Edge: Killer's Breed

Laughing, Rhett stepped back and then brought his leg forward in a fast swing. The toe of his boot landed hard, with a squelching sound, between Jordan's buttocks and as the officer shot forward Forrest stepped to the side and brought the heel of his hand crashing down upon the exposed neck. The captain pitched to the ground, his breathing ragged as he hovered on the verge of unconsciousness.

"We really gain' to kill him, Frank?" he heard Scott ask. The words seemed to come from a great distance and have no connection with him.

"Scared?" Forrest's tone was derisive.

"Won't be us," Douglas muttered. "Be the rebs."

"What if they don't believe us?" Scott again, still nervous.

"They will," Forrest answered. "Long as we make it look good. String him up. Gag him, first. Don't want the damn army to come running till we're ready."

Realization fought through the pain as Jordan felt himself lifted up by the armpits and he opened his mouth to plead for his life, to promise that the men would be rewarded if they spared him. But as his lower lip dropped a vile-tasting sock was thrust into his mouth and fastened there by a kerchief stretched across the lower half of his face and knotted tightly against the swelling on the back of his neck. His leg muscles refused to function and Scott and Rhett had to hold him upright as Seward tied his hands in front of him. He was then carried to the foot of an elm and Forrest drew his saber as Seward tossed the loose end of the rope over the tree's lowest branch.

"Couple of feet is all," Forrest instructed as Bell scrambled up the tree and out along the branch. Jordan, his eyes bulging, cheeks bulbous over the constricting kerchief, felt himself held aloft by his captors. Bell knotted the rope, whistled, and the hands which had supported Jordan, released him. His arms jerked painfully in their sockets as his body dropped through space and jerked to a halt as the rope became taut. He rotated helplessly in midair, the sounds of his pain mere muffled croaks through the gag.

Forrest tested the sharpness of the saber against his thumb and grinned when he drew blood. Seward giggled inanely, his boyish features a mask of evil anticipation.

"What you goin' a do, Frank?" he asked with high excitement.

"Teach this crud a lesson he won't forget," Forrest answered.

"Probably because he won't have much time in which to forget it," Rhett suggested.

Forrest had waited patiently for Jordan's body to stop turning. Now he set the captain swinging with a vicious two-handed shove in his stomach. "Education is a marvelous thing, Bob," he said evenly, watching the pendulum movement of the captive's body. Suddenly he shot out a hand and, as Jordan's legs came forward the saber blade swished. Every ounce of Forrest's strength was behind the blow and the blade cut cleanly through Jordan's right ankle, power and sharpness slicing leather, worsted, flesh and bone.

The dismembered foot dropped to the ground like a stone. "I went to a tougher school."

"Jesus," Scott whispered a moment before he retched.

Jordan's muffled scream was no more than a pathetic gurgle. Seward giggled, waited for the swing to carry the captain back and then launched out with a mighty kick that sent the severed foot sailing into the trees.

"Turns?" Rhett shrieked in a paroxysm of delight.

Forrest grinned as he surrendered the saber, and then gave the swinging body another shove as Rhett moved behind Jordan. He raised the weapon and held it rock still, allowing the momentum of the captain's body to bring the flesh on to the point. Jordan's agony was shown by a violent jerking on the end of the rope as the blade sank between his buttocks.

"Old Bob always gets to the bottom of things," Seward yelled as he snatched the saber from Jordan's flesh, turned the blade edge on to the dangling form and sent a hacking blow into the back of the left knee.

Merciful unconsciousness snatched Jordan from his torment as Seward's strength failed to completely sever the joint and the leg swung on a few stretched tendons, pouring more blood on the already drenched earth.

"You can't never do nothing right," Douglas accused, grasping the hanging leg and wrenching it free, then tossing it after the foot.

Scott, his nausea finished, looked up through the darkness into Jordan's face. The captain's head hung forward between his raised arms, resting on his chest. "I think he's dead, Frank," he said.

Bell spat. "I never get to have any fun," he complained.

Forrest snatched the saber from the giggling Seward and tossed it to Bell. Blood sprayed from the blade as Bell caught it. "Finish off the bastard, Rog." He shrugged. "He might be fooling us."

"Swing him, Frank."

Forrest nodded and shoved at the dead weight. He and the others stepped back as Bell moved into line, waited a few moments as he savored the kill, then sprang into a short run. The point sank into Jordan's stomach low down and then the curved blade drove up through his intestines and burst out at the small of his back.