Dog Soldiers (56 page)

“
This? This is here. Who needs it now?
”
Hicks reached down into it, took a handful of the stuff that was inside and flung
it in their laps. Marge and Con
verse picked up the grains and sniffed at them.

“
‘
The pellet with the poison
’
s in the cha
lice from the pal
ace,
’
“
he recited,
“
‘
but the flagon with the dragon has the brew that is true.
’
”

He rolled over on his shoulder and fired off another whole clip at the trees.

“
It
’
s up the hill,
”
he told them.
“
I
’
ll get it.
”

“
No,
”
Marge said.

“
You go in there and get that vehicle. Anything else in there that runs — slash the tires. Don
’
t leave them any
thing. When you get on the highway you go west until you
’
re crossing flat ground — you
’
re gonna see dry washes and salt. When you come to tracks crossing the road you turn off and you follow the tracks back here toward the mountains. You
’
re gonna see me on those tracks.
”

“
He
’
s bleeding,
”
Marge told her husband. Hicks reached down and started punching Converse
’
s arm with his fist.
“
Go for Christ
’
s sake — while they
’
re still back there. You think you know better than me? Do as you
’
re told.
”
Converse stood up, p
ulling Marge with him. When he
stepped out on the trail, she followed. She held his sleeve as they went and it gave him an odd feeling. Smitty and Danskin had been holding him by the sleeve for days. From the grove of little pine trees, Hicks continued his fire round after round.

“
Are they really back there?
”
Marge asked.

“
They better be,
”
Converse said.

All the lights were on in the village, but the lighted win dows were vacant, the tents gone. The field where the rows of trucks had been parked was empty. They went cau tiously past car skeletons and the ruined tepee. At the edge of the rubbish pit a woman holding a tartan beverage cooler fled from them.

In the center of the village street a single truck remained. The driver was a young Mexican; he had the hood up and was working grimly on the truck
’
s engine while his family stood by. There were three children who were still staring, rapturously, at the face of the mountain.

Marge and Converse went to the Land-Rover and Con verse took a camper
’
s ax from under the back seat and set about slashing the tires of Danskin
’
s station wagon with it. The Mexican family watched him in silence. The young man did not look up from his truck
’
s engine. Hicks
’
M-16 clattered on.

Converse got behind the wheel of the Land-Rover and stared at it.

“
Keys,
”
he said.

Marge threw up her hands and shook her head.

He went through his pockets, found a nail clipper and began working the screws out of the front panel.
“
They didn
’
t have Janey,
”
Marge said. He was shaving down the insulation on the starter wire.
“
No, they didn
’
t. She
’
s with Jay.
”

“
Thank God,
”
Marge said.
“
That at least.
”
When the engine turned over, the fuel gauge registered a quarter full. Converse exchanged glances with the Mexican truck driver and gunned for the road out. He moved the Land-Rover as fast as it would go until a bad curve fright ened him. He had difficulty with the four-wheel drive.

“
Could you always do that?
”
Marge asked.

“
Hot-wire it? No, I lea
rned it over there. From a Viet
namese.
”

“
That
’
s a switch.
”

“
Yes,
”
Converse said.
“
It is.
”

There was a clear road ahead of them. For nearly a half hour they climbed—for the hump of the ridge, then the road descended in hairpins along the north side of the wall. Marge poked her head out and looked up and down the track.

“
We
’
re fucked now,
”
she said.
“
There
’
ll be cops.
”

“
It hadn
’
t occurred to me,
”
Converse said.
“
I suppose there will be.
”

“
What do we tell them when they stop us?
”

Converse sighed.
“
I don
’
t know. If they give us back to Antheil we better get a receipt for ourselves. Antheil,
”
he told her,
“
is that guy back there.
”

“
He must be a pretty corrupt cop.
”

“
Yes,
”
Converse said.

