Grantville Gazette, Volume 40 (26 page)

Gerbald smiled, and gently clapped the fellow on the arm. "Welcome to the posse."

Dore arrived with their food supplies. She had made more of the packages than he had asked for, because her long years of being a camp follower had taught her to always prepare more than you think you will need for hungry fighting men. Gerbald passed these out to his commandos.

Torbjörn walked over to stand before him. Gerbald raised a questioning eyebrow at the man. "Not you, too, Captain?"

"Yes, I, too! I also have experience in the woods, my friend," Torbjörn told him. "I hunted boar, and the great northern elk with my father and uncles as a lad, before I found my way to the sea. I won't slow you down and can earn my keep. I should be considered as one of Pam's own crewmen, and I won't rest until she is safe!" Torbjörn's face held the unbending steel of a man used to dangerous conditions, a man who would not be denied his place in their ranks. Gerbald knew he was sweet on Pam to boot, and gave him an encouraging smile. "I'm glad to have you with me. She'll be pleased to see you when we find her."

Chapter Fifty-Five: Up The Airy Mountain

After being hit in the back of her head, Pam spent the next fourteen hours in a delirium. She was being carried through the forest in a never-ending nightmare, rocks and roots, branches and brambles occasionally striking her dangling legs with shocking pain. The men who bore her along were brutishly strong, their hulking forms rank with sweat, and the stench of those who go without bathing for far too long; she gagged on their reek. They shouted sometimes in a foreign tongue, maybe French? At the moment, she just couldn't tell. Her ears were ringing, and the harsh sounds were void of any meaning beyond base anger. Pam's head was inside a bass drum, each frantic beat of her heart pounded loudly, with a deep, shuddering ache. She threw up on one of her captor's arms, was cuffed across the cheek for it, then cruelly pulled onwards through terror and darkness.

There was an hour or so of rest at the end of this part of the journey, in which she passed into merciful unconsciousness, curled up in a fetal position on an uneven mat of dead leaves and detritus, the natural smell of rotting vegetation a welcome relief from the odor of her kidnappers.

She was awoken by the efficient means of someone dragging her into an upright position. Her body was a collection of throbs and sharp pains, sore muscles and itching scratches. Even so, Pam had come out of her delirium. Through the muzziness of a powerful headache she remembered what had happened, and understood that she was in terrible danger. For a moment, she wanted to curse at her captors, the blurry shadows in the pre-dawn gloom, but one of the voices in her head said
Stay calm, don't speak!
She thought it was her grandmother speaking, but she knew she was about half out of her mind. The back of her head felt like it had been kicked by a mule, an ugly kind of pain that felt as if it intended to stay a while. She held herself upright so as not to get cuffed again, but half-closed her eyes, swaying as if she could fall down at any moment. One of the three (Or four? It was hard to remember, and she was having trouble counting just yet) men who had captured her turned to the other and slapped him hard across the face, hissing in words that would draw blood if they were made physical. The other pushed him backward, shouting so loudly it made Pam's head hurt all the more.
It's good to see you guys are bonding
, she thought, in her own mental voice, the bit of humor making her fell a very tiny bit better.

Pam had no real way of telling, but the thought surfaced that their spat may have something to do with hitting her on the head so hard that they had to carry her, but that was just a guess. Pam forced herself not to smile. It was just good to see they weren't getting along with each other; it kept the attention away from her. In a flash of clarity amidst the pain, it occurred to her that she should "play possum," pretend to be more out of it than she actually was. Currently, this was her only advantage; the longer she could hang onto it the better. Two of the men grabbed her as they had the night before, and began carrying her between them through the forest. She went limp, and let them do most of the work, a marvelous way to slow them down. It wasn't all play-acting, she doubted she could walk very far unassisted in her current state. The longer it took them to get to wherever it was they were taking her, the closer on their trail Gerbald would be. She knew that by morning he would have come looking for her, maybe even last night. Help was on the way. She just had to stay alive until it got here. The fact that they were bothering to keep her alive was a very good sign. She must be useful to them somehow.
We don't negotiate with terrorists
came to mind, and again she had to stop herself from smiling.
Gerbald is coming, and he's going to kill you fuckers.
She held onto that thought like a holy amulet.

