Axler, James - Deathlands 64 - Bloodfire Read online

  The bald man nodded vigorously. ""Yes! He—"

  "That's a triple damn lie!" a new voice shouted angrily.

  Lifting the blaster off her shoulder, Kate watched as this new person shoved his way through the other people. He was heavily muscled, missing a couple of fingers on the left hand, and his left eye was marled white, with a long scar going from his forehead, across the dead orb and down to his dimpled chin.

  "No, it is not!" the bald man retorted, starting to reach under his clothing.

  Moving with astonishing speed, the newcomer punched the first man straight in the face. Teeth went flying, and the bald man staggered from the blow, but came back in a crouch and whipped out a blaster. But it was aimed at Kate, not the one-eyed man!

  "Look out!" the mother cried, shoving the boy behind her for safety.

  That was when the sky seemed to shatter as a dozen .50-cals from the war wags and cargo vans all spoke at once, the combined rounds almost blowing the man to pieces. As he spun wildly, his blaster discharged, the slug smacking into the sand between Kate's boots. The tattered body was shaking as the woman lowered her rapidfire and put a single round into the back of the dying man's head. He twitched as it hit, then went still, the sands slowly turning red around his ravaged face.

  "Thanks for the warning," Kate said, cradling the smoking blaster in both hands. "You were fast. I like that. We're shorthanded after some business down south. Want to join? We got space."

  "Really?" she asked, hope brightening her careworn face, then her features went blank again. "No, please, I don't do that anymore."

  Kate understood, and her hatred of Gaza increased. "We got no gaudy sluts here," the Trader stated gently. "If you ride, then you'll work, just like everybody else. But not on your back. My word. That good enough for you?"

  Hesitantly, the woman nodded in agreement.

  "Can you cook?"

  "Some," she admitted. "And bake a little, too."

  "Even better." The Trader smiled, then whistled sharply and lifted a hand.

  From the doorway of War Wag One, Roberto tossed over a holster containing a revolver. Kate made the catch and handed it to the young mother, whose eyes went wider at each passing moment of comprehension.

  "Mine?" she asked in a whisper.

  "Everybody goes armed in my convoy," Kate said firmly. "Now, get your ass to the kitchen and start on dinner." She left the sentence hanging.

  "Matilda," the young woman said, buckling the gun belt around her waist. "And this Avarm."

  The boy peeked out from behind his mother, then hid again.

  "Welcome to the convoy," Kate said, then gestured at the war wag with her chin. "Get on board. The kitchen is in the rear. Help yourself to anything you want. The cooks always eat first, or else they eat everything. Right?"

  Matilda almost smiled. "You've done it yourself. I can tell."

  "Yeah, but not for a long time," Kate agreed. "Roberto, they're now in your charge. Find them bunks and some shoes for Avarm."

  "Check," he said, and led the new recruits into the war wag and out of sight down the central corridor.

  Noticing the bloodstains on the big rig, Kate pulled out the hand comm and hit the switch. "It's me," she said.

  "Roger, Chief," Eric replied with only a faint crackle. "I'm way ahead of you. Got the ears turned up to max. Any more bugs come our way, you'll know it before they do."

  "Good man," she said, and tucked the unit away. Now the rest of the crowd was staring at her with expressions of awe. To most of them, a radio was only a legend.

  "Could we get some food, too, Trader?" another man in the group asked, shuffling in the dust and salt. "It's been days since we last ate. Even longer since we had fresh water."

  Glancing at the acres of muddy land, Kate frowned at that, then remembered the water was flowing over salted sand. Even if it started fresh, that stuff wouldn't be fit for a mutie to drink after ten yards.

  "You didn't say or do shit when he tried to get the drop on the Trader," the guard announced from the doorway. "Now zip it, and speak when you are spoken to, outlander."

  The words hit harder than the presence of the deadly blaster. Outlanders. They were now wanderers, people without a ville. Outcasts were the natural prey of any coldheart with a blaster.

  "Everybody will get a meal," Kate said, releasing the bolt on her Ingram to ease their apprehensions some. "But nothing is free. I barter for a living."

