do."

Ryan responded by bolstering the SIG-Sauer, cupping his hands together like a stirrup. "Up," he said.

Doc shoved the sword stick into his belt and placed his right foot in Ryan's hands, glancing up to see that Jak and J.B. were hanging on to the lower branches of the big oak tree, waiting to help him.

Dean's voice came from much higher up the tree, from among the luxuriant foliage. "Dad!"

"I know," Ryan replied. "I know. Up you go, Doc, quick as you can."

The old man knew better than to argue when that cold steel tone entered Ryan's voice. He pushed down while Ryan lifted, reaching up for assistance. There was a grunt of effort, then Doc was gone, only the familiar cracked knee boots waving for a few moments.

Ryan risked a last glance around the side of the tree, seeing that the pigs had somehow detected their presence. They were running toward the oak at a fair speed, muzzles low to the earth like hunting dogs. Now that they were near, less than fifty yards away, Ryan could appreciate how enormously big and powerful the mutie animals were.

The nearest was a boar, one tusk broken off short, leaving a jagged point, the other tusk curving wickedly, its tip stained with clotted mud. The creature had to have stood nearly five feet tall at the shoulder, better than ten feet from snout to the tip of its curling tail.

"I'll shoot it," Trader yelled.

"No, don't!" Ryan jumped for the same rounded burr that Doc had tried for unsuccessfully.

Though Doc had an extra inch in height, Ryan had vastly more strength and agility. He reached and held, swinging his legs up over a protruding branch in a single easy motion.

What he hadn't realized was how close the nearest pig was and how fast it was moving. Something caught the heel of his combat boot as he pulled himself safely into the tree, and he was aware of stinking breath and a snorting grunt of rage immediately below him.

"Gaia!" Krysty's emerald eyes were wide with shock. She held out her hand to steady him, helping him to climb a little higher into the tree. "Close, lover."

"Too close."

Suddenly there were pigs everywhere, crowding around the tree, banging into it, jostling one another, their tusks clashing like sabers. Ryan looked about him, seeing that everyone was perched higher up, all of them finding a nook or cranny to hang on to. Everyone stared down at the maelstrom of murderous animal flesh below them.

The whole tree was now vibrating under their weight and pressure.

Ryan peered down, seeing that the monstrous pack leader, with the broken tusk, had struggled to rear itself up onto its hind legs, muzzle questing toward the man. Its slobbering lips were pulled back off the drool-smeared fangs, wheezing in its desire to reach Ryan.

"Fuck off." Trader was just above Ryan, straddling a thick branch, plucking acorns and hurling them at the pigs. "Why not chill them."

"Reason I told you. They'll get tired and move off. They know they can't reach us."

The huge boar seemed to have heard Ryan as it dropped back to its four feet, head turned at an angle, tiny

furious eyes glowering at the nine people in the tree.

But the herd of pigs still showed no immediate interest in moving away.

Altogether Ryan counted thirty-eight or -nine of the brutes. It was difficult to be totally accurate because

they kept milling around among the trees. There were only a few piglets, the rest of them being mainly young sows and boars, with a scattering of older animals.

The sun was now up, behind the jagged peaks of the Sierras, with the promise of a fine day to come.

"When they goin' to give up, Dad?" Dean asked plaintively from among the leaves.

At the sound, nearly all of the pigs stopped their rooting around and looked up into the tree.

"Soon, Dean. Real soon."

Ryan wished he felt more certain of that.

Chapter Twenty.

Another hour had drifted by. The pleasant morning was being ruined by the presenceand the stenchof the mutie pigs. They were still all gathered around the oak tree where Ryan and the other eight friends were clustered. Every time anyone in the branches made any sort of noise, the pigs would stop and stare hungrily upward.

The leader of the herd had started pushing against the scarred trunk of the tree, snorting and snuffling to the others, seeming as though it were trying to organize some of the larger young boars to help him. Mildred guessed first what the creatures were trying to do. "For the Lord's sake! I never thought that I'd be threatened by ten tons of bacon on the hoof. They're going to try to rock the tree clean out of the ground. Look! Some of them're burrowing away around the roots."

There was the harsh metallic click of Trader readying the Armalite.

Ryan hesitated a moment. "Not yet," he decided.

"You mean to wait until the tree falls down and drops us among those fucking pigs?"

