The Flock - By James Robert Smith Page 0,99

They could both tell that Billy’s voice was fading slightly.

“Come out, you idiots,” the Indian repeated. “Come out before they kill the lot of you.”

“He’s crazy,” Levin muttered, head still down, still coated in broken crystal bits.

“No. I don’t think he is,” Ron told him. “I think he was giving us a way out of here.” He braced to stand, but Kate’s hand on his shoulder held him in place, her grip every bit as strong as his own.

“What are you talking about? He just shot at us.”

“No. I think he was shooting out the window to give us an escape route. I believe he knows that’s the only way we’re getting out of here without having to face those guys who killed Kinji. There’s probably more than two of them. We have to go. Now.” Ron did stand, and had to exert some effort to break free of the hold Kate had on him.

“Don’t do it,” Kate said, her voice loud, forceful. “Think about it. It makes even more sense now than before. Mary and Billy are both Seminole. They’re in this together.” Ron heard Levin whimper as he stood and looked out to see what Crane was doing.

The Seminole was moving away, toward the corner of the building, where two of the compound’s structures made a kind of open yard between them. Ron saw Crane glance back and motion for him to follow. “Hurry up, you damned fool,” Billy yelled, his voice growing just a bit more faint.

Without thinking about it again, Ron knelt and grasped Levin behind the elbows and forced him to stand. Adam actually screamed, believing that he would soon be shot when his former companion caught sight of him through the shattered window. His eyes were wide and crazy as he looked up to see Crane retreating toward the forest. “What? What’s he doing?” Levin asked.

“He wants us to follow him,” Ron said. “He shot out the window so that we could get out of here without getting killed. Now, come on, dammit. Let’s haul some ass before those other guys find us.” He looked toward Kate who was just standing there, seemingly at odds with herself. “Make up your mind, Kate. I’m getting out of here now, while we can.”

“You don’t know,” she stammered. She used the pistol to point toward the now all but invisible figure of Crane disappearing into the gloomy forest.

“We don’t have time to debate this.” He cast a glance toward the direction Billy had vanished. “We’re getting out of here. Now,” he said. He put his hands on the windowsill, not worrying about being cut, and he quickly vaulted over. On the other side, he was surprised to find that ground level was a full two feet lower than the floor had been, and he stumbled as he fell and went to the grassy earth. Grunting, he peered up and looked to see Levin following him, tentatively testing the sill.

“Come on, Adam. Get your butt in gear. Give him a hand,” he suggested to Kate who he could see was still just standing there, watching them.

Levin jumped stiffly off the sill and made an even clumsier landing than Ron had. Riggs, afraid that his panic-stricken companion would twist an ankle and be unable to run, stepped forward to keep him from falling, which Adam would have done if not for Riggs’ support. Still holding Levin up, Ron turned his eyes toward Kate who was at the window, leaning out, squinting at both of them.

“You coming, Kate?” Even as Ron asked it, he could see that she was bringing the .357 up, toward himself and Levin. But seeing her doing that, it did not occur to him that she could be aiming the weapon at them.

The shot broke the air into a billion bits of sound. Ron saw a puff of smoke appear around the big pistol, enveloping Kate’s right hand. He saw the recoil from the weapon force her long arm up almost half a foot, her shoulder back an inch or so. Adam Levin’s chest exploded, the exit wound a fist-sized crater that erupted in a shower of hot, crimson wet, spattering Ron’s face with a horrid warmth.

Levin was dead in an instant, and the silly look on his face seemed almost a kind of reflection of the complete, numbing shock that was burning through Riggs. He had been supporting Levin, his hands on the man’s torso, almost beneath the armpits. Later, but not right then, he

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