  "What do you want?" the big one-eyed man asked bluntly.

  "Information," she said, crossing her arms. "That was a good punch. Why did you throw it?"

  "He was a stinking priest!"

  "Priest?"

  "High priest, actually."

  Kate gestured for more. The man was eager to talk, his rage almost palpable, radiating like heat from a foundry.

  "The name's Red Jack," he said, thumping his chest with a hard fist. "Used to be the bartender at the ville tavern. Ryan and some folks came into town— that much the priest said was true. Anyway, Gaza jacked one of Ryan's people as a sacrifice to the Scorpion God."

  "And Ryan got him back," Kate said. It wasn't a question.

  Red Jack grinned, displaying a gold tooth. "Damn straight he did, that's a bullet in your blaster for sure. Blew the temple to hell, releasing this river of water. Son of a bitch Gaza had an ocean hidden away while telling folks he was squeezing it out by the drop. Made us obey or die, plain and simple. Used to say that blood made the water flow faster."

  Awkwardly, the bartender hid the mutilated hand behind his back. "If you broke his rules, sometimes, the payment was flesh," he added with a grimace.

  "So Gaza is aced?" Kate asked.

  "Hell no. He escaped in a wag of some kind. Big thing, eight wheels, loaded with blasters and grens."

  Eight wheels, could be a LAV 25. "Any rockets?"

  He frowned. "Nope. But Hawk stole the ville 25 mm, along with a shitload of shells."

  Kate frowned at the choice of words. Shells, not rounds or bullets. Damn, that was real trouble. The armor plating on the war wags was as thick as they could make it without slowing the vehicles and eating excess fuel. They were tough, but not indestructible. A functioning 25 mm cannon could tear open the war wags like a rusty tin can.

  "Now, Gaza has the big wag, but Hawk has the twenty-five, is that it?" she demanded. "You sure?"

  "Ya got my word," Red Jack stated.

  The Trader had half expected that, and had to accept his oath. If you give your word, it was meaningless unless you also accepted the word of others. At least, to a point.

  "Any chance they could join forces?"

  "No way!" an old man in the crowd snarled. "Just before leaving, Gaza shot Hawk, and that sorta made Hawk mad."

  "Damn well think so," Roberto said from the doorway. "Okay, food is coming. Line up by the other wag and you'll each get a meal and canteen of water."

  "After that," the first man asked hopefully.

  "After that," Kate repeated, "you leave."

  As the hungry people tramped over to get an MRE pack and hot water from a steaming kettle, Trader kept turning the news over and over in her head. Hawk, Gaza and Ryan in Core country. What a shitstorm this was becoming.

  "Imagine Gaza with that 25 mm cannon," Roberto drawled, walking closer, then standing alongside the woman. "Shitfire, Chief, that would change everything. Mebbe we should leave. There's nothing holding us here. No treaties, or blood kin at risk."

  "You want to go?" Kate asked.

  The big man barked a laugh. "Fuck no. I say we take Gaza down once and forever. End it here and now."

  "Agreed," Kate said, removing the Stetson to brush back her hair and then replacing the wide brim hat. "Okay, after they're fed, we'll head out."

  "Which way? Toward Rockpoint?"

  "Straight for the nuke cloud," she said grimly, watching the sunlight play on the rippling salt water lake. "If they're anywhere out there, that is where we will find them."

  "The only good point
was that Gaza and Hawk would never join forces."

  "Yeah, thank God for that."

  Chapter Eleven

  With its antennae quivering in battle frenzy, the sec hunter droid paused in the middle of the littered street, battered and damaged, but nowhere near chilled.

  "Head to the left!" Ryan shouted, waving toward the right with his handcannon.

  Trying to be as quiet as possible, the companions obeyed, and the machine started going in the other direction, then stopped and spun fast. But by then, the companions had gained valuable yards of safety.

  Moving carefully over the corpses on the sidewalk, Ryan noted the actions of the droid in grim satisfaction. Blind, but not deaf, eh? The man thought as much. Okay, he could use that.

