Lugh looks straight at me now. You got a price on yer head, he says, an Jack’s a man with his eye on the main chance. How fine would that be? Make his mark with the Pathfinder by handin over the Angel of Death. Slim knows Molly, Molly knows Jack . . . work it out. It’s a set up. Slim’s a Tonton spy. He knew who you was right from the start. He’s bin playin us all this time. That’s the story here. Not freedom. Death. Our deaths. All of us.
We stare at each other.
No, I says. No, yer wrong.
Am I? says Lugh. Think about it.
My breath’s comin fast an tight. That moment when we first met Slim.
Where was you goin jest now? I said. My sheema starts to slip back from my face. My tattoo. Don’t let him see. I yank it back, scowl at him. Well?
Uh . . . we was headed east, he said. We got a delivery to make. In the storm belt. A tavern called the Lost Cause.
Everybody okay back there? yells Slim.
Suddenly, I grab one of the firesticks. I smash it, butt first, through the front wall of the cart. Next to where Slim oughta be. I pull it out an smash it through agin. I shove myself through, biggin it with my elbows an shoulders. Tumble onto the driver’s bench next to Slim. Tracker scrambles outta the way.
Slim throws me a startled look.
I aim my bolt shooter at him. Who am I, you sonofabitch?
Helluva time fer a identity crisis, he says.
We found yer load, I says.
Ah, he says. Okay, here’s the thing— His eye flicks back to the road. Widens. Ohmigawd, he says.
I look where he’s lookin.
Straight ahead a pillar of thick black smoke rises into the sky. It smacks aginst the sulphate cloud, like steam hittin a pot lid, an billows in every direction.
Somethin’s on fire, I says.
It’s the Lost Cause, says Slim. There ain’t nuthin else there. Molly’s in trouble.
My heart seizes. Starts hammerin in my chest. Jack’s there. Waitin fer me. We gotta go in, I says.
You bet, he says. Straight over the causeway.
Up ahead a wide river in full flow cuts across the road. The road keeps on goin right over top of it. It’s shored up eether side by banks made from rocks an boulders an concrete blocks. At the far end, it disappears through a gap in the mountains.
Black smoke billows through the gap. Tumbles along the causeway towards us.
I turn an yell into the cab, Fire up ahead! It’s the Lost Cause!
Nero dives an swoops, callin out alarms. Slim starts to cough. Pulls his kercheef over his mouth an nose.
Lugh sticks his head through the hole. Sees the smoke. What’re you, crazy? Stop! Turn around!
We’re goin in, I says. Tell everybody.
He’s about to argue. But there must be somethin in my face. With a curse, he disappears, an I hear him shoutin orders to the rest.
I yank my sheema up over my nose. Tracker’s whinin. Anxious. I press him down to lie at my feet. Pull off my tunic an cover his head with it. Stay there, I tell him, good boy.
The Cosmic races over the causeway. The smoke billows an rolls in thick black waves. It tumbles. Crashes. Breaks. Six horsemen appear from inside the cloud. Riders in black.
Black robes.
Black riders.
The Tonton.
They gallop towards us. Six of ’em. In a tight group. Two by two by two.
My belly clenches. It’s my first sight of ’em since the battle at Pine Top Hill.
I might of known, says Slim. Them Tonton bastards like to play with fire.
I shout back into the wagon, Tonton comin! Keep outta sight!
The causeway’s narrow. Not more’n eight foot across. No room to pass.
They’re headed right at us, I says to Slim.
How’s yer nerve? Steady?
I guess, I says.
Ever played chicken before? he says.
No.
Watch an learn, he says. You better duck down. Seein there’s a price on yer head.
My heart skips a beat. Our eyes meet. You knew all the time, I says.
Yer lucky it was me you hijacked, he says.
Who are you? I says.
A friend, he says. Git down, Angel.
I slide into the footwell, next to Tracker.
Heeya! Shouts Slim. Straight on fer Egypt, Moses! Heeya! We thunder along at speed. The Cosmic rattles an groans. Let’s hope she holds together, he says.
I peer out. My shooter’s ready in my hand.
Don’t fire unless you hafta, he says.
Yer gonna hafta stop, I says.
I ain’t stoppin. I’m gonna give these firebugs a little show. He pulls a big white hanky from his britches pocket. They’ll jest see that old fool Salmo Slim, he says. Him an his fleabit camel outta control agin.
He heaves hisself to his feet an starts wavin the hanky over his head. Help! Help! Runaway camel! he bellows. With th’other hand, he keeps a death grip on the reins an holds Moses firm.
We barrel towards the Tonton. They come at us. Slim waves an hollers, Help! Help!
They come on. Holdin the line. Closer. Ever closer.
We’re gonna crash! I yell.
You first-timers always panic, he shouts. Playin chicken’s all about who holds their nerve the longest, who blinks first. It ain’t gonna be me.
They hold.
Hold.
Hold.
I don’t breathe. Don’t move.
Thirty foot.
Twenny five.
C’mon, says Slim. Blink, you bastards.
Twenny.
Fifteen.
Blink, you gawdamn sonsabitches! roars Slim.
On the word, they split. Like they heard him. Three to the left. Three to the right.
I duck low. They thunder past, jest below us on the bank. A blur of hoofs an dust an robes an boots. A blast of smoke an sweat slaps me in the face. Fer one second – one heartbeat – I wonder if one of ’em’s Jack.
A firestick cracks. Slim cries out. He falls back, sprawled on the bench. He’s bin shot. His right shoulder’s blasted open.
Slim! I yell.
Take the reins! he says.
I scramble onto the seat an grab ’em. I glance behind us. The Tonton disappear in a cloud of dust.
Hermes races along behind us, tucked in behind the Cosmic.
Slim presses his hanky to the wound. Grits his teeth aginst the pain. He hollers through the smashed wall into the Cosmic, blow up the causeway!
What? shouts Lugh.
Little balls with pins! yells Slim. Pull out the pins an throw a few!
I hold Moses firm. The road drives straight through the gap in the mountains. Disappears into the smoke.
Nuthin happens. Nuthin. Nuthin.
Suddenly,
BOOM! A great wallop of thunder cracks the air. Rocks the ground.
I dare a quick look over my shoulder.
Behind us, a colossal blast of rock an water an dirt slams into the sky. The causeway’s bin blowed to bits. No sign of the riders or their horses.
Did we git ’em? says Slim.
I cain’t tell, I says. Maybe not. They was movin quick. They might of got across before the blast.
If they did, they’ll be lookin fer us, says Slim. So much fer sneakin you in without notice.
I glance over at him. Sweat beads his face. He’s grey around the gills. What the hell, Slim, I says. You ain’t no Tonton spy. Who are you?
His mouth twists. I think he’s tryin to smile.
Jest git us to the Lost Cause, he says.
Moses barrels into the wall of thick black smoke. I cain’t see nuthin. My eyes stream. I cain’t breathe. We’re gonna crash. But quick as we’re in it, we’re out agin. The Lost Cause is straight ahead. Wild flames lick at it. Gobble it. They hiss an crackle an roar. Fire lights up the lonely plain. The low-hangin cloud glows bright. Orange an white an yellow an brown. The black smoke billows an curls. Waves of heat beat at the air.