John Carter by Stuart Moore Page B

heart of a good man. A man willing to lay down his life for others.”
    He said nothing.
    â€œTo fight for a cause.” She moved even closer, until their eyes were only inches apart. “ Here. On Barsoom.”
    Then the space between them collapsed, as easily as the space between Earth and Barsoom. They kissed, a hot, passionate melding of lips. She smelled of blood and fire, like the ancient sands covering her proud, warrior world.
    Carter closed his eyes and, despite himself, a memory flooded into his mind: the last time he’d known such a passionate kiss. Dressed in his rebel grays, out on the steps of the old house in Virginia. Sarah’s lips warm on his, her tousled hair framed against the green trees, the lilacs in bloom. Carter’s hand resting firm on their daughter’s head as the girl clung to Sarah’s skirts.
    â€œDon’t you see, Carter?”
    His eyes snapped open.
    â€œI fled Helium to find another way,” Dejah continued. She raised a hand, caressed his cheek. “ You are that other way.”
    He shook his head, guilt and passion warring within him. Opened his mouth to speak…then whirled at the sound of gunfire.
    â€œOutside!” Dejah cried. She took off at a run down the corridor.
    Still dazed, Carter took a last look around at the majestic solar system model covering the floor. Then he snatched up the floating medallion and took off after Dejah.
    Behind him, the room dissolved into atoms.
    From atop the Gates, Carter stared down at a grim sight. Sola stood alone in the canoe, rifle raised, firing round after round at the bluffs above the river…which teemed with Warhoons.
    Tars Tarkas had described the Warhoons to Carter: snarling, savage, piratical cousins of the Tharks, with deadly gnarled teeth and sharply hooked tusks. Hundreds of them stood massed on the bluff, firing off an almost solid wall of spears and arrows. Some Warhoons sat astride thoats while others rode banths, eight-legged beasts with rat tails and sharp lionlike claws.
    Sola was holding her own, and the Warhoons were keeping their distance from the poison river. But the Thark was badly outnumbered. Sooner or later, a spear would strike her down.
    Barely thinking, Carter snatched up Dejah and jumped. They landed hard in the canoe, splashing deadly black water up all around. Sola whirled in surprise, almost dropping her rifle. “Dotar Sojat!”
    â€œAre they from Helium?” Carter asked.
    Dejah shook her head emphatically. A volley of arrows whizzed between them, and she shrank back.
    â€œSola,” Carter said, “get Dejah out of here.”
    â€œCarter?” Dejah asked.
    He took her by the shoulders, looked deep into her eyes. “I was too late once. I won’t be again.”
    Then he tensed his muscles and leaped again—toward the shore.
    Dejah called after him. “Carter! No !”
    He landed just as a piercing horn blast rang out, assaulting his senses. The Warhoon horde charged, bearing straight down on him. A hundred howling, slavering beast warriors, each of them four times his size, spears and arrows cocked and flying.
    As he faced certain death, a memory once again flashed into Carter’s mind. The horrible moment when he’d returned home from war, bloodied and limping, kept alive only by the hope of seeing Sarah and his little girl again. He’d ridden that horse till it dropped—in front of a burned-out farm, every bit of it destroyed by fire. Sobbing, exhausted, he’d scrabbled with his bare hands through the wreckage…till he found it.
    Sarah’s body curled in death around a tiny, swaddled, unmoving form.
    I was too late once. I won’t be again.
    Inside Carter, something snapped. He let out a savage cry, funneling all the horror and rage of his past into this one moment, this battle that would probably be his last. He vaulted into the air away from the river and dove into the seething mass of Warhoons.