  Using hand signals, Ryan had Jak throw a knife and smash the windshield of a distant car. As the machine rushed over to the noise, the companions crept through the windowless front of a large liquor store. Ryan would have preferred a paint store, or gas station, but this was the only useful place in sight.

  Soon discovering the trick, the sec hunter returned to exactly the same spot it had been standing with machine precision, then started doing a circular recce pattern through the vehicles. As the droid swung past the store, Ryan fired once, hitting it from behind. Immediately, the machine rushed inside with its remaining buzz saw slashing the air.

  Firing again, Ryan busted a magnum of champagne on the counter, the popping cork and gush of bubbling wine masking their movements in the store. Then Ryan and J.B. both threw a case of whiskey at the droid. But it heard the clinking bottles coming its way and slashed the box open in midair, shattering the contents and drenching itself completely.

  Now the rest started bombarding the machine with bottle after bottle of pungent alcohol. Going behind the counter, Mildred and Dean toppled over a tall display rack to crash a hundred bottles of vodka and rum onto the confused droid. Deafened by the noise, the machine attacked wildly, only managing to shatter more bottles and increase the volume of booze on the floor.

  As the machine went berserk trying to find its prey, the companions used the shattering glass to cover their retreat to the rear door. While J.B. oiled the bolt and hinges, the companions kept cover with their blasters as Ryan took a mop from an empty bucket and dabbed it into the liquor covering the floor, then used his butane lighter to set the stringy head of the mop on fire.

  The droid paused at the sound of the crackling flames, and Ryan threw the burning mop like a spear across the store. It landed near the front door with a clatter, and the droid attacked as blue flames rose from the igniting alcohol and began to quickly spread, soon covering the droid in flames. As it spun about mindlessly, more bottles began to explode from the spreading conflagration.

  Easing out the back door, the companions raced away for several blocks, before climbing the ladder of a fire escape to reach the top of a motel. Then they hurried across the salty roof to jump to the next structure, and then did it again. Several blocks away, the friends finally paused to catch their breath and frantically reload weapons.

  "Mother always did say that alcohol was bad for your health," Doc muttered, starting the laborious reloading process of the LeMat. It took about five minutes for the man to properly purge all chambers in the cylinder, then compress black powder, ball and wad using the attached hand press.

  "No sign of the machine," J.B. announced, lowering the Navy longeyes and compacting the tube. He tucked it into his munitions bag and began reloading a clip for the Uzi from a box of spare rounds.

  "Thank Gaia that worked." Krysty sighed, then suddenly realized she was still carrying the Holland & Holland. With virtually no chance of ever finding more ammo for the elephant rifle, she placed it gently on the roof and checked the load in her .38 S&W revolver.

  "This just bought us some time, nothing more."

  Ryan growled, thumbing fresh single rounds into a spent clip. Tucking the clip away, he started on the next. "You know these machines are triple tough to chill and never stop hunting their prey. If the machine comes after us again," Ryan went on, working the slide on the SIG-Sauer to chamber a round, "aim for the other blade. Once that's busted, we'll have a better chance to escape."

  "Escape, not chill," Jak said with a frown.

  "We're going to need something other than blasters to stop this droid," Ryan stated bluntly.

  "I can make us some Molotovs," J.B. suggested, removing his glasses to clean them on a pocket rag. "But those only confuse and don't do any real damage."

  "Pipe bombs?" Dean suggested.

  The Armorer replaced the glasses. "Unless we find a National Guard armory, I'd say that was our best bet."

  "A sec hunter in a civilian city," Doc said thoughtfully in his deep bass, holstering his piece. "There must be something here of military value."

  Furrowing his brow, Jak got the idea. "Means mil blasters."

  "Unless it was for a missile silo outside the city," Krysty suggested pragmatically. "Or an escort for some big gov type riding through."

  "True enough, dear lady."

  Somewhere distant there came the sound of cannons, or mebbe only a series of fast explosions.

  "Trapped in a burning city, with no way out, and a sec hunter on our ass," Mildred grumbled. "Plus, the Core and Gaza waiting above."

