KILL SHOT

6 - Reynal and the warship

Oh, shit.

Holy shit.

He wasn't.

The dogs stopped under his shouted, "Whoa!" and he jumped from the sled. He slung one arm over Timba, one over Loba, hunkering between to calm them. Still they growled. And with good reason. Up ahead, Sokol, Cerebus's flagship zeppelin, rose from the ground, leaving the traveler's hut—his destination!—engulfed in unnatural flames.

Blue flames. Deep red, and super vivid. A touch of green. Colors that didn't seem right. And the zeppelin... It provided security for the half-year transport, and that vessel was still in the Eastern Sea, a couple hundred klicks out. What was the airship Teach called the Beast doing here now, and doing in the hills at all?

He didn't have time to wonder. He barely had time to think. The zeppelin was turning. He and his team were completely exposed. He fisted his hands in the dogs' ruffs and took a deep breath, as if holding it would make a difference. The airship pivoted to face him and hovered in place. The dogs panted, their breath moist and warm. Sweat rolled down his spine.

He could run, but to where? Timba and Loba, even without the weight of his sled, would be no match for the airship's speed. Besides, they were trapped in a canyon with steep sides and no cover. Crouched low, he searched left and right, thought about grabbing a blanket from his supply bag. He could cover himself and the dogs, make the sled appear abandoned.

Patience is safety. He heard Adelmo's words, which had never made the sense they did now. Then he heard Teach's: Always be watching. Know what's at stake. Only then take the risk.

Since he had no idea what was going on, he stayed motionless between the dogs, noting the placement of what he figured were positioning engines briefly whirring on the airship's forward and rear winglets, and the larger, slowly turning external drive propellers mounted on the hull.

Lines dangled tens of meters from the front and back, as well as from the underside compartment designed to carry passengers and freight. Four inflated landing cushions made it look like the zeppelin was wearing snowshoes. It was so very quiet as it floated there.

He'd barely finished the thought before the engines powering the drive propellers fired to a dull roar. The Beast lurched forward, rising up and over the spot where he and the dogs sat. He remained still, watching the thing climb. Once it reached a height of what he guessed was a thousand meters, it began retracing the path he'd traveled down the valley, then turned to the northeast and out of sight.

The immediate threat gone, the dogs grew restless. He flexed his fingers and got to his feet. Adrenaline clutched hard, taking him back to the games and the rush of the rope swing, flying over the gorge with his heart in his throat. He wasn't sure which would be the worse way to die: free falling to the bottom of a ravine or being fried by Cerebus blasters.

He spurred on the team, the runners of his sled bumping down the icy trail. A few minutes later, they arrived at what was left of the hut. Timba and Lobo grew uneasy, growling as they gave an area in front of the hut a wide berth. Flames licked around the remains of the blasted doorway, but it wasn't the heat that had unsettled his dogs.

No. It was the large radial blast mark on the ground some ten meters from the front door. That and the scattered debris from whatever had been hit. The mutts whimpered and pawed at the ground and bared their teeth, snarling. Talking softly, he soothed them while securing them and the sled a safe distance away.

The first thing Rey noticed on his approach to the hut was the sickening smell. Like burned hide. Moving forward, he picked up a piece of debris, but just as quickly dropped it. It had been part of a boot. Wet. With blood. As it hit the ground, a piece of a bone fell out.

He glanced around, seeing similar bits and pieces. Familiar bits and pieces. Clothing scraps. Clumps of muscles and skin. This debris field had once been a man. Blown up in a neat, circular pattern. He fought off a wave of nausea and moved to the center. Drag tracks and a trail of blood led from the hut to where he stood. Strands of frayed rope littered the area. The man had been injured and restrained, hauled outside, then disintegrated.

Rey examined the prints left by the Cerebus troops and tried to piece together their movements. The door had suffered a tremendous blast; there was a charred hole the size of a dinner plate where the latch had been. More tracks led to the underground larder at the rear.

Awed by the power of Cerebus' tech, he wondered what else the Beast was capable of, what weapons they had when he carried nothing but his sling. He'd seen what blaster guns could do. How powerful the bombs the rebels used were. But whatever had obliterated the poor soul here overwhelmed his imagination.

Had the man been tortured into revealing the location of what Adelmo had sent Rey to fetch? No. Adelmo had said the hut would be unoccupied. That whatever it was Rey had come for had been put there some time earlier. Huh. So Cerebus had tortured and killed a traveler for no reason. He supposed he should be surprised. He wasn't.

But had they found what they'd been looking for? After all, how many places were there to hide something in a stone hut? He could be in for a long night of searching, digging around for something that might be a part of the rubble or perhaps no longer there at all.

He ducked inside and found little trace of the dead man's gear: two pelts and traps, now ruined, the bed that had been stuffed with straw; the frame and the mattress were both smoldering. The oily, acrid smell of the charred interior had him pulling up his mask and breathing through the wet fur lining.

There was also a fire pit and cooking utensils. He kicked at the debris. A pot rolled to the side, revealing a small key. Huh. Maybe it had fit the latch on the door? Or that to the larder? He didn't recall Teach using one when they'd stayed here, but he pocketed it as he headed outside.

Circling the hut, he located what remained of the door to the external pantry. Root cellars in all areas of Earthland were weighted against raiding animals. But the door to this one had been blasted into pieces. The few items inside were flung carelessly, and most scorched.

Dried meat parcels. Shriveled beet bunches. A cask of what had once held buttery cream now smashed, the liquid's lumpy remains splattered on nearby items. Aggravation had him shaking his head. What a waste.

All the same, Jedda Gren could use any salvageable foodstuffs. Rey would take a different route home and drop them off. Returning for his team, he emptied the sunken pantry, repackaging the usable items and storing them on his sled.

The dogs snuffled at the debris, and he tossed them a few bits of the meat he'd found scattered on the larder's floor. Then he realized the rocks lining the walls had been dislodged, most likely jarred loose by the vibrations from the fiery blasts.

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NEXT: Rey, the box, and the drone