* * * * *
Our hasty exit was accomplished by means of the side door leading to the breeze-way connecting the office to Draconicov's cabin. And, as predicted, we were not immediately pursued. As most of our former captors' attention was focused on the fleeing, howling figure of the lycanthropic Father Wisemann!
Upon reaching the head of the trail leading to the girls' side of Camp New Hope, we did not proceed straight down it. Rather, we slipped into the woods. Heading northeastward, and then veering southwestward, in a roughly semi-circular arc.
Along the way, we ran into the last person we expected to meet. Tobias Blair, leaping from behind a tree, and demanding (in a harsh whisper) that we halt! And, as he had an arrow already nocked to his Osage orangewood flat bow, we complied.
"Good Lord, man!" exclaimed Sir Anthony: "What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be helping Wisemann decoy those viragos for us?"
"I already eluded the segment that was chasing me. I know these woods a lot better than they do. And, believe me; I've traipsed through jungles that make these woods look like a kindergarten class room. In fact, ten years ago, I was one of the opium-smuggling mercenaries who inadvertently rescued Wisemann from these Siamese Amazons!"
The archery instructor further explained (as we continued toward the girls' camp) that the good father had been just a choir boy, at Strasbourg Cathedral, when the Franco-Prussian War first came to Alsace. That what he had witnessed, first-hand, forever cured him of wanting to grow up to be a soldier like his father and grandfather before him. But that it was his year-long captivity, amongst the Buru-naga, that had driven home the painful truth.
"There, indeed, comes a time when everyone (no matter how pacifistic) must gather stones together. Rather than cast them away! Such being the case..."
He paused to remove something from the duffel bag he was toting next to his quiver of arrows.
"Wisemann went back down into that copper mine to salvage these after you went to bed. He spent the rest of the night cleaning and oiling them. As well as blessing the ammunition."
It was the brace of Colt M-1917 revolvers the ill-fated Tomas Schmidt had been packing.
"If the lot of us survive this," declared Sir Anthony: "...remind me to thank him, quite profusely."
As we got closer to the northward-facing side of the girls camp, however, something became amiss. Bob Gabriel's teeth began to chatter. And, yet, he was sweating like a sponge! So I insisted we stop, so I could feel his forehead.
The man was burning up with fever.
"Was it his fall in the lake?" asked Sir Anthony: "Is he catching cold?"
"N-N-N-N-N-N-No!" stuttered Bob: "B-B-Bitten! By those...v-v-viragos."
I suddenly noticed the way Bob's right hand was massaging his upper left arm. So, I immediately ordered Sir Anthony to help me remove Bob's long-sleeved shirt. Sure enough; there was a bite mark half way between his left shoulder and his elbow. And, it was becoming necrotic!
"I saw this same kind of bite mark inflicted on a rookie keeper who mishandled a Nile monitor at the Central Park Zoo. If we don't get him proper medical attention, very soon, we'll have to amputate it!"
"He's in no condition to travel, any further," Tobias Blair remarked: "At least, not right now! The two of you continue on to the girls camp, and get the Grand Duchess. I'll stay here and keep an eye on him."
I looked at Sir Anthony, who nodded in agreement. Whereupon, we donned Tomas Schmidt's gunbelts and continued on. When we arrived at our destination, though, we beheld a most disconcerting sight.
Every residential cabin was being guarded by Buru-naga viragos. But, in their human form. That of copper-skinned, barefoot women in knee-length togas; with curly black hair adorned with a white feather over each ear. Sort of like portraits I'd seen of Vikings with eagle-winged helmets!
And, worse still? Each virago was cradling a .45-caliber tommy gun in her arms.
"How on Earth...?" I began to mutter.
"Gun-running and illegal alien-smuggling," Sir Anthony replied: "Two fringe benefits of Pamela Plaisantine's association with the Taliaferro crime syndicate."
"But, that's not going to stop us," I countered (with a half-smile): "Is it?"
He just as smilingly shook his head, adding: "I believe our destination is Cabin 211."
"Then, let's going!"
NEXT: A NOBLE RESCUE
Giantess World
