by neetha Napew
Keeping a grip on the M-60, J.B. looked around, studying the horizon for any suspicious movements. “The landscape is bare for miles. At least nobody can sneak up on us until we reach the city.”
“And if the locals won’t trade, there must be some stores to loot,” Mildred noted, altering her grip on the med kit. A shopping list of supplies was already forming in her mind.
“Mebbe some canned goods that haven’t gone bad,” Dean suggested.
“In this heat?” Jak scoffed, elbowing the lad.
“Not likely,” the elder Cawdor added pointedly, watching a tumbleweed roll across the road. “Mebbe some homemade preserves in a glass jar, but nothing in a tin can.”
Sweeping the vented barrel of the M-60 from side to side, J.B. shrugged. “Hell, anything is possible. Just look at the place.”
“Indeed,” Doc said, leaning on his swordstick. “It could be the veritable cornucopia, a bacchanalian trove of treasure!”
Everybody hung on as the Hummer rolled up an incline and came to rest on the path. The dried sand had cracked into a crazy jigsaw pattern. Dunes rose on either side, offering some protection from the warming desert winds. But they all realized that if this was dawn, by noon the city would be an inferno.
The miles went by in steady progression, the three-hour-plus trip to the ruins uneventful. A cooling breeze blew into the military wag from their speed, but also a contrail of dust rose from the Hummer’s studded tires on the loose sand. Any hope of sneaking into the ruins was now completely gone.
Spotting a moving shadow on the sand, Jak intently watched a sting-wing cruise through the murky sky. The bird sailed off toward the east as if the ancient city ahead of them held no interest to the little mutie. That was a good indication. Sting-wings feared nothing and ate everything. Perhaps the ruins were deserted.
As the Hummer approached the outskirts of the ruins, the buildings rapidly rose above the horizon. Oddly, there seemed to be no houses or stores to show the gradual expansion of the metropolis. The structures simply jutted from the sunbaked soil like fence posts with windows. Most of the windows were a dull white in color.
“Desert storms sandblasted them white,” Mildred stated, wiping the sweat off her face with a moist towelette.
Nobody contradicted her theory. An octagonal sheet of metal on a post heralded their entrance into the nameless city, and Ryan immediately slowed the progress of the Hummer. The streets were completely bare, not a car, a truck or even a piece of a vehicle was in sight.
“Strange,” Ryan said, furrowing his brow. “No cars, yet the buildings are intact.”
“Another neutron bomb,” Krysty suggested, curling a lip in disgust.
“Seems that way. No bodies, property undamaged. Only where are the vehicles?”
“Mebbe the survivors drove away,” Dean offered.
“Could be. But if the city was hit by a nuke, the engines would have been deactivated by the EMP blast,” Mildred said. “And if it was a chem storm or germ warfare, then all the people would be dead, but the cars okay.”
“So somebody took them afterward,” the boy stated as if the fact were obvious.
The Hummer rolled past a parking garage. The gates were smashed, and every level they could see into was vacant.
“Mebbe,” the elder Cawdor agreed hesitantly, not liking where this conversation was going. “But what would you need a thousand, mebbe ten thousand bastard cars for?”
“Wall,” Jak said.
“Makes sense,” J.B. stated, his finger resting on the trigger of the M-60. “We’ve seen it done before. Just not on this scale.”
They rolled past a new-car showroom, the window gone, the sales floor deserted.
“But it’s got to be one huge ville to need every car,” Krysty said.
The ruins seemed to be thinning ahead of them, so Ryan took a left at an intersection heading toward the skyscraper. Soon, bits and pieces of broken asphalt started to show under the sand covering the road, and within a block they were driving on cracked pavement. It was a rare experience.
“Stay sharp,” Ryan warned as he slowed their speed to get a better view of the ruins.
Large snowy windows fronted the street on each side, the same down every side street. Above stores, empty metal frames swung in the soft breeze, the plastic long ago eroded, and the tattered remains of a movie-theater marquee seemed bullet-riddled from the hundreds of empty lightbulb sockets. Street signs of different shapes stood wordless on shiny metal poles, every trace of paint completely removed.
