A Spear of Summer Grass - By Deanna Raybourn Page 0,25

we descended, the brakes were so hot and slick they were barely catching at all. We skidded to a stop at a stream and Ryder parked the vehicle, turning off the engine to let it rest. The only sounds were the ticking of the hot metal and the rushing of the stream and Dora’s faint wheezing.

Ryder glanced down pointedly, and I saw that I had been clutching at his leg. I moved my hand instantly, but he merely smiled.

“It’s over, Dora,” I snapped. She roused herself as Ryder jumped from the vehicle.

“Where are you going?” I demanded.

He reached into the back and lifted a can. “Water. After a ride that hot, you have to fill the radiator. Remember that if you ever do the drive by yourself.”

He stepped around the vehicle and I made to follow. “Stay inside,” he ordered. “There’s wildlife around here and you don’t know what you’re doing.”

I opened my mouth to argue when he raised a hand, silencing me with a gesture as imperious as a Caesar’s.

There was a low snuffling sound, and then a crash as something enormous moved in the bushes beside the stream. Ryder stepped carefully backward, his eyes never leaving the shivering bushes.

“Hand me my gun.”

I twisted, reaching into the gun rack behind me. “Which one?”

“The biggest. It’s already loaded and the safety is on. Just pass it over.”

I did exactly as he told me. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Don’t make any noise or any sudden movements. You can’t make it back up that hill, the engine’s too hot. If anything happens to me, drive like hell straight down the road until you come to a duka. The storekeeper will know what to do.”

“If anything happens to you?” I hadn’t known it was possible to shriek in a whisper, but I managed it. Dora was cowered against the seat, peeping over her handkerchief and pulling so hard on the flask I thought she was going to suck the finish off the metal.

“It’s probably a buffalo,” Ryder explained. “They don’t much like people, and if I have to take him, I’ll have one shot. He’ll be out of that cover too late for a second. If I miss, don’t stay to watch. It won’t be pretty.”

His tone was so calm, so matter-of-fact, we might have been discussing what he wanted for dinner rather than whether he would live or die. He hadn’t looked at me once. His whole attention was directed toward the coming reckoning. He was on the far side of the vehicle, and with his gaze fixed firmly on the bushes, it was easy to slip into the back and retrieve the Rigby. The ammunition was close at hand, and I took out two rounds, my fingers slick with sweat against the cool metal. There was no point to taking more. I wouldn’t have time to reload. I slid the cartridges into the rifle and closed the breach. I moved soundlessly to stand behind Ryder. He never moved his head, but he must have seen the shift in the shadows. His own rifle was lifted to his shoulder, one eye closed as the other sighted down the gun.

“Get back on the other side of the car. I want you to shoot from cover. Wait until you have a clear shot,” he instructed softly. “He’s coming head-on. Aim between the eyes. I’m taking the heart.”

There were a dozen things wrong with that, but I didn’t argue. I moved back to put the vehicle between us, using the hood to brace my arm. I cocked both barrels of the rifle and waited. It felt like the end of time and back again before the branches shivered hard and parted. What came through was the size of a small house, big and black and relentless. He was solid as the earth, and his eyes were narrow and mean. He paused for a moment, and I saw the sweat gathering on Ryder’s shoulders, soaking his shirt as he held the gun steady, waiting, waiting for a chance not to shoot.

But the buff didn’t oblige. It put its head down and gathered its strength, pushing off to run straight at us.

Ryder was wrong. He did have time for a second shot. His first was fast and hot and straight through the thick shoulder of the buff into its heart. I put one round into its forehead, and before I could recover from the punch of the recoil to sight the next shot, Ryder had put a