Robinson Crusoe 2245: (Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

Arga’Zul’s prize forever.
    The pull of the river was constant, and the Spinecrusher almost always stayed in motion. It was clear to Friday that Arga’Zul knew the river by heart. Every inlet and sandbar was his domain. And yet, nothing seemed to appeal to him more than unfurling those black sails and letting the wind carry him forward.
    As Friday toiled below, her mind always ventured back to Crusoe. The memory of him standing on the banks of D.C., threatening the war chieftain, always made her smile. Until she remembered the blond boy striking him from behind and having his body dragged away. Still, she believed in her heart he was alive and coming for her. It was the one thing that made the rest of it bearable.
    Friday heard heavy footfalls on the floorboards above her. Arga’Zul’s berth was directly overhead. Only when those sounds ceased did she resume chipping away at her shackles.
    She suspected she would be free soon. She was preparing the other contingencies in her mind when she felt another drop of blood run from her nose. It was an ill omen. Her strength had ebbed of late, and she had lost even more weight. Only when she noticed the swaying lamp near the stairs had grown blurry did she face the fact that she was dying.

Chapter Five
Siege
     
    Pastor called after Robinson as he sped across the field, but either he hadn’t heard his call, or he disregarded it completely. The brother and sister mutes rushed up with bows in hand, the question implicit in their stances.
    “Yes, dammit!” he cursed. “Go. Both of you, help him!”
    In an instant, they were off.
    As the house fire raged, three Bone Flayers stood outside the conflagration, trying to coax their targets to step from the porch. Smoke was already billowing out of the windows, pushing them forward. But in their thirst for blood the Flayers never saw the shadow speed in from behind, nor the axe that cleaved the first savage’s head in two.
    The second and third Flayer whirled, but arrows struck them in the chest and throat, and they dropped to the dirt.
    At that very moment, a fourth Bone Flayer rounded the house, this one identifiable by a black hand painted on his face. Robinson assumed it marked him as someone of rank. The savage let out a war cry and charged, throwing a spear that missed Robinson by inches.
    In the next instant, a knife was in the savage’s hand, but Robinson’s axes swung with speed and precision that quickly had Black Hand on his heels. Then an arrow found Black Hand’s leg, and he fell to the ground.
    As the farmers stepped out from under the burning eaves, a few moved in the downed man’s direction.
    “Don’t kill him!” Robinson cried.
     
    Seconds later, more families flooded out of the house, one of them yelling, “There are more coming up the street!”
    Robinson scanned the area. He knew they’d never make it back across the field, so he nodded toward the barn.
    “In there!” he yelled.
    The farmers and their families were halfway across the yard when a dozen more arrived. Several shot arrows. One woman was clipped in the shoulder and her children wailed. The woman’s husband pulled her by the arm as Robinson picked up the smallest of her children and carried her toward the barn.
    Behind him, one of the Flayers let out a reverberating whistle—a signal Robinson took to mean more reinforcements were on the way. He glanced back to see Black Hand being helped to his feet. He cursed himself for not killing the man when he had the chance.
    The barn was a rusty, old structure, possibly left over from the days before the Great Rendering, but it had undergone many repairs and had held its form well. The good news was that its exterior was mostly corrugated metal with a gambrel roof that would be difficult to set afire. The bad news was that once they stepped inside, the flayers were sure to trap them inside.
    The interior of the barn had stalls for horses and pigs. Across the floor were all manners of handcrafted