Winter Duty Read Online Free

went off, spraying buckshot into the men behind him, turning one’s cheek into red mist and white bone. A poacher put a banana-clipped assault rifle to his shoulder, and then his hair lifted as though an invisible brush had passed through it, and he went down, a thoughtful look on his face as he toppled.
    Valentine rolled free, dropping his sword and reaching for the little submachine gun he’d carried across Kentucky twice as he ran out of the firelight. With a shake, the wire-frame folding stock snapped into place and he put it to his shoulder.
    A bullet whizzed past, beating him into the night.
    The poachers had pitched their tents in a little cluster, and he moved through them. A shaggy back with a bandolier—he planted a triangle of bullets in it between the shoulder blades, moving all the while, zigzagging like a man practicing the fox-trot in triple time.
    Tent canvas erupted and Valentine felt hot buckshot pass just ahead.
    Move—shoot, stop, and reload. Move—shoot, shoot; move—shoot, stop, and reload.
    Blitty Easy’s Crew was shooting at anything that moved, and Valentine was only one of several figures running through the night.
    Turned out the twelve and then some could be taken without too much of a risk.
    These weren’t soldiers; they were brigands, used to preying on the weak. They popped their heads up like startled turkeys to see where the reports of the sniper fire came from and received a bullet from Dorian’s rifle. Pairs of men moved together instead of covering each other—Valentine cut two down as they ran together toward the machine gun pointed impotently at the sky.
    Valentine saw a figure with long hair running, dragging a child. Please, Dorian, don’t get carried away.
    There was only one headhunter Valentine wanted to be sure of. He wasn’t that hard to find; he made noise like an elephant as he ran through the Kentucky briars and brambles.
    Thick legs pumping like pistons, Easy made wide-spaced tracks for timber.
    A brown-coated figure rose from the brush as he swept past. She executed a neat thrust under his shoulder blades.
    The fleeing figure didn’t seem to notice the quick poke. Blitty Easy pounded out three more steps and then pitched forward with a crash.
    Duvalier kicked the corpse and then waded through the brush to Valentine, sniffing the beaver hat suspiciously as she passed.
    “That was a good piece of killing,” Duvalier said, wearing that old fierce grin that made Valentine wonder about her sanity. She lifted a coattail on one of the bodies and wiped off her sword.
    An engine gunned to life and another shot rang out. The engine puttered on, but he didn’t hear a transmission grind into gear.
    “This might be nice for winter.” She tried the hat on. The size made the rest of her look all that much more waifish, a little girl playing dress-up. “Smells like garage gunpowder and hair oil, though.”
    They covered each other as they inspected the camp. The only one left alive was Sunday. He looked around at the bodies, shaking like a leaf.
    “They said it was good money,” Sunday said. “Easy work. Easy work, that’s what they said. Easy crew. Easy work. Get rich, bringing in rabbits.”
    Duvalier put her hand on her sword hilt, but Valentine took her elbow.
    “He’s just shaken up. We can let him go.”
    Valentine turned on the boy. “You load up a couple of those llamas and go home to mother, boy. Kentucky’s harder than it looks.”
    They circled around away from the bodies and checked the trailers and the prisoner pen.
    “We’re turning you loose,” Valentine said to the captives. “We’re heading west, all the way across the Mississippi. Any of you want to go that way is welcome to file along behind under Southern Command protection.”
    A few gasped. One young girl, no more than six, lifted one chained-together leg as though asking for assistance with a fouled shoelace.
    “There’s got to be a bolt cutter in one of those trucks,” Valentine said