel expenses for a year. You keep out of it.”

“I’ll leave it to you.”

“Good. Hey, Sheriff! I wanna talk to you. Get in here!” the hoarse voice cried, its tone on par with the blast of an explosion.

Beyond the window, a woman’s scream rang out. It appeared that his room faced the road. A short time later, the door was jerked open.

“What’s this?” said the hoarse voice.

The crimson cape seemed to dye the entire figure red.

“The sheriff’s gone out on patrol. What do you want?”

“Well, he certainly gets around,” D murmured softly.

“I’ve decided to take you folks up on your offer,” the hoarse voice said in a magnanimous tone. “First, let me tell you my conditions.”

“Where’s that voice coming from?” Lyra inquired coolly.

“What do you mean? From my throat, of course,” the left hand said, pointing toward D’s mouth.

Lyra’s look was one of utter suspicion. “There’s something odd about all this.”

“Wh—what’s that supposed to mean?” the hoarse voice sputtered.

“What’s it pay?” D asked.

Lyra stood bolt upright. Blinking, she replied, “Oh, that’d be the same as my pay. Eighty dalas a month.”

Snorting with laughter, the hoarse voice said, “You must be freaking kidding me! You’re looking at a guy who can pull down a million or two in bounty in one day. Who’d work for that pittance?”

“A sheriff only makes fifty dalas. This is an extremely generous offer.”

“Okay, good enough,” said the hoarse voice.

D furrowed his brow ever so slightly.

Lyra continued, “But eighty dalas is just the base pay. Every time you put down some trouble in town you get an extra ten dalas, and if you arrest a wanted party, it’s twenty more.”

“How much trouble was there last year?” asked D.

“According to the logs, only three incidents. A drunken scuffle, a domestic dispute caused by a cheating spouse, and getting rid of a stray dog.”

“And since you signed on?”

“I took a baker into protective custody after he was stabbed in the ass with a knife.”

“What was that all about?”

“He came home drunk in the wee hours and went into the wrong house. As luck would have it, the man of the house had also been out at the saloon drinking. The baker went into the bedroom without even bothering to turn on the lights.”

There was some stifled but hoarse laughter as the Hunter’s left hand pictured what ensued.

“To make matters worse, it was only about twenty minutes later that the woman’s husband got home.”

“And what does he do for a living?”

“He sharpens cutlery.”

“Now that’s what you call destiny!” the hoarse voice replied.

“Would you knock it off with the ventriloquism,” Lyra snapped.

“Oh, you could tell?”

“Of course so. The least you could do is make it a more pleasant-sounding voice.”

“I wish I could,” D confessed.

“So, you’re fine with eighty dalas?”

“It’s not like I have a choice.”

“Well, in return, we’ll pay you for the whole month even though you don’t start working for another ten days.”

“That’ll be fine.”

His expression hardly suited the young man. It was like being thanked by a gorgeous Grim Reaper. And there were undoubtedly more than a few people who wouldn’t mind meeting the Grim Reaper, if he were this exquisite.

“Then it’s settled.”

Suddenly, the door opened and Rust came in.

The hoarse voice gasped in surprise.

—

II

—

“You’ll be a really great help to us. I’ll go easy on you when it comes time for questioning,” the sheriff said brazenly.

“You mean to tell me you weren’t out on patrol at all?” the hoarse voice spat back angrily.

“I had to play it this way. Lyra’s a lot better at these negotiations than I am. And I bet you enjoyed talking with her a lot more than if it’d been me, am I right?”

The stone-faced D said to him, “Undo that bandanna.”

“Excuse me?”

“Untie it.”

“Sure thing.” Slapping his sun-bronzed neck, the sheriff said, “You don’t see any Noble’s fang marks there, do you?”

D continued, “Just so we’re clear, I apparently won’t be able to work for another ten days. In the meantime, I won’t be any use to you.”

“That’s okay. According to our latest information, the Black Death won’t be coming for at least a month. That’s when we’ll get some work out of you. With the man called D on our side, we could defend a village three times the size of this one.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

Lyra nodded at that, saying, “He’s right, Rust—I mean, Sheriff. You’ve seen the villages they’ve hit.”

Silence fell, as if the whole world had frozen over. Rust’s hand slowly rose, reaching for the persimmon-orange fabric that covered the nape of his neck.

“Rust,” Lyra said to him. Her voice had a stern, commanding ring, not a tone used between equals.

“I sure have.” Moving the hand from the base of his throat to his hair, Rust scratched his head. “Corpses lying all around, inside and out. Men and women, young and old, all with their throats ripped open. Some of the bodies got their wounds from blades, and others from teeth. And all of it done by human beings—no, by those bastard victims of the Nobility—pseudo vampires!”