“
I suppose,
”
Marge said,
“
they were waiting for us all the time.
”

“
Yes, they were.
”

“
I knew it would happen.
”

“
I did too,
”
Converse said. She was leaning over to see his face. He kept his eyes on the road.

“
Did they give you a tough time?
”

“
Pretty tough.
”

“
I knew they must have,
”
Marge said,
“
when you said they had Janey.
”

“
Sorry about that.
”

“
You couldn
’
t help it.
”

“
You know,
”
Converse explained,
“
they said… or else.
”

“
Right,
”
Marge said.

After the next turn, they saw lights ahead—the tail lights of a line of trucks moving before them out of the valley. They had overtaken the main body of the Brotherhood
’
s retreat. They moved behind the last truck at about fifteen miles an hour. Small brown fingers clung to its tailgate grid, frightened eyes peered from under blankets at their headlights.

“
He wants us to pick him up,
”
Marge said.

“
I heard him.
”

She was silent

“
Even if we get that far,
”
Converse told her,
“
he won
’
t be there. You must realize that.
”
She had buried her face in her hands.
“
I
’
m sick,
”
she said. She curled herself against the seat.
“
Look,
”
she said after a moment,
“
I have to try. But you don
’
t. Maybe if we get through here you can get up to Janey.
”

“
He won
’
t be there.
”

“
Him,
”
she said,
“
he might be.
”

“
If he is,
”
Converse told her wearily,
“
he
’
ll just have the dope and the goddamn thing will start over again. He
’
s not a sane person. And he
’
s not very bright.
”

She wiped her face with her sleeve.

“
He came down for you,
”
she said.
“
That
’
s why he came down. We could have gotten out.
”

Fatigue wore him do
wn. He kept himself hunched for
ward to see through the dust and gloom ahead and his muscles ached.

“
That can
’
t be true.
”

“
He
’
s not a sane person,
”
Marge said.
“
And he
’
s not very bright. Sometimes,
”
she told him,
“
people do simpleminded things like that. They take a chance to help their friends. Can
’
t you respond to that?
”

“
Yes, I can respond to it,
”
Converse said.
“
I
’
m respond
ing to it. He won
’
t be there.
”

“
Haven
’
t you ever done anything like that?
”

“
Yes and no,
”
Converse said. When he turned to her, she moved her back to him pressing her forehead against the hard metal seatback.
“
Like what?
”
he demanded.
“
I don
’
t know what that guy did or why he did it. I don
’
t know what I
’
m doing or why I do it or what it
’
s like.
”

“
It
’
s something simple,
”
Marge said. She twisted in the seat, bringing her head to rest against the plastic window.
“
Jesus, I think I
’
m really sick now.
”

“
Nobody knows,
”
Converse told her confidently.
“
That
’
s the principle we were defending over there. That
’
s why we fought the war.
”

W
hen he was partway up the hill, the moon rose
over the mountains on his left, tracing the ridge line in hard silver light. Moonlight made the wound hurt more. He eased down on one knee and slowly rolled over a shelf of loose rock until his weight was supported by his hip and good shoulder. Tucking his knees up, he rocked slightly on the ground, trying to shake the pain off. It had seemed bearable at first and he had climbed to the place he was by marching to songs and cadences in his mind.

It was like eating morning glory seeds. Not so bad at first, you think you can take more and more of them but after a while they
’
re the worst thing in the world. At first you think, well, I
’
ve had these before but presently they get to you.

Part of himself had seemed to come off in his hand; it had taken him some time to realize that the bloody mass he held was a canvas bag, some kind of expanding cartridge that had struck him under the arm and sent him sprawling.

A man with a beard had fired it.

It hurt him very much to stand up. He closed his eyes to the moonlight and began to erect a blue triangle against the base of his skull. The background was deep black and there was some effort involved in delineating the borders of blue. At the heart of the triangle, he introduced a bright red circle and within the circle he concentrated his pain. The circle glowed and lit the triangle from within, making it lighter against the blackness.