“No rust,” Ryan commented, bringing the Hummer to a halt. “Must get a lot of acid rain here.”
“That stops rust from forming?” Dean asked in surprise.
“Washes it off,” Mildred answered. “Sandstorms and acid rain. Not a good area to try farming.”
“Storm damage is minimal,” Doc noted, glancing around carefully. “Mayhap the buildings themselves act as a sort of windbreak.”
“I’d of thought they’d funnel the wind and worsen the damage,” J.B. said.
“Close,” Ryan replied, driving around a huge pothole in the middle of an intersection. “Faster wind means less sand to form piles.”
“I’m surprised that mutie was around,” J.B. stated, removing his hat to wipe his forehead with a sleeve. Even with the unbroken cloud cover, it was still getting too damn warm. He replaced the fedora with a pat. “Wonder what it eats.”
“Lizards,” Krysty said, watching a fat lizard with a twitching spider in its mouth dart out from underneath the mailbox and scuttle away into a sewer grating at their approach. The lizard’s claws churned the sand and left a little contrail of dust to mark its passage. “Lots of them around.”
“And what do they eat?” Dean asked.
“Bug, worms, old shoes, leather couches and mink stoles,” Mildred said patiently. “Any old thing. After sharks, reptiles are the only true omnivores.”
“The desert is an ocean with its life underground, and a perfect disguise above,” Doc said softly to himself.
Past a corner, the squat buildings became neat rows of apartments and strip malls. A yellow sheet of newspaper blew by the wag, the faded headlines touting vital information from a century ago.
“Place gives me the creeps,” J.B. said unexpectedly. “Got the damnedest feeling we’re being watched.”
Studying the white windows on the buildings, Jak nervously clicked back the hammer of the Python and eased it down again with his thumb. “Yeah. Me, too,” he said. “Eerie.”
Holding the Steyr, Krysty said nothing, but her hair was coiled tightly in response to her disturbed frame of mind.
“Thought it was just me,” Ryan added, increasing their speed slightly. One important question kept repeating itself over and over in his mind. Why hadn’t a predark city this large and in excellent condition been looted yet? Suddenly, he had the strangest urge to turn the wag and head straight back to the redoubt.
“Hey, look there!” Dean cried, pointing ahead.
Visible over the rooftops of the two-story apartment complexes was a pair of curved metal arches.
“Must be bridges,” Ryan said, shifting gears and heading in that direction. There had been no evidence of the searchlights or the owners in this section of town. Perhaps they were across the river. It made sense to stay near running water in a desert. Then a strong whiff of sulfur made the man wonder if they were heading toward an acid rain lake?
As the Hummer took a corner, a dockyard spread before them in crumbling majesty. Rows upon rows of long warehouses lined the concrete apron of the shore. Deep recesses clearly designed for drydocking vessels notched the embankment with tall derricks standing alongside for ferrying cargo.
An opening dropped away from the dockside, some kind of a storm drain or river. But more importantly, across the span was a jumbled wall of smashed cars and trucks towering thirty feet high, and extending in both directions to curve out of sight.
“We found the source of the searchlig
hts,” Ryan remarked, parking the Hummer a safe distance from the docks. The concrete looked solid, but the five tons of the Hummer might send them all plummeting into whatever was at the bottom of the smelly trench. Best to take no chances.
“They raided this side to fix the other,” Krysty said. “Smart folks.”
“Architectural cannibals,” Doc stated thoughtfully. “How unique.”
Removing his glasses, J.B. extracted his folding telescope and extended it to its full length. Carefully, he traversed the other side.
“Nobody in sight,” he reported, collapsing the telescope.
Killing the purring engine, Ryan nodded and climbed out of the wag. “I’ll take point. J.B. you’re on guard.”
J.B. slid his glasses back on. “Check,” he replied, patting the breech of the M-60. “Any trouble and I’ll sound the alarm.”
