Axler, James - Deathlands 64 - Bloodfire Page 5

  "I got a pint of shine," J.B. said quietly.

  "Get it," Ryan ordered softly.

  "Just a minute," Mildred countered and, rummaging through her satchel, Mildred dug out a battered tin canteen and passed it around to the others. Doing a jump through a mat-trans unit always made them ill— headaches, nausea, muscle cramps, which she attributed to a disruption of the human nervous system for that split nanosecond they were pure energy being shifted from one redoubt to another. The physician had been working a cure to counter the jump sickness using alcohol, herbs and what painkiller she could scrounge in the ruins or trade spare ammo for from other healers.

  The companions relaxed and slumped gratefully against the brick walls. Mildred hadn't found a potion that worked yet, but this batch seemed to be effective in countering the aftereffects of surviving a death battle between two mutie telepaths.

  "Good batch, Millie," J.B. said, passing her back the canteen.

  "Thanks," she replied, screwing the cap back on the empty container. "I grabbed some things back at Rockpoint to use at the Grandee redoubt. Came in useful sooner than expected."

  Ryan agreed, and the brew had to have even worked on Krysty as her hair started to revive, and soon the woman was limp against him breathing deep and regularly.

  "She should be okay," Mildred said. "Just let her sleep for as long as she wants."

  "Then we get fuck out," Jak snarled, fixing the sling on his arm.

  Ryan fixed the teenager with his one eye. "That loads my blaster," he agreed. "The sooner we leave the better. Don't know if I could take surviving another of their mind fights."

  "I wonder if the only reason we're in this good a condition is because of the hundreds of jumps we've made," Dean said, leaning his back against the brick wall. "Sort of hardened us to getting our brains scrambled."

  "Excuse me," a new voice said. "What a redoubt?"

  Caught by surprise by her sudden appearance, the companions said nothing to the member of the Core standing in the doorway, holding a sagging bundle of horsehide. For a brief moment, Ryan debated chilling the masked girl, but where could they hide the body from people who traveled underground? But something had to be done and quickly. The existence of the redoubts was the greatest secret of the preDark world, and they had no intention of sharing it with anybody.

  "This is a redoubt," Mildred said with a smile. "It means a fort, or a protected place, and this brick wall protects us from the wind."

  "Oh," she said softly, then added, "My name is Dnal and I have some food for you. May I enter?"

  Doc waved her inward. "Come in, child. This is your town after all."

  Hesitantly, she did so. "You are wrong, old one," Dnal said. "This building has been given to you for your stay. None of the Core are allowed within a spear's throw."

  "That looks like horsehide," Dean said. "Are our horses aced?"

  "Yes," the masked girl replied, placing down the bundle. "Their minds could not handle what they saw. We carved them into food and brought the very best to you."

  Unwrapping the flap of hide, J.B. found a stack of thick steaks, the flesh still dripping with fresh blood.

  "I thought you folks didn't eat real food," Ryan asked.

  Dnal turned to face him. "We do not, but the Holy Ones do. They can eat anything, but prefer fresh meat." Then she untied a small gourd hanging from her rag belt and placed it alongside the pile of meat. "I thought you might like some jinkaja to have in case you change your mind and wish to stay with us."

  Trying to hide his disgust, Ryan's first impulse was to shoot the container and kick the mutie girl out of the ruins. Gaza had forced the obedience of his people by controlling their water supply; Alar and the Core did the same thing. Either way, it was just another form of slavery, and that was completely unacceptable. "Thank you," Ryan said politely. "However, we are still considering the offer."

  "If—" she paused and then rushed forward with the words "—if you're going to cook the flesh, may I stay and watch? I have never eaten food before."

  Mildred patted the ground nearby, and the girl sat with the effortless grace of a ballerina. The physician wanted a better look at the Core, and this was a prime opportunity.