They were heading steadily upward, cutting across the gradually steepening slope in wide zigzags. This was partially to make their trail more difficult to follow, and had the added benefit of easing the strenuous elevation gain, an old hiking trick. It was a lot easier to go up a grade at an angle using switchbacks than to take it on straight. Pam continued to stay limp, moaning pathetically from time to time as if she were lost in an awful dream. She tried to avoid the worst bumps and bruises from approaching obstacles, something she hadn't been able to do the night before, but still take enough abuse to look as if she were still unconscious. The forests here were fairly open, not too much underbrush to slap and snag at her, but what did, hurt. It was around seven in the morning, the light was still dim under the canopy of the huge trees thrusting upward from the hillside. As they climbed, the underbrush was thinner, and the trees grew somewhat smaller. Her captors were making some major elevation gains despite their burden.

They carried her in shifts now, and she was pleased to see that one of them was exempt from this duty, a surly, bramble-bearded fellow who often held his hand across his ribs in obvious pain. Pam grinned fiercely inside. That was from her work with grandmother's walking stick. The more she slowed them down, the better. Carefully, so as not to draw attention to her movements, she scanned each man for the item, yet none of them seemed to be carrying it. That was a good thing, if Gerbald had found the walking stick he would know for sure she was in trouble. Pam was frightened, of course, but the years down-time had been a crucible for her. She was well hardened now, stronger than she had ever felt in her previous life. Pam bore her current peril in silence, knowing that when given the chance, she would break free of these evil men. She wasn't ready to do that yet. Her head still hurt too much, her body was too bruised. Patience. Another thought came to her that gave her comfort: If she could ever manage to give them the slip, even experienced trackers would have hell to pay trying to catch her again. Gerbald had taught her well.

As they passed through a gap in the hills Pam realized the ground had grown rocky. Her trail would be hard to follow. She pretended to have a fit, she thrashed about so suddenly and fiercely that the men lost her grip on her, and she fell onto her front, drooling and spitting, her eyes rolled back into their sockets for dramatic effect. She used the confusion to reach under her belly and turn over a sizable stone, leaving its damp bottom up. Hopefully Gerbald would notice this. She paid for the ruse with more pain, but it wasn't as bad as it had been an hour ago. Either she was healing, or she was getting used to it. The men growled at her as they picked her back up, but didn't strike her. She wondered if they were beginning to doubt the wisdom of whatever plan involved stealing a woman.

****

Gerbald and his men moved cautiously through the night forest, moving from one sign to the next; broken twig, scuffed ground, bent leaf. Pam's flashlight helped greatly, spotlighting signs that would have been invisible to the naked eye in such poor visibility, and providing a beacon for the men to follow. Gerbald wanted to move faster but didn't dare. These weren't the familiar woods of Germany, and even though he and Pam had spent many days under the trees while studying the dodos, the island's wilderness was still an unknown, the plants and animals still mostly alien to him. It would be easy to miss something.

It was obvious that Pam was being carried along between two of the men. On a patch of brambles, Gerbald found a shred of torn blue silk. There was blood on it. They weren't being too gentle with her. He started to grow angry, but pushed the emotion down. He had to stay cool and focused. He didn't show the cloth to Torbjörn, knowing it would enrage the man, who had grown quite smitten with Pam. It would be best if they all remained calm, for now. The signs of their quarries' passage, invisible to most eyes, moved in long switchbacks as the hillside grew steeper. Pam's captors were indeed expert woodsmen. This wasn't their first climb, and if they hadn't been carrying a burden Gerbald thought they might have lost him by now. Gerbald wondered for the hundredth time what they wanted with Pam. Was she a hostage they would use to buy their way off the island as free men, or was there some other, darker purpose? He pushed such demoralizing thoughts aside, concentrating his mind on the search.

