第46节

guys going to kill me?" In his present mood of sedate euphoria, the

prospect did not concern him unduly.

'Not unless there's a change of plan,' said Mr Snow.

'Great,' replied Steve, He yawned sleepily. 'Keep me posted."

The will to live is the crucial factor which enables certain

individuals to survive in situations where others, in some cases their

companions, quite literally 'give up the ghost'; surrender without a

fight. Jodi Kazan had that will; a tenacious, unquenchable spark of

life that continued to glow feebly, against all odds, inside her burned

and broken body.

When her Skyhawk had been blown off the flight-deck, Jodi had smashed

her fist against the quick release plate of the safety harness which

held her in her seat. But when the cockpit pod crunched against the

side of the wagon train, she found herself trapped by bent struts and

crumpled metal. Despite this, and contrary to Buck McDonnell's belief,

Jodi had not been incinerated by the exploding napalm. The shrieking

wind that tore her Skyhawk out of the hands of Steve and the

ground-crew was also her unintended saviour. The spectacular blast

that appeared to engulf her had, in the same instant, been whipped away

by the falling pod into a long fiery plume; a giant blowtorch whose

searing heat blistered the painted flanks of the rear cars.

Badly but not fatally burned, Jodi only just escaped being drowned as

the cockpit pod plunged into the raging current and sank under the

weight of the rear-mounted motor. The mangled pod, with Jodi inside,

was carried along the river bed by the force of the waters, rolling and

tumbling end over end until it finally tore itself to pieces.

Only then did Jodi finally surface, to be washed up some three miles

down river from where The Lady had been trapped by the flash-flood.

Jodi lay, half-dead, half-buried in mud and debris on the bed of the

Now and Then River for two whole days, unable to move. Her legs were

trapped under a pile of debris, both arms were broken, her neck and

chest severely burned; the Mute crossbow bolt was' still lodged under

her right collarbone. The visor of her helmet had protected her face

against the flames and subsequent injury, just as the tangle of

branches under which she lay now protected her from the circling birds

of prey. The coat of mud that covered most of her body dried out in

the sun. She became part of the landscape. Insects swarmed over her,

flies hovered, drawn by the smell of her charred flesh. When they

began to feed on her Jodi thought she would go mad. She fainted - from

the heat, from thirst, from the pain and the screaming, itching horror

of the bugs that threatened to devour her.

The hours passed. Jodi hovered on the edge of consciousness, now and

then sinking back into merciful oblivion.

On the second night, a prowling coyote found her. He sniffed her

mud-covered body cautiously then nosed with obvious relish the raw

flesh where the flies had feasted.

When he began tugging at her camouflaged fatigues, Jodi set her teeth

against the pain, reached down with the fingers of her right hand and

teased her air pistol out of its holster.

Her fingers closed round the butt. In her weakened state she found the

pistol incredibly heavy. To move it even an inch sent stabbing shafts

of pain zigzagging from wrist to shoulder, across her chest, and up

into the base of her skull.

Jodi persisted, pushing and pulling the pistol onto her belly as the

coyote siezed her broken left arm in its jaws and tried to pull her

from under the sheltering tangle of branches.

Jodi almost fainted with the pain. A scream broke from her throat; a

harsh, raw, animal cry. With one last desperate effort, she willed

herself to remain conscious and took a firm grip on the butt of the

pistol. Her fingers felt as if they were on fire. She pushed the

pistol across her chest in the general direction of the coyote,

summoned up her last ounce of strength to raise the barrel and pulled

the trigger. One, two, three. she lost count...

When she woke at half-light, Jodi found the coyote lying with its neck

across her left arm. One of her shots had entered its skull just above

the right eye. The socket had already been picked clean. Two huge

black crows were tearing at the coyote's exposed entrails. A third sat

patiently on the broken branch above Jodi's head. She became conscious

of the weight of the pistol that lay on her chest, her fingers still

curled round it. It was like being trapped under a rock. She found it

difficult