第47节

to breathe. She could no longer move her right arm. The

left lay under the dead coyote.

When the sun came up, the insects returned; flies settled on her

swollen blistered neck and crawled over her visor, trying to find a way

in.

On the third day, in one of her brief moments of lucidity, Jodi

realised that her chances of being found by a search party from The

Lady were fast approaching zero. She had been written off. Given the

circumstances of her disappearance, it was not an unreasonable

supposition. When the waves of pain built up to yet another unbearable

peak Jodi began to seriously consider the idea of killing herself

before the rest of the coyote pack came looking for their missing

brother. She had the means even if, at that moment, she did not have

the strength to turn the pistol on herself.

She knew that if the decision was delayed too long she would be too

weak to act upon it. Yet, in spite of the hopelessness of her

situation, she hesitated. She simply refused to admit that death was

the only option open to her.

Towards sundown, when Jodi was trying to focus her fading energy into

the fingers lying limply across the pistol, she heard stealthy

movements around her. The protective scrien of broken branches was

pulled away from her head and chest and she found herself looking up

into the craggy, weather-beaten face of a Tracker. But this was no

TrailBlazer.

tie wore a battered wide-brimmed straw stetson with a ragged brim, his

lean square jaw was fringed by an untidy beard. The sleeves were

missing from his faded red, black and brown camouflaged fatigues, and

they were covered in patches. A home-made bandolier of the same

material with pockets shaped to hold magazines and air bottles were

slung over each shoulder. The only thing about him that did not look

worn and shabby was his three-barrelled air rifle. Its pristine

condition told Jodi that this raggedy-ass was still a soldier; someone

she could relate to.

The bearded Tracker laid down his rifle and knelt beside Jodi. His

first move was to relieve her of her air pistol. When this was safely

stuffed in his breast pocket he raised the visor of her helmet and

studied her face. 'How's it going, soldier-boy?"

Jodi tried to speak but the words died half-formed in her throat. She

rolled her head from side to side.

The Tracker carefully peeled back the charred collar of her tunic,

lifted out her dog tags and read off her name.

'Ohh-kayyy, friend..." He straightened up on his knees and cupped his

hands round his mouth. 'Hey, Ben! Roy! Come take a look-see!" The

Tracker dropped back on his haunches, fingered the protruding tail of

the bolt then began to examine Jodi's arms and torso, whistling

tunelessly under his breath. His touch was sure but gentle. He sat

back and pushed up the battered brim of his stetson. 'Mmmhmmph. you

off that wagon train that got its ass kicked three days ago?"

Jodi signalled silently with her eyes and mouth that she was.

'Well, they took off, good buddy. Last we saw 'em they was headed

Kansas way." He sighed and scratched his beard. 'So unless you want

to wait here for the Mutes or the coyotes, I guess that makes you one

of us, Jodi."

'What you got, Beaver?"

Jodi could not see the owner of the voice.

Her bearded saviour spoke across her. 'We got us a woman, that's what

we got."

'No shit..."

Two other raggedy-asses peered down at her. One to her left, the other

over Beaver's shoulder. Jodi guessed that they were Ben and Roy though

she didn't know which was which. The one on the left was wearing a

wingman's bone dome. It had been smeared with mud to hide the bright

blue and green stripes but Jodi could see enough of the pattern to

recognise it as once belonging to a crewman aboard the wagon train

called King of the Pecos. The guy looking over Beaver's shoulder wore

a crumpled yellow command cap.