Spreading out so they didn’t offer any snipers a nice clustered target, the companions proceeded closer to the edge of the concrete. The smell was worse here, the reason soon painfully obvious. A hundred feet down was a sluggish yellow river reeking of sulfur and other chems.
“Must be runoff water from the desert,” Krysty guessed. “We already knew they got bad acid rain here.”
“Now how the hell do we get across this?” Mildred asked, clutching her med kit.
“We don’t,” Jak said, jerking a thumb to their left.
Nearby, the great arches of steel were all that remained of the predark bridge crossing the river. A wide road led to paved ramp extensions that ended in melted gobbets of cooled metal only feet from the embankments. An identical section stood on the other side of the river. But the center span of the bridge was completely gone. Worse, two more smashed bridges were visible upriver, hundreds of severed steel cables dangling limply into the brackish flow of the polluted river.
“Well, if we dive in, the fall wouldn’t hurt us,” Mildred said, sounding half serious. “But nobody could live for long in that water. Plus, there’s no way to climb up the other side. Those support pillions are thicker than the Hummer.”
“Mebbe after they took the cars, the people smashed the bridges,” Dean suggested.
“And permanently cut themselves off from all the material on this side? Doubtful,” Ryan said, rubbing his jaw. “I think if we follow the shoreline for long enough, we’ll find how they get across.”
“Mebbe fly like muties,” Jak said.
Resting the longblaster on her shoulder, Krysty merely arched a fiery eyebrow at the unsettling suggestion when a piercing scream of terror sounded from their left, followed closely by the telltale rattle of autofire.
“That was a child,” Mildred said, aghast.
Ryan agreed, and friend or foe, combat was always something that should be investigated. The next minute it might very well be coming their way.
“Silent probe, single-yard spread,” Ryan ordered, drawing his pistol and starting forward at an easy run.
Chapter Six
Clutching a headless doll, a small girl was running madly down the sandy street, her long hair flying in the wind. She slowed to glance over her shoulder to see if the monsters were still after them.
“Keep running!” her father screamed, dropping to one knee and discharging a handblaster at the pack of wolves chasing them. The weapon banged in smoke and sparks, and a store window down the street exploded into pieces.
Cursing the inaccuracy of his blaster, the man turned and ran, trying to reload, but paper and lead balls dropped from his fumbling hands. His wife ran without pausing, a small crying bundle held tight in her arms.
Straight ahead, the road angled into the ground and ended at a tiled wall with two huge openings. The left side was crudely bricked solid, ivy growing up the stones to show the age of the work. But the left side was open. Two large wooden doors swung aside, exposing a brick-lined tunnel extending into the darkness. Two gigantic machines of some sort bracketed the tiled wall and formed an impressive barricade. In front was a sandbag wall topped with twisted coils of barbed wire. Behind the sandbags were three men in predark uniforms, two in military fatigues, the third dressed as a policeman. The soldiers were frantically working nim-rods to charge their muzzle-loading rifles. The policeman was notching a barbed arrow into a crossbow made from the spring leaves of a car.
“Here!” the policeman screamed, taking aim at the family with his weapon. “This way! Keep coming!”
“Don’t look back!” added the short private, locking back the hammer on his museum-piece rifle.
The other private leveled his rifle and fired. The long-blaster thundered like a bazooka, volumes of smoke exploding from the barrel almost hiding him. But no yelp of pain came from the snarling animals so very close behind the runners.
Turning, the father fired again, and the lead wolf yipped in pain. Shoving his blaster into a pocket, the elderly man then ran for all he was worth, losing items from pockets at every step of the way.
Almost losing the doll in her arms, the girl reached the wall of sandbags and stopped looking for a way past the obstruction. The tall policeman reached out to grab her arm and brutally hauled the child over. She gasped in pain and landed sprawling on the side, losing her toy. The short private scooped it up and thrust it back into her tiny arms as he shoved her toward the opening in the tiled wall.
“Run to the end of the tunnel!” he barked. “Go! Don’t stop!”
Pausing for a moment, the child glanced at her folks, then took to her heels into the darkness beyond.