  "Mebbe not waiting," Ryan said, studying the edge of the cliff rising above the city. "We're going to do this by the numbers. First we get more ammo, then we try for the big stuff."

  Moving with a purpose, the companions hit the streets. Finding a bank with unbreakable Plexiglas windows, they located a phone book not eaten by the salt and got the address for a sports store, since there didn't seem to be a military base or National Guard armory in town. A police station was useless, as cops never kept their extra ammo sealed to make it easier to use in case of trouble. Which meant the dead air would have corroded every round. But sport stores usually kept their stock of ammo sealed in plastic wrapped boxes to prevent pilferage. Moving fast and silently, they reached the store without incident and found a wealth of ammo under the counter, securely behind a steel lattice. J.B. easily unlocked that and everybody filled their pockets, taking a few spare boxes of a size used by some mil blasters, just to be sure. In the camping department, they found some MRE packs in acceptable condition, a lot of dehydrated food completely inedible, plus some underwater flares and other items that J.B. happily tucked away into his munitions bag.

  "Plumbing store is next," he said. "Then we need someplace secure to hide for the night. I need time to make the explos."

  "Already found the perfect spot," Mildred said, patting a pocket now holding a local street map. "Thick walls, heavy doors, small windows."

  "Jail or library," Ryan asked, tucking a few candles into a pocket.

  "Museum."

  "That'll do."

  Leaving the store, Dean glanced at the modern lightweight crossbows and fiberglass arrows, started to leave, then doubled back and took one plus a double quiver of razor tipped hunting arrows. The crossbow and quiver combined weighed less than just the homemade crossbow from the ville.

  There were several hardware stores in town, and the companions needed to scavenge three before getting every item on the list. However, as they started to leave the building, a sec hunter droid came around the corner, its scissor tipped arms snapping steadily in a mechanical beat. The droid was undamaged, not even scratched. After a moment, it was gone.

  "Fireblast, it's another one," Ryan cursed softly. "We hit that museum right fucking now. I don't want to face another of those things without some heavy iron on our side."

  Heading away from the second droid, the companions moved from building to building, watching the darkening shadows carefully, their weapons leveled and ready.

  The smell of smoke was getting stronger in the air, the growing fires illuminating the center of the city, casting eerie lights onto the rising black plume. High overhead, the chem clouds rumbled with thunder, and lightning cr
ashed down to strike at the city as if offended by its presence.

  The group ceased any further explorations for supplies and headed straight for their bolt hole. Reaching the museum, Krysty noted a swarm of scorpions scuttling along the courtyard of the stately building, each carrying a grisly piece of the past—a finger, an ear.

  "Didn't take them long to get here." Ryan scowled, watching the scavengers scurry away into the sewer gratings. One arm was full of plumbing supplies, mostly short pipes about a foot long and threaded at both ends, but his gun hand was free and lightly resting on the checkered grip of the SIG-Sauer.

  "The smell of this much food is going to attract everything in the desert," Mildred agreed, fighting a shiver of repulsion. "Buzzards, cougars, stickies, everything."

  "Millipedes," Dean said with a frown, shifting his load of cleaning supplies. The chems had a lot of uses.

  Her hair flexing, Krysty advised, "Let them have the dead. The Great Salt can't support that much life, and mebbe the scorpions and bugs would have wiped each other out by morning."

  "At least this might mask our presence from the sec hunter," J.B. said, working on the lock to the steel grille covering the entrance to the museum.

  "No," Ryan said grimly, "it won't."

  As the grille came aside, they stepped in and J.B. closed the gate, expertly locking it again. Anything that wanted to get to them this way would make a hell of a racket and give them more than enough warning. The wooden front door oddly proved a greater challenge, and J.B. thought he might have to blast for a moment when the corroded lock yielded and the thick portal swung wide.

  A rank wind came billowing out like the last breath of a corpse, and the group covered their faces to wait for the building to be flushed with clean air before entering.

  Once inside, J.B. bolted the door tight, and the companions spread out to do a quick recce. However, the feeble light of their candles barely touched the vastness of the main room. Then with a cry, Dean turned and fired, the muzzle flash illuminating a snarling mutie coming straight for them!