Free Warrior (Freelancer Book 2) by Terry Irving

the inhabitants had decorated their paths with such bizarre items.
    Suddenly, Rick’s mental wandering stopped as he heard a shrieking mechanical howl—close, far too close. He threw himself backward into Eve, and they both fell into the ditch with the trash. Enough filthy slush was at the bottom to make the garbage moist and even more disgusting.
    He didn't wait to signal, but took off on a belly-crawl into the grass, moving at a slant from the road so the path he crushed in the knee-high plants would be harder to detect. He could hear the scrapes and panting that meant Eve was right behind him. When the cycle exhaust rose to a crescendo, they froze, Rick rolling on his back with his face only inches below the waving tops of the grass.
    Two cycles raced by. Rick was glad to see they were moving too fast to pick out their trail. The riders were young men without helmets. Again, Rick noticed that their identical pearl button snap shirts and boot cut jeans were new and unwrinkled. One man's jeans still had paper tags from the store stapled to the waistband.
    He rose as the bikes' dust settled, only to be pulled back down by Eve’s firm grip on his collar. A second later, he realized why. Another engine, a car this time, was coming. It was a sedan, bouncing and shaking in the rough ruts. It looked like a big four-door rental car. He figured those inside couldn't have spotted anything. It was taking all their attention to brace themselves against the shuddering and wallowing of the car's soft suspension on the rocks and washouts.
    This time, he didn't move after the dust settled. He looked at Eve and saw the weariness and sadness in her eyes. "We're too exposed to continue," he said. "Let's find a good hide and get some rest."
    She nodded with relief. Crawling slowly and cautiously, he led her to a small solid clump of brush and stunted pines. Burrowing inside, they rolled together and immediately fell asleep.
    It felt like only seconds had passed when the bushes around them were shaken violently. Rick's eyes snapped open, Eve's wide stare only inches away. They heard panting, and the brush shook again.
    They rolled on their backs and looked up. A buffalo's head was right above them, nostrils wide, and eyes furious. Well, at least Rick assumed they were angry—admittedly, he hadn't much experience with buffalos.
    The buffalo jerked violently against the branches, but they were apparently too strong for him to get any closer. The head lowered until the broad muzzle was only inches from Rick's forehead. He could hear inhalations as the nostrils opened and closed. The head was twisted to one side. Rick realized it was because, up this close, the animal could see only out of one eye at a time. The large brown eye seemed to regard him without any particular approval.
    Without thought, Rick reached up and laid his hand on the short curls of hair under the eye. The massive head didn't move. The curls were soft and tight. He dug his fingers in and scratched hard to get under the heavy coat. The buffalo moved his head slightly to bring other areas into reach, and they kept it up until Rick had given him a thorough scratching on both sides.
    Snorting abruptly, the head pulled back, and they could hear the animal's heavy hooves crunch away through the grass. They could hear other buffalo moving around them as they followed the lead bull.
    In the silence, Eve looked closely at Rick. "Pretty damn brave for a white boy."
    "You think?"
    "I know."
    "Hell, every dog I've ever known has loved to get a nice deep scratching. How different could a buffalo be?"
    "About two thousand pounds and a fair amount of mean different. I think he was trying to tell us to get our butts out of this comfortable little bed and back to work." Eve started to wriggle backward out of the brush. "Anyway, he may be my sacred animal totem—I'm quite sure that this wasn't accidental—but he still had fleas."

CHAPTER 10
April 27, 1973, Oglala, South Dakota
    Larissa