By noon of the next day they were nearing the top of the first line of foothills bordering the mountainous interior. At dawn they had stopped only for a few minutes to eat a cold, but fortifying, breakfast from Dore's ration sacks, then they pressed on without sleep. The underbrush was sparser up here, the ground rockier, and the clues that much harder to find. They came to a saddle between two large hills, a stone-paved pass into a wide valley beyond. Gerbald was just about to despair at the lack of signs when he saw a dark patch amongst the pale stones. Walking as swiftly as he dared to the spot, he found a medium sized flat stone had been turned over, its damp, moss-covered side slowly drying in the tropical morning sun. His heart leaped with joy. This was Pam's work! He turned to the worried-looking men behind him and grinned, waving them to come along. The posse was still on the trail.

Chapter Fifty-Six: Into The Briar Patch

Pam's mouth was filled with a bitter, coppery taste. She realized that she had bitten the inside of her cheek during a particularly bumpy stretch. The taste made her want to retch, she felt dizzy, and thought that she might actually pass out again for real. Then she did.

She came around again in what felt like just a few moments, but must have been hours later. Judging by the light, it was late afternoon. Pam's head still hurt like hell, but she felt her powers of higher reasoning were improving. That bastard had hit her on the head pretty hard. She supposed he must have known what he was doing, since he hadn't killed her. A professional thug then. That fit the bill. Considering she wasn't about to be taken easily, and was putting up one hell of a fight, she could understand why knocking her out might have seemed like a good idea. She now definitely knew how poor Pers must have felt. Head injuries were bad news, and she hoped she wasn't more badly damaged than she felt. She wanted to reach back there and feel for the damage but her arms were the aching and bruised prisoners of her bearers.

Even though Pam felt a bit better after her last unconscious spell, she continued to act delirious. It was the best ruse she had for now. They were in a wide valley lying beneath distant peaks. The men were able to move faster through the flower-sparkled meadow grass, her feet not even grazing the ground as they whisked her toward the mountainous interior. She had no idea where they were, only that they were headed roughly west.
Dear God, please let Gerbald find me, please let it be soon!
she prayed silently, fearing what might happen when darkness fell.

They came to a lazy-looking river winding along their north, dividing the grassland from the forest. To Pam's surprise, they splashed into it without hesitation, the water coming nearly up to their chests. They waded upstream against the slow, but steady current, holding Pam's head held carefully above water. She was a good swimmer, but she wouldn't let them know that unless she absolutely had to. She could only hope that Gerbald would figure out what happened, and be able to continue to follow her. A sudden fear that he might lose her trail at the water's edge gripped her, and she breathed deeply, not allowing herself to enter a panic state. Gerbald was the best. He would be coming for her, and he would have the men with him. Once that happened, these assholes didn't stand a chance.

After a few minutes of floating limply along, Pam realized that her throat and mouth were painfully dry, and she was up to her neck in cool water! She took several small sips, washing her mouth out, and letting some of the water trickle down to soothe her burning throat. It tasted fresh and clean, still untouched by human pollution. Satisfied that she wouldn't throw it back up, she surreptitiously drank some more, little by little, until she reached nearly her fill. She didn't know when she would get any water again, and replenishing her bodily fluids might be the difference between life and death on this perilous journey.

Feeling better after the wonderful drink, Pam started to go over her options, few as they were. The river was going to definitely slow Gerbald down, trying to guess which way they had traveled in the water, and finding the spot where they emerged was going to take some time no matter how you looked at it, even for an expert like her seasoned German woodsman. If only she could lose these guys, slip away! She started to make a mental inventory of her injuries. It was mostly scratches and bruises to her arms and legs, nothing really serious there. She felt she could run, if she had to. Her worry was her head. If she did run, and then lost consciousness because of it, she would be worse off than if she had cooperated. These were not gentlemen, and she was sure any trouble she made for them would be paid back in double. So far they hadn't bound her, something she feared greatly. If she were tied up, her chances of escape would become very poor indeed. It occurred to her that they would probably bind her tonight, and making a break for it before then started to feel like a frightening necessity. Could she pull it off? How? Whatever she did, she had to time it right and make sure her getaway was clean.