Cry Wolf - Smith Wilbur (книги онлайн без регистрации полностью .TXT) 📗

She was right, of course, the Gallas followed them now with an

implacable malevolence, pressing closely in an avenging throng that

filled the darkness.

the cars-" said Jake, as inspiration came to him. "Get them into one

of the cars."

"And then?"

"One thing at a time," growled Jake.

"Let's get them into the car first." And they moved steadily up the

path, the Gallas pressing them more closely. One of the tall cloaked

figures jostled Jake roughly, trying him, beginning to push harder,

and

Jake moved smoothly, swinging his weight across and swivelling a

quarter of a turn. It was so swift that the Galla could not avoid the

blow; even if he had seen it, he was hemmed in and constrained by the

press of his comrades" bodies.

Jake hit him with a forearm chop, and the barrel of the pistol caught

him in the mouth, snapping off his front teeth cleanly from the upper

gum, and the shock of the blow was transferred directly through the

frontal sinuses to the brain.

The man dropped without a sound and was immediately hidden from view by

the men who stumbled over him as they followed. But they did not press

so hard now, and Jake switched the pistol back to Ras

Kullah's head. The entire incident was over before Kullah could cry

out or squirm in the punishing grip that had bruised and twisted his

upper arm.

Jake shifted his grip again, forcing the man farther off balance,

and hustled him on more urgently. Ahead of them, through the trees, he

could make out the ugly humped shapes of the cars, silver grey in the

moonlight and silhouetted by the dying ash heaps of the camp fires.

"Vicky, we'll use Miss Wobbly. I'm not taking a chance on

Priscilla starting first kick," he grated. "Use the driver's hatch.

Don't worry about anything else but getting behind that wheel."

"What about the prisoners?"

"Do what you're told, don't argue, damn it." They were within twenty

feet of the car now, and he told her, "Now, go, fast as you can." She

darted away, reaching the high side of Miss Wobbly before any of the

Gallas could intervene and she went up it with a single agile bound.

"Close down," Jake shouted after her, and felt a quick lift of relief

as the hatch clanged shut. The ( gal las growled like the wolf-pack

denied its prey and they swarmed forward, pressing hard and surrounding

the car.

Jake fired a single shot in the air, and Ras Kullah screamed a command.

The Gallas drew back fractionally and fell into a sullen silence.

"Vicky, can you hear me?" Jake called, as he shepherded the

Italian prisoners close in against the hull.

Her voice was muffled and remote from behind the steel plate as she

acknowledged.

"The rear doors," he told her urgently. "Get them open but not before

I tell you." He pushed the Italians around towards the rear of the

car, but it was slow work, for they were confused and stupid with

terror.

Now, "Jake shouted and knocked impatiently against the hull with the

pistol. The lock grated and the doors swung outwards, and came up

against the packed bodies outside.

"Goddamn it," growled Jake, an got his shoulder to one leaf of the

door. He shoved it open, knocking down two Of the closest Gallas and

in the same movement boosted one of the Italians through the opening

into the dark interior of the car. In a panicky scramble, the other

two followed him and Jake swung the door closed on them and put his

back flat against it, and heard the bolts shot closed on the inside,

facing the hating dark faces, and the surging press of their hundreds

of bodies. Voices were raised at the rear of the crowd and violence

was seconds away they had seen most of their prey escape, and it needed

little more to trigger the mob reflex.

Jake found he was panting as though he had run a long way, and his

heart pounded, so that he could feel it jump against his rib cage but

he held Ras Kullah, changing his grip from the pudgy upper arm to the

thick wiry bush of his hair, twining his fingers deeply into the

stiff,

dark halo at the back of his skull and twisting the head so that Ras

Kullah faced his men. With the other hand Jake thrust the pistol

deeply into the aperture of the man's ear hole

"Speak to them, sweet lips He made his voice vicious and menacing.

"Otherwise I'm going to push this piece right out through the other

ear." Ras Kullah understood the tone, if not the words, and he gabbled

out a few hysterical words Of Amharic; the front warriors drew back a

pace and Jake slid slowly along the hull, keeping his back to the steel

and Ras Kullah pinned helplessly by his hair to cover his front. The

crowd moved with them, keeping station with them, their faces glowering

in the moonlight, cruel and angry, balancing critically on the pinnacle

of violence. A voice rang out from the darkness, an authoritative

voice urging action, the crowd growled, and Ras Kullah whimpered in

Jake's grip.

The sound of Ras Kullah's terror warned Jake that they would be

frustrated no longer, the moment was upon them.

"Vicky, are you ready to start?" he called urgently, and her voice was

just audible.

"Ready to start." He felt the fixed crank handle catch him in the back

of the legs, and at that instant a woman's voice shrilled and echoed

through the grove of camel-thorn trees. In that heart-stopping

ululation of the blood trill, the invocation to violence that the heart

of the African warrior cannot resist, the sound struck the jostling

press of Gallas like a whip, stroke and their bodies convulsed and

their voices rose in an answering blood roar.

"Oh Jesus, here they come," thought Jake, and put all his strength into

the arm and shoulder that took Ras Kullah between the shoulder blades

and hurled him forward into the front rank of his own men. He crashed

into them, bringing down half a dozen of them in a sprawling tangle

over which the next rank tumbled and fell.

Jake turned swiftly and stooped to the crank handle. He had chosen

Miss Wobbly for this moment, knowing that she was the most gentle and

well-intentioned of all the cars.

He would have trembled to put the same trust in Priscilla and as it

was, even she coughed and hesitated at the first swing.

"Please, my darling, please, "Jake pleaded desperately, and at the next

swing of the handle she hacked, choked and fired then suddenly she was

running sweetly. Jake jumped for the sponson, just as a great

two-handed sword swung down at him from on high.

He heard the hiss of the blade, passing like the flight of a bat in the

darkness, and he ducked under it. The sword struck the steel hull of

the car and sprayed a fiery burst of sparks, and Jake rolled and fired

the Beretta as the Galla raised the sword to swing again.

He heard the bullet slog into flesh, a meaty thump, and the man

collapsed backwards, the sword spinning from his hand as he went down

but from every direction, robed figures were swarming up the hull of

the car, like safari ants over the carcass of a helpless scarab

beetle,

and the roar of voices was a storm surf of anger.

Drive, Vicky for God's sake, drive," he yelled and slammed the pistol

over the woolly head of a Galla as it rose beside him. The man fell