Winter Duty Read Free Page A

Chance.”
    Valentine couldn’t say why he picked the name. One of the Moondaggers had called himself that. An emissary sent to deliver threats and ultimatums, he hadn’t intimidated the Southern Command’s troops—the quickest way to get their backs up was to start making demands and informing them they were beat.
    Valentine thought of tying the kid’s hands—he had spare rawhide twine in a pocket, as it had lots of uses around camp—but settled for looping his legworm pick in the back of the boy’s pants and prodding him along with the haft. Less aggressive that way and it kept Valentine out of elbowing distance in case the boy made a gesture born more of desperation than inexperience.
    Being careful about others’ actions as much as your own was how you stayed alive on Vampire Earth.
    “Sunday, I need to talk to the boss of—What do you call yourselves, a gang?”
    “Easy Crew, sir. Blitty Easy’s Crew.”
    “Which one’s Blitty Easy?”
    “The one with the tall hat, sir.”
    Valentine thought of giving the kid a poke the next time he said sir.
    “Call me Chance, Sunday.”
    “The one with the hat, Chance bo—Chance.”
    The use of names was relaxing the kid a little.
    They met the relief sentry on the way, a man with no less than nine Old World jujus around his neck, a mixture of car manufacturer iconography and bandless watch faces. Valentine recognized a Rolex and Bulova dangling from gold chains. Valentine remembered some of the decorations as Gulf Coast Reaper wards.
    “Keep your mouth shut, Sunday,” Valentine said.
    “That watch post has blind spots right and left,” Valentine called. He kept Sunday Trent between himself and the sentry as they passed.
    The relief looked distinctly unrelieved at the news.
    “Hollup!” the relief called belatedly.
    The camp was contracting like a turtle tucking in its limbs for the night. One of the poachers guided a captive to a tent, his hand firmly on the back of her neck. She didn’t struggle—a pregnancy was a guarantee of life in the Kurian Zone, both as proof of fertility and for the sake of the new member of the human herd.
    The gunmen stood up at Valentine’s approach, swapping eating utensils for guns and clubs.
    “Easy now, Easy Crew,” Valentine muttered. “Just relax, Sunday. All I want to do is talk a bit.”
    Sunday led him into camp and people gathered, naturally curious about the stranger. Weapons were readied but not pointed.
    Sunday pointed out the leader of the headhunters.
    Valentine had to admire the big man’s sartorial taste. From the dirt pattern on his extremities, Valentine surmised he drove the ATV. Valentine hadn’t seen a beaver hat since New Orleans at least, if not Oklahoma, and this one had a lush shine to it that spoke of either recent purchase or tender care.
    “Careful, tha, with that gun, stranger,” Blitty Easy said. Everything on him looked bright and expensive, from the silver tips on his shoes to the diamonds fixed to the skin in the place of one shaved eyebrow.
    “I’m here to talk, not shoot,” Valentine said.
    “Even shooting off your mouth can be dangerous around me, Injun Man,” Blitty Easy said. “What’s the matter, we grab somebody’s heir? You the big tough man they sent to get him back. No, her back.”
    “I think bigger than that. I want the whole bunch. Leave the bonds. I want to present them wrapped up like a big bouquet.”
    Blitty Easy laughed. “You talk pretty big for a man with nothing but a dumb kid in his sights. You can shoot him if you like. Serves him right for letting himself get snuck up on tha in that tree.”
    “What direction you going, Sunday?” Valentine asked, poking the kid in the lumbar with the barrel of his gun.
    “South. Mem—”
    “Shuddup, Sunday,” Blitty Easy said.
    “South,” Valentine said. “Good. You won’t have to circle around to avoid us; you can just keep on track.”
    Blitty Easy stood up, thick legs holding up a stomach that jutted out like a