  "First we dig a hole," Mildred said, drawing her knife, "so the wind doesn't put out the fire." And protected within the ruins, nobody should be able to see the flames. Mildred knew Gaza was still somewhere out there. Perhaps he had given up hunting the companions, but maybe not, and it was always wiser to plan on what an enemy can do, instead of what he might do. '

  The girl watched excitedly while Mildred got to work digging the cooking pit. Meanwhile, the rest of the companions went to check the other buildings, soon coming back with armloads of fuel, wooden tables and chairs and bookshelves to build a respectable fire. Soon the campfire was going, and Mildred roasted the meat well to prevent any parasites from being conveyed to new hosts. The smell was thick and greasy and sent waves of hunger through the companions. Their last meal had been MRE rations, and before that, cold dog stew at the ville.

  "By the way," Ryan asked, turning the steaks with a whittled stick, "ever heard of a norm called the Trader?"

  "Yes," came the surprising reply from the girl, who seemed as fascinated as much by the fire as what it was doing to the slabs of meat. "He is the enemy of our enemy."

  "Ah, Gaza," Ryan said, taking a shot in the dark. He was local and utterly ruthless. That made him a prime candidate.

  Staring into the flames, Dnal nodded. "Yes! He controls scorpions, we worship the Holy Ones. They dislike each other greatly and always battle to the death."

  Well, not always, Ryan thought to himself. But here in the Great Salt it was probably true.

  When the meat was dark brown and sizzling with fat drippings, Ryan carved up portions and served them. Using their U.S. Army mess kits, the companions filled the steel plates with juicy steak and started eating. The meat was stringy and difficult to chew, but it filled their stomachs and eased the growing pangs of hunger. That was more than enough for the moment.

  Dnal watched their every move as if it was brand new, and timidly accepted a roasted morsel to nibble on the edges. Through the slit in her bandages the girl had a very human appearing mouth, tongue and teeth. Of course that meant nothing these days; muties came in every shape and size.

  She inspected the food, sniffing at it for a while before taking a tiny nibble, and then popping the rest into her mouth. Chewing experimentally, Dnal almost immediately started to gag. Spitting the half-chewed meat onto the ground, she then grabbed the small gourd and deeply drank the jinkaja to cleanse her mouth.

  "Hideous!" Dnal cried, wiping some blue juice from her mouth on the back of the wrappings covering her arms. "It was like consuming hot waste straight from the backside of some animal!"

  "Definitely needs more salt," J.B. said languidly, glancing at the Great Salt desert only yards away from the ruins. If the girl understood the joke, she didn't find it amusing.

  "You okay?" Mildred asked, touching Dnal's shoulder. The bones under the coverings felt human, as did the muscle play. As far as the physician could tell, this was a perfectly ordinary fifteen-year-old girl. Maybe only the minds of the Core were unique, amplified a millennium into the genetic future of humanity.

  Shying away from the steaks spitting on the fire, Dnal nodded vigorously. "I am undamaged," she said, moving her mouth as if trying to get of the terrible taste. "Merely… wiser now."

  Rising, she started for the open doorway, then turned and paused, pulling a spear into view from where it had been hidden, leaning against the other side of the brick wall.

  "I thank you for the hospitality," Dnal said solemnly, and gave a small bow.

  Somehow it reminded Ryan of when they had jumped to Japan and tangled with those samurai and the shogun king. Each bow meant something different to them, and no outsider ever really understood what the gestures fully meant.

  "We thank you and your father in return," Ryan said, giv
ing a even smaller bow from his sitting position.

  At that, Dnal tilted her masked head. "How did you know Alar was my father?" she asked quizzically.

  Ryan continued eating and said nothing. As if a chief would have sent anybody else but blood kin to palaver with the outlanders visiting the tribe.

  "If I may, I would like to ask a question, dear child," Doc said as casually as possible, patting his greasy mouth clean with a grayish linen handkerchief. "Can we really leave whenever we wish?"

  "Of course!" Dnal answered, sounding slightly insulted that the word of the Core should be questioned, especially by meat eaters. "Go anytime, and anywhere."

  Then she turned and pointed. "Except to the south. That is the blessed land, the origin of the Core and none may go except for the leader of the Core. For any others, it means death."

  J.B. shot Ryan a glance, and the Deathlands warrior subtly nodded in agreement. The land to the south was probably radioactive, he thought, glancing at the rad counter on his lapel. But the device indicated that they were in a safe zone. If so, why did the Core mutate into telepaths? Was it the bug juice? Merely another reason never to touch a single drop of the stuff.

