Free Pawn’s Gambit by Timothy Zahn Page B

cabin as two of the boys came out the door. Heather, I saw, was no longer being held, though Jackson stood close by her with his knife drawn.
    â€œNot too much in here,” one of the two called back. “A couple days’ worth of food, maybe, and some other stuff we can use.”
    Duke looked back down at me. “Okay, lady, it’s a deal. Zac, go see if you can find some rope.”
    â€œYou gonna tie him up out here?” Al asked. “Someone might find him.”
    â€œNaw, we’re gonna take them inside. But I want his hands tied before he gets up.” Duke grinned down at me. “You’ve got a good place here to hole up. We almost missed it.”
    I didn’t bother to reply. A moment later Zac brought out most of my last coil of nylon rope, and in two minutes my hands were tied tightly behind my back. I was then dragged to my feet and marched at knifepoint into the cabin. Heather was already inside, her hands similarly tied.
    â€œLet’s put ’em in the kitchen,” Willy suggested. “We can tie ’em to chairs there.”
    We were taken in and made to sit down, but they ran short of rope and only I was actually tied to my chair. Al suggested instead that Heather and I be roped to each other, but Duke decided against it. “She can’t get into any trouble,” he scoffed. Stepping over to me, he inspected my ropes and then drew his knife, resting its tip against my Adam’s apple. “Okay, girl, I got my knife at your friend’s throat. Give.”
    She gave them directions to my upstream “refrigerator” hollow. “You’ll probably need to walk—there’s too much undergrowth for bikes,” she concluded.
    â€œOkay, we’ll go take a look.” Duke sheathed his knife and glanced at the others. “Jackson, you and Colby stay here and keep an eye on things. And keep your paws off the food—hear?”
    â€œGotcha,” Jackson said. Colby, mobile but still hunched over from my kick, nodded weakly.
    Willy caught Duke’s eye, glanced meaningfully in my direction. “Why bother with guards?”
    â€œâ€™Cause if she’s lying we want him in good shape, so we can take him apart for her,” he said calmly. “Let’s get started.”
    They left. Jackson and Colby hung around a little longer, until the sounds of conversation from the others faded into the distance, and then went into the living room where they’d be more comfortable. The swinging door closed behind them and we were alone.
    I looked at Heather, wishing I had something encouraging to say. “Did they hurt you?” I whispered instead.
    â€œNo.” She paused. “They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?”
    There was no point in lying to her. “Probably. I blew it, Heather.” The words made my throat ache.
    â€œMaybe not. They took the four kitchen knives out of the drawers earlier. But they didn’t find your bayonet.”
    I stared at her, hope and surprise fighting for supremacy in my mind. I’d long ago told Heather of the weapon and its hiding place, of course: it had been put on top of the wall cabinet over the kitchen sink precisely for a circumstance like this. There was only a three-inch-high gap between the cabinet and ceiling, an easy spot to overlook in a quick search. But how did Heather know Duke’s punks had missed it?
    For the moment, though, the answer was unimportant. Carefully, I tested the ropes that held me to the chair. It was a complete waste of time—the boys hadn’t taken any chances. “There’s no way for me to get over to it,” I admitted to Heather at last.
    â€œI know.” Her face was very pale, but her mouth was set in grim lines. Swaying slightly, she stood up from her chair. Her feet were tied at the ankles, but by swiveling alternately on heels and toes she was able to inch across the floor. Turning her back to the