the creek. The rearguard riders were coming in fast, led by the elegant green human, Kenda. The men rode a collection of budgerigars and beetle-horses, and were all smothered in dust. Kenda spurred forward to meet Snapper, and looked coldly back along their route.
“Ten k’s behind us, and closing. We’ll have to abandon the wagons.”
“Not yet! Move ‘em on down into the watercourse – keep ’em going fast as they can.” The shark swung her mount around. “You guys have breech loaders? OK – keep with the rear wagons.”
There was a traffic snarl at the creek banks, with wagons having to halt and carefully negotiate the slope and turn. Wings spread to slow her jump, the pink mantis leapt from atop a wagon and came running over to Snapper. Throckmorton and Beau followed at her tail. Lugging her decidedly home-made looking rifle over, Kitterpokkie waved to Snapper.
“Did you leave a false trail on the other side of the water?”
“Yeah – five hundred metres!”
“Excellent.” The mantis watched the dust blow away downstream. “Have we a contingency plan? What if they come after the wagons?”
Snapper pointed down to the great, steep creek banks downstream.
“They’ll have to come straight down between the banks. So we turn the last wagon as a block. We lay enough firepower into them, we might be able to hold them.”
“Ah! Excellent. Channel and control!” Kitt patted her weird rifle. “And I have just the thing! An energy weapon for when things get a little hairy.”
“Energy weapon?”
“Plasma blaster. That’s a recycled ancient plasma reaction chamber, and full capacitors.” The bug patted her wooden backpack. “The wonders of science!”
“Does it work?”
“Absolutely! Most impressive. And virtually no collateral damage at all!” The mantis led the way down to the creek bed. “Right! Let’s man the rear wagon!”
Beau lifted one questioning finger.
“Wait. ‘ Virtually no collateral damage’…?”
“Yeah, she’s a crazy.” Snapper urged the caravan guards down into the creek bed. “Down! We want the dust to settle before those creatures cross the ridge line.” The shark motioned everyone to quiet. “Finger talk from now on!”
With water fountaining up around them, the riders plunged along after the wagons, catching up with the rearmost as it forged downstream. The wagons lurched and rocked wildly. Throckmorton floated above, towed behind the last wagon on a length of hairy string. Kitt sat nearby, signing to him in finger talk. The plant nodded several heads then drifted up into the tree tops, peering back along the eastern plains. The mantis climbed over to wave at Snapper, then made clear motions with her fingers.
“Throckmorton will keep watch.”
The airborne plant clearly had trouble negotiating winds: he was keeping to the lee of the treetops and trying to look inconspicuous.
Snapper kept Beau beside her and covered the wagon tracks in the stream as best she could. They rode on down through a great, deep channel that smelled of damp earth and mud. The splash of bird feet, dray beasts and wagon wheels echoed from the creek walls as they grew higher and higher. The creek had become a narrow gorge threading down beneath the level of the plains. The wagons stuck against great round rocks and had to be turned forward by the passengers. A collection of armed men gathered at the back of the caravan, all nervously watching for signs of Screamers.
They travelled one kilometre, then another – slow, agonising progress through a tunnel roofed by ragged trees. Wings whirring, Throckmorton made his unwieldy way down from above. He kept to the branches, but motioned carefully with his tentacles.
“A hundred Screamers. Many shapes. Stopped at crossing point.”
Different shapes? That did not bode well. Snapper signalled the wagons to halt, waving for silence. The entire caravan stood in the bubbling waters, listening for the slightest hint of sound.
Atop a
“Ten k’s behind us, and closing. We’ll have to abandon the wagons.”
“Not yet! Move ‘em on down into the watercourse – keep ’em going fast as they can.” The shark swung her mount around. “You guys have breech loaders? OK – keep with the rear wagons.”
There was a traffic snarl at the creek banks, with wagons having to halt and carefully negotiate the slope and turn. Wings spread to slow her jump, the pink mantis leapt from atop a wagon and came running over to Snapper. Throckmorton and Beau followed at her tail. Lugging her decidedly home-made looking rifle over, Kitterpokkie waved to Snapper.
“Did you leave a false trail on the other side of the water?”
“Yeah – five hundred metres!”
“Excellent.” The mantis watched the dust blow away downstream. “Have we a contingency plan? What if they come after the wagons?”
Snapper pointed down to the great, steep creek banks downstream.
“They’ll have to come straight down between the banks. So we turn the last wagon as a block. We lay enough firepower into them, we might be able to hold them.”
“Ah! Excellent. Channel and control!” Kitt patted her weird rifle. “And I have just the thing! An energy weapon for when things get a little hairy.”
“Energy weapon?”
“Plasma blaster. That’s a recycled ancient plasma reaction chamber, and full capacitors.” The bug patted her wooden backpack. “The wonders of science!”
“Does it work?”
“Absolutely! Most impressive. And virtually no collateral damage at all!” The mantis led the way down to the creek bed. “Right! Let’s man the rear wagon!”
Beau lifted one questioning finger.
“Wait. ‘ Virtually no collateral damage’…?”
“Yeah, she’s a crazy.” Snapper urged the caravan guards down into the creek bed. “Down! We want the dust to settle before those creatures cross the ridge line.” The shark motioned everyone to quiet. “Finger talk from now on!”
With water fountaining up around them, the riders plunged along after the wagons, catching up with the rearmost as it forged downstream. The wagons lurched and rocked wildly. Throckmorton floated above, towed behind the last wagon on a length of hairy string. Kitt sat nearby, signing to him in finger talk. The plant nodded several heads then drifted up into the tree tops, peering back along the eastern plains. The mantis climbed over to wave at Snapper, then made clear motions with her fingers.
“Throckmorton will keep watch.”
The airborne plant clearly had trouble negotiating winds: he was keeping to the lee of the treetops and trying to look inconspicuous.
Snapper kept Beau beside her and covered the wagon tracks in the stream as best she could. They rode on down through a great, deep channel that smelled of damp earth and mud. The splash of bird feet, dray beasts and wagon wheels echoed from the creek walls as they grew higher and higher. The creek had become a narrow gorge threading down beneath the level of the plains. The wagons stuck against great round rocks and had to be turned forward by the passengers. A collection of armed men gathered at the back of the caravan, all nervously watching for signs of Screamers.
They travelled one kilometre, then another – slow, agonising progress through a tunnel roofed by ragged trees. Wings whirring, Throckmorton made his unwieldy way down from above. He kept to the branches, but motioned carefully with his tentacles.
“A hundred Screamers. Many shapes. Stopped at crossing point.”
Different shapes? That did not bode well. Snapper signalled the wagons to halt, waving for silence. The entire caravan stood in the bubbling waters, listening for the slightest hint of sound.
Atop a
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