  "What about those?" Dean asked, waving at the nearby ruins.

  "This is where we mine for the metal of our weapons and the clothing that protects us from the sand," she said. "Explore all you wish, take anything you find."

  Turning on a heel, Dnal started to walk away into the wind, the loose ends of her wrappings jerking with whipcrack snaps. Then over a shoulder she added, "It doesn't matter what you do. There is no water for a hundred miles. When your thirst is great enough, you will return to drink and join the Core." As the girl walked, she soon vanished into the darkness and the windblown sand.

  "Yeah?" Jak growled, easing the safety back on the blaster in his holster. "Like hell will."

  "Indeed, my taciturn friend," Doc rumbled, placing aside his mess kit. "I do believe that it would be preferable to put lead in my head then join these antediluvian freaks."

  "How much water do we have?" Dean asked, wiping his hands clean on the sand and then on his pants.

  "Three days," Mildred answered promptly. "Not counting the poisoned stuff we're saving for an emergency."

  "How far away?" Krysty whispered in a strained voice.

  Looking at the stars overhead, J.B. hazarded a guess. He wouldn't be able to shoot their exact position until the sun rose. "To reach the Grandee?" he said, rubbing his chin, "I'd say about three days on foot. If we move fast and head straight south."

  "Across the forbidden zone?" Dean said, casting a glance over a shoulder at the featureless blackness stretching behind them.

  "Yep."

  "Damn," Mildred murmured unhappily. "We have no choice, then!"

  "Agreed. We better cook all of the meat tonight," Ryan said, returning to his meal. "Gonna need it when we start running for our lives at dawn."

  Chapter Five

  The rough brick pressed uncomfortably against Dean's cheek as he peeked through a crack in the wall. The companions had risen just before dawn and hidden themselves in the maze of old preDark ruins. His father figured that since a lot of large sections of pavement and sidewalk were still lying about, the Core wouldn't be able to travel through the sand under the dead city and would have to walk on the surface. He proved to be right when Dean spotted a group of the Core eerily rise from the loose sand a hundred yards away and then head for the location that had been their campsite.

  Without the horses to carry the heavier supplies, the companions had been forced to abandon a lot of their excess possessions, the saddles for starters, extra blankets, rope tools, some of the roasted meat and most of their spare blasters, along with the large leather bag of poisoned water. His father thought that would make it look as if they were only exploring the nearby ruins for a source of water.

  As the companions zigzagged into the crumbling array of structures, Krysty had found a perfect spot where they could watch the campsite and see what the Core did. Shifting his position, Dean heard a sprinkle of crumbling mortar fall to the ground and tightened his grip on the iron framework jutting from the side of the destroyed warehouse. Since he was the lightest and the smallest, Dean got the job of climbing up the smashed building and snuggling into a crack in the wall where he could sit and keep a watch.

  Sure enough, a short while after dawn the Core arrived. The masked beings came in force and marched straight into the camp. Now they were going through the abandoned items of the companions, inspecting the saddles and tossing bits of spare wood onto the campfire to watch them smolder, then burst into flames. Only one Core member stood by itself—man or woman, it was impossible to tell with the thick wrappings—and surveyed the campsite critically, turning over small items with a spear. Squinting to try to see better, Dean could only guess that it was Alar from the respectful way the others acted. Then the leader of the Core pulled out a small vial from within its rags and the rest got busy.

  Sons of bitches! Dean thought. So that was the plan, eh? Wiggling free of the crevice, he walked along the tilted floor until coming to a large hole, then jumped through, falling a few feet down to the next level and running along a stronger concrete floor until coming to the ragged end of the building. This entire side of the warehouse was gone, sheered and crumbling into the desert sands. However, a large dune was piled high against the outer walls and Dean skipped down the slope, using speed to stay ahead of the loose sand disturbed by his passage.

