To Make Death Love Us by Sovereign Falconer

Maybe help will . . ."
    But Colonel John
would have none of it. "Is that your idea of doing something? Wait for it, wait for help we damn
sure know won't come?"
    Pepino agreed. "By
the time someone is liable to travel this ill-used road, it would be only to find our bodies
strewn at the bottom of the mountain. I say it's up to us. Colonel John has the right of
it."
    Serena thought
affirmative thoughts in turn to Pepino, Paulette, Will, and silent Marco, who, in his pain, was
past all decisions.
    "Damn it!" cried
Will. "I'm the one that should say how we handle this!"
    The Colonel reared
back his head and laughed. "Then go out the door, climb atop the cab, scoot across the roof of
the van, and open the tailgate door for us."
    There was a long
silence. Finally, Will spoke and there was less authority in his voice.
    "You damn little
fool. If I tried to do that, this whole rig would tip over and go crashing down the
mountain."
    The Colonel smiled.
"But, Will, there's nothing to it. Just go slow and easy. If you feel her start to slip, pop
inside as quick as a wink." The Colonel seemed to be enjoying it, this suggestion as to how Will
should save them all.
    "But there's
nothing for me to stand on. No place to give my feet purchase," countered Will.
    "Use your hands and
the strength in your arms, man," said the midget a touch impatiently. Time was pressing them all.
This was no time for explanations.
    "My God, you know I
can't use my maimed hand. It's not got the strength of a baby's hand." There was a whine in
Will's voice that made those who heard it wince in shame for his weakness.
    The Colonel found
in that his justification for taking over. "I forgot all about your handicap, Will," said the
midget in a very gentle voice. "That lets you out of this, then, Will. With your injured hand,
you can't be expected to do it."
    Will sighed with
relief, settling back against the seat. He felt a little better now that he had an excuse for
doing nothing. He felt some of the pressure ease. Whatever happened now, it was no longer up to
him. He was a cripple, after all.
    "Just sit you as
still as you can, Will, and let me go about this risky business. I'm small and that's a blessing.
I've not much weight, so I'm suited to this and my hands and arms are strong enough to pull me
along, where my legs would fail me."
    The midget
straightened his shoulders, as if adjusting a heavy burden, and made a funny clicking sound with
his tongue as he said, "Well, I'm about
to go at it. Remember what I said, stay in your places and no one panic."
    Colonel John
examined the barrier of things that formed a roof above his head and reckoned the one he might
move with least disturbance to the others. He chose a carton containing strings of light bulbs,
which he knew to be fairly light and liable to easy shifting. One or two other parcels of goods
were supported upon it but, as nearly as he could judge, moving the carton would simply allow the
others to slide down together to form a sturdy arch.
    He braced himself
against the bundle at his back and grasped the carton with his tiny hands. He heaved up slowly,
with not inconsiderable strength. He applied the upward pressure with force combined with
feathery deli­cacy. The tiniest hiss of paper against paper marked the movement of the box as he
tried to slip it out from be­neath the weight of the containers above it. A bit of label tape
caught an edge, impeding the box's forward motion. He applied a bit more pressure and the small
snag gave way all at once and the carton jerked free.
    The box struck
Colonel John sharply in the chest, tum­bling him to the bed of the truck. The two cartons above
tumbled down together and formed a bridge over his head.
    A heavy trunk
tumbled down on top of them, teetering on the edge of the boxes. Colonel John looked up in horror
at the huge weight suspended above him. If it fell, it would surely crush the life out of
him.
    The truck