His voice was choked with emotion, and a terrible gleam filled his eyes. Both testified to his madness. There was no trace of the courteous sheriff.

“Keep a handle on it, Rust,” Lyra told him.

Nodding, Rust wiped the sweat from his brow. It was a pointless act. Perspiration poured from him with a vengeance. Repeatedly he wiped it away. And as he did so, the shadow of madness gradually began to leave him.

“Sorry you had to see that,” he said.

“You must be tired,” the hoarse voice said sarcastically. It didn’t seem to bother Rust.

Taking several ragged breaths, the sheriff continued, “I’ve been able to ID the ones who wiped out the stables.”

“Oh? That’s pretty quick work for a hick sheriff!” said the hoarse voice.

When outsiders committed a crime, inquiries about them had to be made in surrounding towns and villages, and in some cases even the Capital, which usually took a week at the very least.

Giving the names of all four, the sheriff said they were drifters and hit men. They had no connection to the pseudo vampire’s gang. It was probably the mayor, rather than D, that they’d been gunning for.

“He’s a real wheeler-dealer. In fact, the reason he hired me was because he heard I’d slapped down about a dozen drifters who were raising hell in the saloon. On the way here, did you notice the strange way the highway twists?”

D nodded.

“Originally, it ran straight. Until . . . Until he became mayor, that is. Being off the highway, this village was a desolate place. Not only did he get the road to curve so it ran right up to the village, but he took it upon himself to dub it the Geneve Highway and got it to intersect with the Alasmian Highway. In other words, he forced this village into a place of importance. Thanks to him, the village prospered, but violence began to increase, too. The mayor has a lot of friends, and more than a few enemies. Normally that’d bother some people, but he doesn’t care. Apparently he’s a shoo-in for another term. The deputy mayor’s looking to succeed him, so he’s none too pleased about that. He’s tried all kinds of tricks up until now, but he’s just not made of the same stuff. Everyone thought he’d finally thrown in the towel. Now, it seems that’s not the case.”

Rust smiled wryly, making the meaning of his last remark clear.

“We’ve learned who they were, but not who hired them. I wish one of ’em had been left alive, but there was no way around that. They bit off more than they could chew.” The sheriff scratched the back of his head. “If I might share my own personal opinion—since you’ve already signed on with us—the person who went after you with the bats presents more of a problem than the antimayor faction. We’re talking bats here—a symbol of the Nobility.”

“Do you have any idea who it was, D?” Lyra inquired, her expression rather grave.

“The strongest possibility is that it was someone who doesn’t want me sticking around.”

“An agent of the pseudo vampire?”

“Could be.”

“Have they already found their way in?” Rust said, pounding his fist into the palm of his left hand. “Well, I figured it might be any time now. We’re gonna have to do a thorough check again on everyone from outside.”

“You’ve already checked on them?” the Hunter inquired.

“Three days ago,” Lyra replied.

“Hmm.”

“If we don’t check them out, we’ll never get to the bottom of this. Let’s go over ’em again,” the sheriff said, eyes brimming with determination.

“What’ll you do about the drifters?” D asked him.

“That’s the problem. It’s impossible to verify their identities.”

“At any rate, we just have to smoke one of them out,” D said.

“I suppose so, but . . .”

“You have a gun?”

“Yeah,” Rust replied, placing his hand against his right hip. Ranged weapons were extremely valuable out on the Frontier. Even among sheriffs, there were few who owned them.

“Shoot out the windowpane.”

“What for? That’s town property.”

“Take it out of my pay.”

“I get you,” Lyra said, walking over to the window. Drawing a dagger, she used the pommel to smash the glass.

“You still don’t get it?” asked the Hunter.

“Nope,” the sheriff replied, shaking his head. “You trying to get them to come after you again?”

“Don’t give me any special treatment. Bring me meals like usual, and question me like you ordinarily would. I won’t leave the place. Let word trickle out that I’ll be helping you.”

“Understood. You’ll be a great assistance. Thanks.”

D gazed quietly at the lawman’s smiling and carefree visage.

“Okay, let’s get right to it. We’re off, Lyra.”

“Just a second,” the warrior woman said, turning to D. “You said we just had to smoke one of them out. What do you mean by that?”

“Surely you know.”

“That there are several others lurking in town?”

“That’s the way they always work. If need be, they’ll enter a village a year in advance and earn the locals’ trust just so they can help the rest of the gang get in.”

“That’s been the downfall of many a village,” said Lyra.