  Near the bottom, Dean jumped clear of some rocks and landed on his boots near Ryan. His father had been standing guard with his longblaster at hand, ready to give cover fire if the Core spotted Dean. At the noise of his landing, the others came out from behind the rusted shell of a locomotive engine, weeds growing between the wheels, and a buzzard's nest cresting the long cold smokestack.

  "Well?" his father demanded.

  The boy nodded. "You got it, Dad. They come with the first light, poked around our stuff some, then poured that damn jinkaja stuff on the leftover horse meat and in the water bottle."

  "Our own free will, my ass," Krysty snorted. She had spent a bad night fighting the demons in her memory, but the training she had received from her mother pulled her through and she had the nightmares under control. Mostly, anyway. But if the hammer fell, she was going to blow away Alar with the first round. That perverted twist was never going to be allowed access to her mind again.

  "Yeah, thought so," Ryan said through clenched teeth. "I don't care if that bug juice grew me back an eye, if they catch one of us, best to do a mercy chilling rather than take a drink."

  "Having to ace one of our own. Dark night!" J.B. swore.

  Keeping a watch on their nest, a flock of buzzards circled high about in the cloudless sky, the morning sun already feeling ten times hotter than it did the previous day. Drawing his blaster, Ryan jacked a round from the ejector and rubbed the oily cartridge on his lips to help ease the growing thirst.

  "Let's move out," he said gruffly, dropping the clip to thumb the round back in with the others. "Stay close and quiet, two yard spread. Dean, keep that crossbow ready, Doc your sword and Jak a throwing blade. Use blasters only as a last resort. Any noise could put us in a world of hurt."

  Nobody commented on the orders, as they had done such things before many times. Darting from one pile of bricks to the next, the companions stayed low and fast, keeping to the sidewalks, pieces of pavement and fallen walls for as much as possible until a few hours later they finally had reached the southern edge of the ruins. Twice along the way they discovered a hidden scorpion, and once a huge millipede. Each time, Dean tracked the muties with his crossbow, but they left the creatures alive. A fresh kill would only attract the buzzards, which could in turn summon the Core.

  Now flat, open sand stretched before them, with only some angled dunes rising low on the horizon. The air still carried the sharp tang of salt, and it mixed unpleasantly with the faint stink of the rancid sweat
of the companions clothing.

  Placing a hand to his forehead to block the bright sunlight, Ryan studied the ground, but there were no more chucks of concrete to use to hide their tracks, not even rocks. From here they had to walk on the bare sand, even though it was the home for the Core.

  "Make sure you don't fragging walk in unison," he ordered brusquely. "Stop every few yards and pat your boots softly as if it they were hot. These muties can probably hear things from underground and we gotta sound like animals. If they detect marching, they'll come in force."

  "Especially with the direction we're taking," Mildred added, using a cloth to tie back her riot of beaded hair. "I just hope the land to the south actually really is forbidden for them to travel."

  "Only one way to find out," Dean stated, wiping his neck with a pocket rag. "Once there, we might be safe from attack."

  "If they come, spread out in a circle, not a pack," J.B. directed, checking the ammo clip in his Uzi machine pistol. "They'll be striking from underneath, so we need room to track and fire. We bunch up, and we all buy the farm."

  "No prob," Krysty said, then added, "And if anybody has to piss, do it on your boot to break the force of the stream."

  Testing the point of his Spanish sword on a thumb, Doc chuckled softly at that remark.

  "What?" the redhead demanded.

  "I beg your pardon for my uncouth laughter, dear lady," Doc said, sheathing the sword back into the ebony stick. "It had simply occurred to me that if anybody from my time had uttered such a sentence in polite society, men would have gasped, ladies fainted, children screamed, then probably been arrested and hauled off to jail."

  "So nobody pissed back then, eh?" Krysty asked in a teasing manner, resting a fist on her hip.

  Doc feigned horror. "Not and admitted to such an action, no, madam. Never! It was unthinkable."

  "And still want go back?" Jak asked, arching a snow white eyebrow.

  "To be with my wife again, yes. But there were many good points, too, Mr. Lauren. Clean beds, hot meals and no muties." He shrugged. "But no place is perfect. Sadly for us all, there is no Shangri-La, and Brigadoon does not exist."