"No. I mean to wait a little longer. Most animals don't have the patience to hang around for too long."

"Most animals don't have nine ready-made meals sitting up a tree just waiting to be eaten."

"I said we'd wait. If there's a real danger of them felling the tree, then we can take them out easily enough.

But it'll take a mess of ammo and make too much noise."

For twenty minutes or so, nobody spoke.

Ryan watched the pigs, fascinated by their grim dedication. A number of the younger boars were digging

away at the base of the live oak, tunneling into the moist earth and gnawing or snapping through any roots

that they encountered.

The old boar was organizing the sows to keep pushing at the trunk, rocking it back and forth, the upper branches and leaves swishing with the jerking movement.

The animals were enormously, freakishly powerful. Their skin was coarse and thick, covered in long bristles, scarred with the wounds from old injuries and dappled with a leprous scaly condition. Hooves were sharp, suited for digging or trampling, and they all had vicious teeth and tusks.

From where he was perched, Ryan could see a little way across the forest, toward the east, where they believed the ville of Baron Weyman lay. He could just make out a thin column of white smoke rising into the morning sky, about two miles off that he guessed might be the cooking fires for first food.

While he stared toward the mountains, Ryan was picking off bits of dry, dead twigs, flicking them down onto the backs of the pigs.

One piece hit the huge boar with the broken tusk on the ear, making it give a roar of rage. It charged the tree square-on with its shoulder, making the whole thing shudder.

There was no warning of the disaster, just a sharp cracking sound from above Ryan and a cry of shock and despair from Abe.

The little gunner rode the snapped branch down, clinging to it as it bounced off other, lower branches, slowing its progress. Jak tried to grab Abe as he plummeted by, but he couldn't quite reach him.

The shriek of dismay from Abe, and the loud noise of the breaking branch, saved his life.

It scattered the pigs, who suspected a trap from the skies, sending them lumbering clumsily in all directions, so that Abe and a chunk of the live oak hit the ground at a place free from any of the animals.

The fall completely knocked all the wind out of the gunner, leaving him sprawled flat on his back, wearing a leafy crown and a long, shallow cut across the forehead that was already seeping dark blood.

Any hesitation was likely to be fatal.

Ryan was fastest out of the tree, swinging down onto the ground, landing with perfect balance, the SIG- Sauer in his hand. Jak was second and Trader a close third, followed a half second later by J.B.

"Now?" Trader asked.

Ryan was watching the herd of pigs. They'd stopped their panicked run at the edge of the clearing, all of them looking back at the bunch of humans, seeming as if they were gathering themselves for a charge.

"I guess as soon as they start running."

"Might be too late."

Ryan glanced quickly upward into the tall tree, attracted by the noise of movement. He saw that both

Dean and Doc were readying themselves to pick their way down again, Krysty and Mildred at their heels.

"Stay there! We might need to climb back in a hurry. Just get ready to shoot."

The gigantic boar was scraping at the ground with its hooves, like a bull about to launch itself into a

pounding attack. Drool, tinted with blood, hung from his open jaws, his eyes shining like firestones.

"Take him out first," Ryan said quietly, unslinging the Steyr from his shoulder.

He called up into the live oak. "You hear that, Mildred?"

"What?"

"Take out the big one first. Only a brain shot'll do the job on it."

"You got it."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Ryan could see that the woman was standing in the main vee of the oak,

between the two large forked branches, steadying herself while she drew a bead with the Czech target pistol.

"Take them out early. Pack of bastards like that'll come fast and hard." Trader had the blaster at his shoulder, squinting along the barrel.

Ryan wasn't about to argue with his old war chief over that one.

There was a tension in the still morning air that was almost visible. It seemed as if the giant boar were stirring up his herd, turning his massive head from side to side, snuffling and raging at them.

Suddenly the animal stood stock-still, little fat-buried eyes turning away from the huddled group of humans, toward the east, as though it were listening to a secret message.

"Horses," Jak said.

Ryan looked at the albino. "How can you hear that above the noise of the trees?"

The teenager looked blankly back at him. "Can hear horses." He shrugged. "That's all."

"Pigs are listening to something," J.B. said, pointing with the Uzi. "Got them worried."

"Dozen or more." Jak had narrowed his red eyes, concentrating on the distant sound. "Coming this way."

"I can hear horses," Krysty called from the branches above them.