She and the sheriff looked at each other and then left.

“They’re quite a pair,” the hoarse voice said to the Hunter. “What do you make of this?”

“I think he has a handle on it,” D said, looking in the direction of the window. “But soon there’ll be the scent of fresh blood in the air. That’ll be the test.”

“And that’s part of why he hired you? He’s got a strong sense of responsibility.”

“Yeah. And he got a great bargain.”

Chortling, the hoarse voice replied, “Oh, don’t say such things. You’re a sucker for folks like that.”

“Don’t think of him and the girl as a nice little couple, okay?”

“What?” the hoarse voice exclaimed, but it got no reply.

D’s eyes reflected the blue skies of summer. Perhaps to him they looked blood red.

—

“How are you doing?” Lyra called over to the sheriff from the back of her cyborg horse, which she rode alongside his vehicle as it progressed with the leisurely speed of a motorized tractor. They were on a path between the fields. Less than five minutes had passed since they left the sheriff’s office. Golden waves of barley rippled to either side of them. White clouds scudded across the heavens, and the forests were breathtakingly green. As it was summer, the clumps of trees were lush with foliage.

“You needn’t worry about it,” Rust replied.

“I hope so.”

“I’m fine—but wouldn’t it be better if I wasn’t?” Rust said, turning ever so slightly toward the warrior woman in crimson.

Lyra remained facing forward as she replied, “I suppose. Then I could conclude our business.”

Rust’s eyes were colored by a certain emotion. A sense of complete desolation. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“It sure has.”

“But this is probably the end. I just have that feeling.”

“You said that four years ago in the village of Langel, too.”

Rust grinned wryly, scratching the back of his head. “Did I? Well, this time looks like it’ll really be it.”

Nothing from the warrior.

“If possible, I want you to finish me, Lyra. Just like we agreed.”

“When the time comes, I will—as agreed.”

Although his eyes had already shifted forward again, Rust could tell that Lyra had nodded. Her everyday expression was cold, but he knew it reflected a feeling as desolate as his own. Rust choked back the emotions rising in him, as he always did. He had a job to do as sheriff. At the very least, he’d have to ride along and check the wall around the village before nightfall.

Most of the sections of wall around the center of the village were man-made structures, but the section to the north was a natural feature—a wall of rock ten feet thick and over thirty feet high. It’d probably been thrust up by some ancient movement of the earth’s crust, and including the portion that remained buried, it had to weigh in the hundreds of millions of tons. This village was said to have much stronger defenses than any other, and they prided themselves on that northern section in particular as being impregnable. Rust and Lyra really didn’t have to go check on the northern wall, of all places. But the two of them went out there just to be on the safe side, as was entirely proper, given that they were the law here. The rock wall ran for a mile and a quarter across plains, through the forest, and between paddies. In places it was a single layer of rock; in others multiple layers were stacked together like a sheaf of paper, making clear to all who saw the wall the sheer power of Mother Nature. The western corner of the rock wall was surrounded by deep woods.

As they approached the end of their rounds, Rust declared, “All clear.”

“For the time being,” Lyra added as the sun went down in the west. As blue tinged the air, Lyra suggested, “I suppose we should start thinking about who to post as guards on the wall. Drifters and mercenaries will be coming in soon. So long as they get paid, they’ll do what they’re told. If the Black Death gang’s got sixty people, we’ll need at least twenty. The rest we’ll manage to cover with folks from the village. To save their own skins and everything they own, they’ll fight pretty much down to the wire.”

“If it looks like we’re going to lose, you know both of us will probably get it in the back.”

“Well, you don’t get to choose how you go.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Rust said, a bitter grin rising on his lips.

At that instant, a black sphere came from nowhere and landed between the two of them. When it hit the ground, it transformed into hundreds of black bats, but by that point the pair had galloped a good thirty feet away.

“Must be the same person who went after D,” Rust groaned.

“Now it’s us they’re after,” Lyra laughed bitterly. Above her, she heard flapping wings drawing closer.

Lyra’s right hand flashed into action. Drawn from its sheath without a sound, her longsword limned an arc through the air, and a dozen or more bisected bats fell to the ground.

“Ugh!” Rust groaned sharply.

One of the bats was trying to sink its fangs into him through his bandanna. If the venom entered his bloodstream, he’d meet the same fate as D.

“Just hold on, Rust!” Lyra shouted to him.

Tearing the bat off, Rust threw it away. Its fangs hadn’t reached his skin.

“No, I can’t,” the sheriff replied, his tone low and morose. He looked up at the writhing ball of darkness formed by the flapping wings. “Besides, it’s the only way the two of us will ever get out of here. Lyra—stop me again!”