The mother made it next, the sleeve of her thin shirt ripping off as it brushed the barbed wire coils. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but the men pretended not to notice. Two of them boldly leaped out to gently assist her and the crying baby over the sandbags while the policeman fired the crossbow. The arrow appeared to go straight for the father, but it missed him and kept on going. A wolf howled as the man sprinted forward in renewed speed and dived over the barricade.
The clean-shaved soldier escorted her inside, while the private with a beard stood between her and the oncoming wolves. Coolly raising his weapon, he cocked the hammer and fired, thunder and smoke vomiting from the crude rifle.
Diving over the sandbags, the father landed hard, but rolled over and came up with a machete in his hand. The policeman knocked that aside.
“We have blasters!” he snapped. “Inside, they won’t get past us! Save your family, man!” Sheathing the blade, the father nodded in thanks and dashed into the darkness.
Instantly, the guards relaxed their tense posture and, smirking in satisfaction, lowered their weapons. Then they shared a grin, ran inside, firing their blasters into the air.
“The wolves are here!” one private cried, firing his rifle straight into the air.
The other started to walk casually toward the wooden doors. “Stand firm, men! Don’t let them pass!”
“Hurry! Hurry!” the policeman added, lighting a cig and blowing a smoke ring. “Get the axes!”
Reaching the barricade, the wolves stopped and milled about looked expectantly at the men. The lead wolf started to wag his tail in anticipation. Smiling widely, the policeman tossed the pack something from his pockets, which the animals happily devoured and then dashed off into the ruins barking and yipping.
RETREATING A FEW BLOCKS, the companions convened behind a garbage bin before allowing themselves to speak.
“Fireblast!” Ryan breathed. “Did you see that?”
Leaning wearily against a brick wall, Krysty nodded. “A sham. This is all a sham!”
“Longblasters firing not one wolf hurt?” Jak snorted, sitting on his haunches.
“And no dust kicking up from misses, either,” Ryan said. “It’s a new sham on me, and I thought I had seen them all.”
“Bastards,” Mildred spit furiously. “Utter contemptible bastards.”
“What do you think they do with the people?” Dean asked, staring at the junkyard wall across the river. No sounds could be heard from this distance. Even bla
sterfire would become lost in the wind, so anything could be happening out of sight behind the imposing barrier.
“I don’t know, son,” Ryan said. “Slaves, mebbe.”
Returning to the Hummer, they informed J.B. about the situation.
“Blanks,” the Armorer stated, sitting on the bumper of the Hummer. “Shit-eating sec men were firing blanks! You sure about that?”
“Makes sense,” Ryan agreed. “Searchlights draw in folks to investigate. Then somewhere along the way, a pack of pet wolves attack, herding the people into the ville. The sec men pretend to fight off the muties, and the victims rush inside for protection, while actually thanking their captors.”
“Deuced clever way to increase your population,” Doc admitted in grudging admiration. “Highly contemptible, but I must admit that I am impressed by its sheer audacity.”
“Bastards,” Mildred repeated.
“Agreed, good Doctor. But still brilliant.”
“So what about that winged thing we found in the cave,” Dean asked, holding his new rifle, his eyes never pausing as they searched the shadowy ruins for possible enemies. “Think that’s another sheepdog?”
Krysty dismissed the idea. “Head was too small. No way it was smart as a wolf.”
“I’d guess that was for real,” Ryan agreed. “Or possibly, the stick to the carrot. If anybody tries to escape, it’ll be at night and the bird, whatever, attacks for real.”
“Why doesn’t it attack the ville, then?”
“Weak eyes,” Mildred reminded. “Those searchlights would keep the mutie far away.”
“More tricks and games,” Krysty said grimly.
“However, you all seemed to have missed the most important point,” J.B. said, adjusting his glasses until he had their full attention, then he smiled broadly.
“We now know where dinner is coming from,” he continued, chocking the bolt on the Uzi.
Faces brightened in understanding.
“Wolf hard to kill?” Dean asked, feeling a rush of adrenaline. He wanted to do something for the poor trapped folks, and if he couldn’t free them somehow, then chilling the wolves was the next best thing.
