For the first time in a long while, Zarek smiled at the sight of the irate Squire and the sound of the snow crunching under Mike's harried feet.
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (http://www.novapdf.com) The helicopter exploded the same instant Zarek reached his snowmachine. He slung one long, leather-encased leg over the black seat and looked back as pieces of the twenty-three-million-dollar Sikorsky helicopter rained fiery metal over the snow.
Ahh, fireworks. How he loved them. The sight was almost as beautiful as the aurora borealis.
Mike was still cursing and jumping up and down like a small angry child as he watched his custom-built baby go up in flames.
Zarek started his engine and rode over to Mike, but not before he dropped another grenade to detonate the shed, thus preventing the Squire from using it.
As the snowmachine vibrated in idle beneath him, he pulled his scarf down enough so that Mike could understand him when he spoke. "Town is four miles that way," he said, pointing toward the south. He tossed Mike a small tube of Vaseline. "Keep your lips covered so they don't bleed."
"I should have killed you," Mike snarled.
"Yeah, you should have." Zarek covered his face, and revved his engine. "By the way, if you happen upon wolves in the woods, remember, they really are wolves and not Were-Hunters on the prowl. They also travel in packs so if you hear one, there's more behind him. My best advice for that is to climb a tree and hope they get bored before a bear comes along and decides to climb up after you."
Zarek spun his machine around and headed toward the northeast where his cabin waited in the middle of three hundred acres of forest.
He should probably feel guilty over what he'd done to Mike, but he didn't. The Squire had just learned a valuable lesson. Next time Artemis or Dionysus made him an offer, he'd take it.
Zarek rotated his wrist, giving the snowmachine more power as it bucked over the rough, snowy trail.
He still had a long way to go to get home and his time was running out.
Daybreak was coming.
Damn. He should have ridden his Mach Z in. It was sleeker and faster than the MX Z Rev that he was on now, but not nearly as much fun.
Zarek was cold, hungry, and tired, and in a weird way all he wanted to do was get back to things that were familiar.
If the other Squires wanted to hunt him down, so be it. At least this way he was forewarned.
And as the helicopter and shed had shown, forearmed.
If they wanted to take him on, then he wished them luck. They were going to need it and a whole lot of reinforcements.
Looking forward to the challenge, he flew his snowmachine over the frozen terrain.
It was just before sunrise when he reached his isolated cabin. More snow had fallen while he was away, blocking his door. He pulled the snowmachine into the small shed that was attached to his cabin and covered it with a tarp. As he started to plug in his warmer for the engine, he realized there was no power
Create PDF files without this message by purchasing novaPDF printer (http://www.novapdf.com) in the outlet for either the MX or the Mach that was parked beside it.
He snarled in anger. Damn. No doubt the block for the Mach had been cracked from the subzero temperatures, and if he wasn't careful the MX's engine would crack, too.
Zarek rushed outside to check his generators before the sun rose over the hills, only to find both of them frozen solid and not working.
He snarled again as he struck one with his fist.
Well, so much for comfort. Looked like it was going to be him and the small wood-burning stove today.
Not the best source of heat, but it was the best he was going to get.
"Great, just great," he muttered. It wasn't the first time he'd been forced to endure a cold sleep on his cabin floor. No doubt it wouldn't be the last.
It just seemed worse this morning because he'd spent the last week inNew Orleans 's mild climate. It had been so warm while he was there that he hadn't even needed to use the heat at all.
Man, how he missed that place.
Knowing his time before sunrise was growing critically short, he trudged back to his snowmachine and packed its engine with his parka to help keep as much of the heat around it as he could. Then he retrieved his duffel bag from the seat and went to dig his door out so that he could get inside his cabin.
He ducked as he came through the door and kept his head bent down. The ceiling was low, so low that if he stood up straight the top of his head would brush it, and if he wasn't paying attention, his ceiling fan in the center of the room would decapitate him.
But the low ceiling was necessary. Heat in the heart of winter was a valuable commodity and the last thing anyone wanted was the bulk of it gathered under a ten-foot ceiling. A lower ceiling meant a warmer place.
Not to mention that nine hundred years ago when he'd been banished here, he hadn't had very long to build his shelter. Sleeping in a cave during daylight, he'd worked on the cabin at night until he had finally constructed Home Crappy Home.
Yes, it was good to be back…