Dozens of the flying creatures swooped down toward his neck and back.

Twisting around, Rust looked up. The black cloud of winged demons that’d blotted out even the darkness had suddenly vanished. They’d flown away like a shot from a gun.

The moon in the night sky glowed ever brighter.

—

III

—

“Rust?”

“Stay back.”

His vehicle growled, the roar echoing from its exhaust pipe. As Lyra gave a kick to the flanks of her cyborg horse and put some distance between them, the sheriff vanished into the depths of the forest.

Lyra poured on the speed as a cry reached her ears. Saying nothing, she galloped on. The moonlight made her lovely face glisten like a death mask.

She spotted the skeleton vehicle parked among the trees. In what could only be described as a lithe movement, Lyra leapt down from her cyborg horse before it’d come to a halt. She quickly surveyed her surroundings. Her nose had already caught the scent of blood. Before she could ascertain where it came from, a voice called from the trees to her right, “Over here.”

Circling around the front of the vehicle, Lyra headed toward the source of the voice. The warrior’s eyes could see through the pitch-black darkness as if it were midday.

Rust stood with a short bow in hand, and at his feet lay a figure in black.

“How on earth did you—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Rust assured her. His face was hidden by the darkness. “It wasn’t me. See for yourself.”

Lyra squatted down beside the shocking remains of the corpse. The stink of blood was incomparably worse than before, assailing her stomach right through her nose, putrid enough to make a strong man vomit.

“He’s been cut to ribbons. And his head’s been lopped off, too.”

“It sure as hell has,” Rust replied in a muffled tone.

“I’ll check into this,” Lyra said. “You’d better keep your distance.”

“Okay.”

Going behind a tree about thirty feet away, Rust leaned back against its massive trunk. Both hands covered his face, as if it were melting. He shook violently from the spasms racing through every inch of his body, the result of his maddening hunger and thirst. His teeth chattered. Jamming his fist between them, he fought the urge.

When he’d finally overcome it, he heard Lyra say beside him, “Rust?”

Though she’d approached with completely silent footsteps, Rust must’ve been used to her ways, because he didn’t seem at all surprised as he asked, “What’d you find?” He was still panting.

“The murder weapon wasn’t a sword.”

“What was it?”

“A butcher knife. And a big, heavy one at that. Depending on the user, it could do worse damage than a sword.”

“Any clues?”

“Nope. You didn’t see anyone?”

“I didn’t even hear anyone running off.”

“That’s the guy who attacked D,” she said, referring to the victim.

“You sure?”

“In his shirt, he had a ton of dried blood cake—bat food.”

“If he was killed, then, as unlikely as it seems, it might’ve been a falling-out between coconspirators. If not, there wouldn’t have been any need for the person who did this to run off,” Rust said, his voice carrying a secret fear.

A fiend who could control mutated vampire bats had been slain in a matter of seconds. It didn’t seem likely that he and his killer had met by chance in the forest at this hour. The bat master’s death had been sudden—an ambush by one of his cohorts. That still left the cause of the falling-out a mystery, but he and Lyra would look into that next.

Rust continued, “The deceased—”

“He was one of the travelers camped out on the edge of town. His killer probably hasn’t had a chance to take off yet. I’ll ride on ahead.”

“No, I’ll go,” the sheriff said.

“But you’re . . .”

“I’ve got to get used to this, Lyra. I need to if I’m going to live here.”

Nothing from the warrior woman.

“Besides, I’m the sheriff.”

A few seconds passed, but to the two of them, it seemed like an eternity.

“Okay,” Lyra said, walking back the way she’d come.

About ten minutes later, Rust’s vehicle sped off, leaving just as the warrior woman was beginning a more thorough investigation of the area around the corpse.

—

When he came to the sheriff’s office, Rust hit the brakes. The heavy tires kicked up dirt, almost coming to a stop—and then they sped up.

“I’d hate to ask that of a sick man,” Rust said, grinning as he fought something in his turbulent heart. His smirk was directed at himself and his own weakness, which was forcing him to rely on D.

On the western edge of the village were three vacant lots of about four hundred square yards each, where travelers looking to economize on their lodgings had set up camp. There was a little campfire burning on the nearest lot. The smell of roasting meat drifted through the air. Rust thought back on the bustling dining room and saloon he’d passed on his way out there. This village would probably be raised to the rank of a full-fledged town soon.

There were seven figures around the campfire. They were all sucking down coffee, wine, or nutrient drinks. Having taken a horse instead of the skeleton vehicle, Rust hitched it to a post by the road and headed over to the campfire with his right hand still tucked in his coat.

