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Two ideas occurred to Jomo just then: that this island just might be the rumored Land of Women, and that he'd best keep quiet until those shotgun-toting slits ran past him on the other side of the hedge. He muffled his breathing and lay very still.
Jomo, hearing the battle run past him, peered under the hedge. He couldn't see anyone through the thick and thorny foliage . . . but he did note that the hedge was mostly horizontal branches.
He poked experimentally with his stu
Jomo followed it, going uphill, away from the armed women and the ru
The last of the Simbas were quickly picked off by the mercs or the women with them . . . . One or two tried the river but the "Jacks" made a quick and messy finish to them.
Jomo studied the greenthorn hedge crossing his path-and the path leading right into it. He poked at the hedge with his boot and a whole section of it lifted. He smiled bitterly, and crawled under the hedge.
A quick look showed the path went further uphill. He chose to follow it, move further away from the snore and all those hunting bitches. There was better cover in this forest, anyway.
The path let him out in a planted field whose crops grew taller than his head. It promised good cover; he started to sneak through it.
He was less than five yards into the field when he noticed the odor and shape of the leaves. He stopped, stared, then burst out laughing.
"It's Ganja! Growing here on Haven . . . ."
Then he realized that "euph-leaf" wasn't a local herb at all. It was nothing but good old marijuana, grass, hemp-growing right here on an island full of women, and from what the sat-map had showed him, there were plenty of cultivated fields around here, maybe most of them growing hemp. What a prize!
If he could only get back to Docktown with the news, he knew he could raise a large enough army to come back and take the island.
Brodski and Van Damm met near the path in the converging hedges above the water.
They'd been giving "last mercy" to the wounded gangsters on the field. They started up, looking at each other-then recognized the lack of expression on each other's faces. Both shared distaste for the business.
"Have you seen Jomo?" Brodski snapped, sounding angry.
"No," Van Damm answered. "How about you?"
"No luck. Let's check the boat; he might still be in the wheel-house."
"Good idea. Big Lou will take care of the rest here."
"Alert her that there might be stragglers from the beach," Van Damm warned.
"Amen." Brodski shivered and turned away. "Their land, their fertilizer . . . . Shit."
As the two mercs plodded to the side of the river, their radios crackled to life.
"Where are you, Se?or Owen?" came the question. "Are you and Se?or Brodski all right?"
"All's secure here, Gra
"I'll relay Captain Makhno to you. We shall keep watch for Jomo from up here. Se?ora Jane says, do not be too late for breakfast. Gra
"Just like a woman." Van Damm laughed. "The world can be falling apart around them, but their major concern is that you get to the table on time."
"So what's more important than survival? And what's more valuable to survival than food? Let's get a move on, Va
Crouching and creeping along the path beside the second ring-hedge, Jomo worked his way northward. If he could get safely far from the battle, he could maybe swim the river, reach the far bank, hike his way back to Dock-town. One of those squatters along the river had to have a rowboat, or raft, or some damn thing that would float-not to mention supplies for the journey. Or maybe, if there was time, he could chop enough wood from the wreck of the Last Resort to make a raft, find enough food to hold him while the raft floated across river.
In any case, the hunters were least likely to be back at the point.
Little Easter had insisted on following the two mercs, and Makhno had no complaint The Black Bitch, engines roaring wide open, hauled them up to the point in a few minutes' time. Makhno circled the tiny harbor. Nothing was moving.
"Well, that leaves ship and shore," said Brodski, centering his optic on the smoking hulk. "The only man in the wheelhouse is the corpse of the pilot. There's no sign of life aboard."
"Then we should go back to the landing," Van Damm insisted. "We may still have some unfinished business."
"I'll pull in at the east corner," said Makhno, heading the Bitch around, "right where the hedge starts. They couldn't have got ashore any sooner than that."
They grounded just under the start of the hedge, got out, hiked the branches aside and began searching uphill.
Little Easter was following Van Damm, carrying her shotgun at high port, when she saw a leg move under the Orange-Berry bush.
The roar of her shotgun brought the men around with weapons pointed.
"It's okay," Easter chirped, smiling. "I got 'im in the head."
Van Damm checked the body and pulled it out to the open. "We owe you one, little sister," he said. "Hmm, if this one got through the hedge, we can assume others did, too."
Easter took a look at the man she had killed, bit her lip, then hurried into the bush. The sounds of her stomach emptying came back to them.
Brodski resolutely turned away. "How many do you think could have made it through?" he asked.
"We have to assume that Jomo did, since we have not found his body."
"That's what I like about you, Owen; you're such an optimist."
Jomo had stopped for a moment as nature called him, when he heard the shotgun blast below. He dived for cover beneath the hedge, not waiting to zip his pants, and peered back toward the shore.
Bellow him he saw a hunting-party searching the forest-belt, beating their way slowly southward. Below them, beyond the hedge, the zodiac was nosed into shore.
Jomo smiled hugely. The answer to all his troubles gleamed black on the beach: the famous Black Bitch! It couldn't be difficult to run, and it was the fastest boat on Haven. He checked his .44 pistol and started back down the slope.
Brodski and Van Damm had spread out keeping Easter in the line between them, and were working their way through the forest, each hoping to catch Jomo alone. They had plans for him.
Makhno, seeing them go, decided to leave the search in their hands and head uphill. It was time to check in with Jane and get the latest report.
"We didn't get off free," Jane grimly informed him. "They shot back, not just with the stu
Makhno ground his teeth; he'd liked Muda. ". . . Hell, we didn't expect to win scot-free. Cheap at the price, I guess . . . if that's all there's going to be . . . ."
"What do you mean, 'if'?"