Page 111 of Escape Velocity

Chapter Twenty-Four

Max ached to take point, but he was the least qualified of this group to guide anyone through the swamp. The lead man, whose name was Allan, had put the dog on a tether so that he couldn’t run off into the dense underbrush as he led them toward LaTour. Dubois was also on the team as were three other young men—Paul, Tip, and Henri who had been eager to catch the spy. Perhaps they had been in the party searching for him, Amber and Rafe, and now they wanted to make up for letting LaTour get the better of them and the rest of the camp.

They kept up a steady pace, into a part of the bayou that Max had never seen. But several times he recognized a tree or a patch of brush that he thought he’d seen earlier.

“It seems like we’re circling around,” Max said.

“You are right,” Dubois said. “He headed off into the swamp where it will be hard to follow, but now he’s cutting back toward the river. I’m calculating he won’t be that far from camp when he reaches it. Perhaps he has a boat hidden in case he needed to escape. If he can get to it, he may make it to the city.”

“Kahlad. And then he can tell the authorities a slanted version of what happened at Tudor’s house.”

“Exactly.”

Max thought about the consequences. LaTour had been spying for Tudor, the man who had killed many of the Inheritors in the airship raid. Now, he could hardly go back to his old life. He’d have to join the civilized world and live in Port City. But to make it work, he’d have to send the wrath of the Confederation down on his kin group.

The dog tugged at the lead, impatient to find his friend, and Allan let the animal guide them into the greenery. There was no trail, but the Inheritors were skilled at travel through such country. The bayou was in their blood, from the time when they had lived in such a place on Earth, and the skill of navigating this wild land had been handed down through the generations.

The trek through the backcountry seemed endless, with the party having to pick their way around several sucking sand pits. Max had always thought of this area as “the swamp.” But now he noted that it wasn’t all of a piece. Sometimes they tramped through mostly brush. Sometimes they encountered small trees. Other times they sloshed through water.

The scenery changed once more as they rounded a curve and came to a grove of taller trees, growing densely together.

Dubois pointed. “Patamas. The tallest trees in the bayou.”

All at once, the dog began barking and pulling furiously on the lead, heading for the trees.

“Watch out,” Dubois warned. “He says we’re getting close.”

Allan tugged the animal back sharply, just as an energy bolt sizzled through a screen of leaves.

All the men, including Max dived into bushy vegetation.

“I believe we have found him,” Dubois said as he eased along the ground, putting a large tree between himself and the direction from where the blast had originated. “And he stole a beamer.”

One of the younger men looked up, trying to penetrate the dense foliage. “Why would he trap himself in a tree?”

Max followed his gaze. “I think we would have missed him without the dog. He could have waited until he was safe, then slipped down and made for his boat.”

“Oui,” the security chief agreed.

Max and Allan belly crawled to Dubois so that the three of them could talk in low voices.

“Even now,” Allan said, “if he can keep us pinned down, maybe he can escape.”

Max muttered a curse. “We’ve got to stop him. What if you draw his fire, and I circle around back of him?”

“You don’t know the bayou,” Dubois objected.

“I want to make him pay for what he did,” he said, although he silently admitted that wasn’t his only motivation. After Tudor had captured them, Max and Rafe had ended up chained to a wall, helpless to save Amber. That failure had been eating at him ever since, and he was determined that this take down was going to be a success.

Dubois spoke. “You surely will not accomplish your goal—if you get yourself killed.”

Max sizzled with frustration, but he knew the security chief was right.

“What’s your suggestion?”

“Send the dog so we can pinpoint his location. He won’t shoot his favorite hound.” He added “I hope,” under his breath.

Allan spoke to the animal in a friendly voice. “Go find LaTour. He’s playing hide and seek with you. Find him and tell us where he is.” As he spoke, he detached the lead, and Bernard bounded off into the small grove, barking.

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