“One of the guys who was out here has been arrested.” Looking over the faces that turned in his direction, Rust continued in a stern tone, “He’s got cohorts. Who was with him?”

All the faces that had faced him looked away again. You couldn’t live very long as a drifter on the Frontier if you worried too much about what local lawmen had to say.

There was no answer. One of them took a bottle of booze away from his lips and drew a deep breath.

“I’ve got no choice, then. You’ll all have to come with me. We’ve got a lie detector back at the sheriff’s office.”

This time he got a reply.

“What’s a kid like you want?”

“You want some milk, is that it?”

“If you don’t mind an old man like me, you can come over and suck on my titty—how about that?”

They exploded in laughter.

Still chortling, one of them picked up a bottle of booze. “What the—” he exclaimed, holding the bottle at arm’s length. His laughter had become a cry of shock. An iron arrow had been shot through the bottle.

“Wh—when the hell did you . . .” the middle-aged man sputtered, having fallen back on the ground before trying to inch away.

“You’re coming with me,” Rust declared in a firm tone.

The men rose in unison—not that they were ready to comply. Rather, each of them was going for the weapons on their hips or backs.

“You little punk!”

As one of them grabbed his longsword and kicked off the ground, the giant of a man beside him drew back on his short bow. The wind whistled, and the man with the longsword let out a cry as he grabbed his right shoulder. At the same time, a strident sound rang out.

The man with the short bow gaped. He’d fired an arrow at the sheriff, but it’d vanished. No, it’d been deflected. By an arrow Rust had shot.

“Freeze,” the lawman snapped, short bow in hand, and this time it had the desired effect. “There was a guy out here who could control bats. Varroa was the name. Who was with him?”

The men exchanged glances. Giving Rust a look of suspicion, a plump, bearded fellow said, “You’ve got it all wrong, Sheriff. He was by himself from the very start.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“Did that fucker try something?”

“He attacked me, and he got killed.”

Scratching roughly at his stubbly neck, a different man in a red shirt said, “When you say he got himself killed, don’t you mean you killed him?” He was squinting at the lawman.

“He had a falling-out with his cohorts. That’s why I’m out here.”

Pursing his lips, the man in the red shirt said, “You’re talking about a falling-out, but he never said a word to any of us.”

“He sure didn’t!” another man said, pointing to the far end of the vacant lot. “He hardly ever even came out of that tent of his. If he had any friends, maybe they were in there.”

By Rust’s estimation, they weren’t lying to him. After telling some of them to take their wounded friend to the medical center and ordering the man with the short bow to leave town immediately, he investigated Varroa’s tent. He found nothing there except the bare essentials for survival. If the man had made contact with anyone in the village, he’d gone to great lengths to erase any evidence of it.

—

“Welcome home, dear,” Elena said, wiping her hands on her apron. Apparently the man’s wife had been right in the middle of washing some dishes.

Quickly putting the item he carried into a leather bag, the man inquired, “Agnus gone to bed already?”

“Oh yes, hours ago.”

“Yeah, I guess that’d be about right. What time is it now?”

Furrowing her brow, Elena replied, “Well, it must be around nine o’clock.”

“I’m starved. I ate the dinner you packed me, but it wasn’t enough.”

Elena stuck her smiling face out of the kitchen, saying, “Don’t you smell that, Billy?”

He then started to sniff. “A pie?”

“Right you are! A mountain-grape pie, to be exact. It’ll keep you filled for the next three days.”

Hugging his wife, Billy showered her with kisses.

“Whoa, slow down there—I mean it,” she said, her voice growing strained.

Billy’s heart stopped. “What’s wrong?” he asked, and though he tried to sound casual, his tone was probably a little tense.

Elena pressed her nose close to her husband’s collar. “Do you smell blood or something?”

“Oh, right. I cut through the hunting grounds. They were butchering a megamouth croc there. I probably got some of the smell on me,” he said in a rather composed voice. This time, Billy was sure of himself.

“You don’t say.” Satisfied, Elena pulled her head back, then walked away. “It’ll be finished baking any minute now.”

Giving a satisfied grunt, Billy watched his slender wife close the door again before opening the mouth of his bag and pulling out the object he’d tossed into it earlier. He knew he should’ve cleaned off all that blood. Going into the forest where he’d taken prey before, he’d found an unexpected target, but then he’d been rudely interrupted and he’d just managed to make his escape. Next time, he’d have to finish the whole thing properly.

He gazed at the bloodstained black steel with rapture. It was a footlong butcher knife.