Read Online Indestructible: V Plague Book 7 by Dirk Patton - Free Book Online
Authors: Dirk Patton
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with thin tendrils of water. Whatever bacteria were leaking out of the body
would have contaminated the entire supply.
“Is that way upstream?” I asked, pointing to our left.
Joe nodded, turning and following the bank to the north. We
walked for five minutes, but all we saw was dry riverbed. Backtracking, we
moved downstream, hoping to find some isolated puddles that would be free of
contamination, but there was only more dry soil. Pausing in the shade of a
small tree I drank half our remaining water then handed the drinking tube to
Joe.
“How sure are you that stock tank will have water?” I asked
as he sucked the bladder dry.
“I haven’t been there in several years, but before I left
the Res it always had water. It would freeze in the winter and someone would
have to ride out and break up the ice so the cattle could drink, but I’ve never
known it to be dry.” He said, shading his eyes as he scanned the horizon. “We
go there, or we go back to the river we waded across.”
Mimicking him, I raised a hand to my brow and turned a slow
circle. Nothing but miles and miles of dry grass with an occasional stunted
tree to break things up. He’d said an hour’s run. That meant roughly six
miles. Twelve mile round trip, and we’d already run at least that far. We’d
be approaching marathon distance by the time we made it back to where we stood
and still had another ten to twelve hours of running ahead of us.
I cursed myself for not having had the foresight to refill
at the river. Sure, I’d been hurting and dizzy and worrying about my new
companion, but that’s still no excuse. My failure might very well cost my wife
and friends their lives. There was nothing I could do about it other than keep
running.
“Lead off,” I said. “And pray there’s water there or we’re
in a world of shit.”
Joe didn’t respond, just jumped down off the bank, crossed
the dry river and climbed up the other side. Back on grass he broke into a run
and angled slightly to the east of due north. I fell in beside him, shutting
my mind down. It didn’t help to be chastising myself over my mistakes, and
could very well distract me to the point that I made another, even more
serious, error.
“You may be in a world of shit if we run into the a-ki-da.”
“The what?” To my ears he had just spoken gibberish, though
I suspected it was a word or words in his native tongue.
“A-ki-da,” he repeated, slowly. “Each Osage chief hand
picks ten warriors. Not so much now, but a few hundred years ago they weren’t
all that different from the Japanese Samurai. They were the best fighters from
different clans and families and it was a great honor to be chosen.
“The tradition has continued. It’s mostly ceremonial now,
but there are some that take it very seriously. My father was an a-ki-da and
my older brother was chosen too.”
Well, that explained a lot about Joe. He didn’t exactly
come from a slacker family. I didn’t need to know the details to understand
what he was telling me. Kings, chiefs and warlords have been doing the same
thing since the dawn of history. Select the smartest and strongest fighters to
surround you. Hell, we’re still doing it today, only now we call it Special
Forces.
“So, if we run into one of these… ah, ah, ah… however you
say it, I’ve got a fight on my hands?” I asked.
“A-ki-da, dumbass. Maybe. Probably. If we do, do what I
say and keep your mouth shut.” He said, sidestepping a snake that our approach
had flushed out of the shade of a bush.
I didn’t have a good feeling that if it came to a fight he
would be on my side, so I settled for keeping my mouth shut and maintaining my
pace. The heat continued to build, the sun approaching its zenith. Each of us
was continually scanning the horizon to our front as well as frequently
checking behind us. When we had covered what I estimated to be half
with thin tendrils of water. Whatever bacteria were leaking out of the body
would have contaminated the entire supply.
“Is that way upstream?” I asked, pointing to our left.
Joe nodded, turning and following the bank to the north. We
walked for five minutes, but all we saw was dry riverbed. Backtracking, we
moved downstream, hoping to find some isolated puddles that would be free of
contamination, but there was only more dry soil. Pausing in the shade of a
small tree I drank half our remaining water then handed the drinking tube to
Joe.
“How sure are you that stock tank will have water?” I asked
as he sucked the bladder dry.
“I haven’t been there in several years, but before I left
the Res it always had water. It would freeze in the winter and someone would
have to ride out and break up the ice so the cattle could drink, but I’ve never
known it to be dry.” He said, shading his eyes as he scanned the horizon. “We
go there, or we go back to the river we waded across.”
Mimicking him, I raised a hand to my brow and turned a slow
circle. Nothing but miles and miles of dry grass with an occasional stunted
tree to break things up. He’d said an hour’s run. That meant roughly six
miles. Twelve mile round trip, and we’d already run at least that far. We’d
be approaching marathon distance by the time we made it back to where we stood
and still had another ten to twelve hours of running ahead of us.
I cursed myself for not having had the foresight to refill
at the river. Sure, I’d been hurting and dizzy and worrying about my new
companion, but that’s still no excuse. My failure might very well cost my wife
and friends their lives. There was nothing I could do about it other than keep
running.
“Lead off,” I said. “And pray there’s water there or we’re
in a world of shit.”
Joe didn’t respond, just jumped down off the bank, crossed
the dry river and climbed up the other side. Back on grass he broke into a run
and angled slightly to the east of due north. I fell in beside him, shutting
my mind down. It didn’t help to be chastising myself over my mistakes, and
could very well distract me to the point that I made another, even more
serious, error.
“You may be in a world of shit if we run into the a-ki-da.”
“The what?” To my ears he had just spoken gibberish, though
I suspected it was a word or words in his native tongue.
“A-ki-da,” he repeated, slowly. “Each Osage chief hand
picks ten warriors. Not so much now, but a few hundred years ago they weren’t
all that different from the Japanese Samurai. They were the best fighters from
different clans and families and it was a great honor to be chosen.
“The tradition has continued. It’s mostly ceremonial now,
but there are some that take it very seriously. My father was an a-ki-da and
my older brother was chosen too.”
Well, that explained a lot about Joe. He didn’t exactly
come from a slacker family. I didn’t need to know the details to understand
what he was telling me. Kings, chiefs and warlords have been doing the same
thing since the dawn of history. Select the smartest and strongest fighters to
surround you. Hell, we’re still doing it today, only now we call it Special
Forces.
“So, if we run into one of these… ah, ah, ah… however you
say it, I’ve got a fight on my hands?” I asked.
“A-ki-da, dumbass. Maybe. Probably. If we do, do what I
say and keep your mouth shut.” He said, sidestepping a snake that our approach
had flushed out of the shade of a bush.
I didn’t have a good feeling that if it came to a fight he
would be on my side, so I settled for keeping my mouth shut and maintaining my
pace. The heat continued to build, the sun approaching its zenith. Each of us
was continually scanning the horizon to our front as well as frequently
checking behind us. When we had covered what I estimated to be half
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