Quickly, Vicky crossed back to Jake and stood close beside him.
Somehow there was safety and security when she was near to him. She
stayed beside him as Jake forced Ras Kullah, step by step, across the
open ground to where the maimed, half-destroyed thing still moved
weakly and drew each agonized breath of air with a bubbling sigh.
Jake stooped slightly away from Ras Kullah, but still holding him,
and Vicky saw the compassion alter the fierce expression in his eyes
for a moment, She did not realize what he was going to do until he
dropped the pistol from Ras Kullah's face, and extended his arm at full
stretch.
The crack of the pistol was sharp and cutting in the stillness,
and the bullet hit the mutilated Italian in the centre of his
forehead,
leavin a dark blue hole in the gleaming "9 white skin of the brow. His
eyelids fluttered like the wings of a dying dove, and the arched
straining body sagged and relaxed. A long gusty sigh came up the
tortured throat, the sigh a man might make at the very edge of sleep
and then he was still.
Without another look at the man to whom he had given peace, Jake lifted
the pistol to Ras Kullah's face again, and with fresh pressure on his
arm he forced him to turn and walk slowly back.
With a curt inclination of the head, he signalled the three
Italians to move. They went first, moving slowly, still shrinking
together, then Vicky followed them, one hand for comfort reaching back
to touch Jake's shoulder. Jake held Ras Kullah twisted off balance,
and forced him step by step onwards. He knew they must not hurry, must
not Show weakness, for the flimsy bonds which held the Gallas frozen
would snap at the least strain, and they would be upon them down under
them in a pack, bearing the press of bodies, and hacking and tearing
them to pieces.
Pace after slow steady pace, they moved forward. Time and again their
way was blocked by sullen groups of tall dark Gallas, who stood
shoulder to shoulder fingering their weapons, then Jake twisted the
muzzle of the pistol into Ras Kullah's soft skin. The man cried out
and reluctantly the way opened, the dark warriors moving aside just
sufficiently to let them pass, and then falling in behind them and
following closely, so closely the leaders were always within arm's
length.
Once they were clear of the pack, Jake could increase the pace and he
moved steadily up the path through the camel-thorn, shepherding the
terrified Italians ahead of him and dragging Ras Kullah bodily along.
"What are we going to do with them?" Vicky asked breathlessly.
"We can't keep Kullah at gun point much longer." Jake did not
answer;
he did not want the closely following Gallas to hear the uncertainty in
his voice, yet he didn't want the girl to show signs of fear.
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.
