by James Axler
Thunder rumbled as the laser flashed once more.
“Will she be okay?” Ricky asked in a worried tone.
“Yes...and no,” Ryan said honestly, tightening the grip on the reins of her horse.
It began to snow. Dancing and swirling in the gentle wind, glistening white flakes settled upon the hunched companions, frosting their shoulders and covering the tracks of their horses in the riverbed.
Proceeding onward, soon the companions were surrounded by a swirling cascade of crystalline beauty, the snowfall bringing an unexpected hush to the mountains, and making it seem as if they were the last people alive in the world.
Chapter Seven
Rolling over the dead bodies and the broken motorcycles, the rumbling Fire Hammer braked to a stop directly alongside the ragged edge of the paved road.
With a loud clang, the rear doors were slammed open and Queen Angstrom climbed out. “All right, how did they escape?” she demanded hotly.
“Their leader, the one-eyed bastard is as good a shot as the Joneses,” Major Svenson said, wrapping a white bandage around his bloody hand. “I’ve never seen shooting like that in my life!”
“It’s like they were born with blasters in their hands, ma’am,” Jones whispered, tightly hugging her longblaster as if drawing strength from the weapon.
“Or they use them a lot,” Angstrom said, hitching up her gunbelt. “Practice does make perfect, especially with blasters.”
“What did you say, ma’am?” the sec woman asked, dragging a corpse to the chasm.
Waving her away, Angstrom proceeded along the ragged cliff, looking down into the misty abyss. The billowing snow made it difficult to see anything far away.
“Help me...” a man groaned. “Please, somebody...help me...”
Scowling, Angstrom picked her way through the jumble of burning timbers until finding a sec man sprawled on the ground. His buckskin clothing was soaked with blood, a fist holding closed the tattered remains of his shirt.
“Chest or guts?” Angstrom asked.
“B-belly,” he whispered.
She scowled at that. A belly wound was untreatable. Her grandfather had been shot there, and claimed that it felt like his guts were on fire. In spite of everything done by two village healers, he hadn’t lasted the night, and died shrieking, clawing at the wound to try to hasten his own death.
“Major, summon the healer for this man!” Angstrom commanded, jerking a thumb.
“Can’t, ma’am,” Svenson replied gruffly. “He was the first one to get chilled on the slope.” The man glanced across the burning ruins toward the steep incline littered with broken bodies. “His horse got shot, and they both went under the Fire Hammer.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Damn,” Angstrom muttered. She remembered the bump, but had thought nothing of it at the time. Now she felt a wave of loss over her dead friend.
“M-my queen?” the wounded man gasped, putting a wealth of questions into the words.
“I am deeply sorry, armsman, but you’re too far gone to save,” Angstrom said, withdrawing one of her S&W Magnum revolvers.
The sec man grunted at the ancient word of honor. “My wife—” he started.
“Will be cared for,” she interrupted. “Food and firewood for a year. She will not go to the gaudy house. You have my word.”
“Th-thank...you...” he wheezed, the words barely audible.
Without saying a word, Angstrom cocked back the hammer on the handblaster, and fired once. The sec man jerked at the arrival of the .357 round, then went eternally still.
“Toss the body over the cliff with the rest,” she directed, holstering the weapon. “But save the blaster and boots for his wife. She can sell them, or become part of the sec force if she can shoot. Her choice.”
“Wall duty?” Svenson asked.
“For a month. Then treat her like everybody else.”
“By your command.”
Turning away, Angstrom went directly to the smashed moorings of the missing bridge. She stared at the twisted struts of rusty steel for a long time, her thoughts deeply private.
“What is your opinion, Major?” she asked, without even looking to see if the man was near.
“Impossible, ma’am,” Svenson replied promptly, thumbing fresh cartridges into his Remington shotgun. “There’s no way across this. We’ll have to go around.”
Angstrom scowled “Past the machine?”
“No, I meant, all the way around,” the major continued, unruffled. “Past the Broken Cliffs and up through Volcano Gorge.”
“But that would take a week, mebbe more!” Goldberg gasped. “These coldhearts could be long gone by then.”
“Do we have a choice?” Svenson asked, slinging the shotgun over a shoulder, the barrel pointed downward to keep out the falling snow.
“Mebbe we could build a bridge,” a sec man said hesitantly. “Use the wood from these buildings to make something to get a few of us across.”
“What buildings, you feeb?” Jones snorted, indicating the burning structures.
“Okay, how about trees?” the sec man tried again, rubbing his jaw. “We could use the Fire Hammer to cut down the forest, and make a bridge from the tree trunks. That would work, right?”
Curiously, Angstrom looked at Svenson, and he vehemently shook his head in the negative.
“What are your orders, ma’am?” Goldberg asked, turning up his collar to the blowing snow.
Staring at the rumbling sky, Angstrom had an irrational urge to agree with the idiotic plan just to be doing something right now. She knew that it would probably fail, but there was such an urge for action boiling inside her that it bordered on madness.
Thoughtfully stroking her ruined ear, the woman recalled an early lesson from her husband. A wise ruler didn’t order a man to turn dirt into gunpowder, then punish him for failing. That was the kind of foolishness that had brought about skydark and destroyed the world. Think before you attack, he had said, then move swiftly and take no prisoners.
“Major Svenson!” she yelled, placing both hands on her hips. “Pack up everything useful, send a pigeon for more troops and let’s move out!” She glanced at the northern mountains, the range crested by a smoking volcano. “We’re going the long way around Cobalt Mountain...and then ace these mutie-loving bastards at Bluewater Lake!”
Cheering enthusiastically, the sec force started scavenging among the dead for ammunition, fuel, food and blasters, all the while boasting about how the forthcoming battle would certainly end.
“But what about Linderholm?” the major whispered, stepping closer. “If these coldhearts cut a deal with that green bastard, we could have a war on our hands.”
“Then you better make damn sure that never happens,” Angstrom snarled, brushing the snow off her arms while starting back toward the Fire Hammer.
* * ** * *
EVENTUALLY NIGHT FELL as the companions continued riding ever higher into the craggy mountains.
There had been a short respite when the storm eased for several hours, and they broke for some food and to make any battlefield repairs necessary. But then the winter weather returned with a savage vengeance, seemingly intent to now bury them alive under the rapidly growing mounds of snow. Soon progress along the rocky riverbed had become so difficult that the companions decided to climb a bank and start across a vast frozen field.
Still deathly pale, Krysty hadn’t spoken for a very long time. But everybody took heart when she reached down to scoop some loose snow off a tree branch and massage it into her scalp. She flinched at the contact, then gradually relaxed.
“Got shine,” Jak offered, pulling a pint bottle from inside his leather jacket. It was half full of an amber-colored liquid. “Not muc
h, but strong.”
“Thanks,” Krysty whispered, visibly shivering as the melting snow began to trickle down her face and neck. “Mebbe later.”
“Sure.” He tucked the bottle way. “Anytime.”
Long hours passed and the companions encountered nothing but snow, along with the occasional frozen creek. There weren’t even many trees, just some low scrub brush and spiky teasel weeds.
“Damn, I was hoping we’d catch a break after freezing our asses in Nome. I’m cold, hungry and just plain scared!” Mildred said.
“Is that from a poem, madam?” Doc asked, rocking to the motion of his horse. Frosty mounds were perched on both of his shoulders, and it was difficult to tell where his silvery hair ended and the snow began.
“A movie, actually.” She chuckled.
Just then, there was a movement in the bushes and a mountain lion padded into view. The animal appeared normal.
“If it charges, aim for the eyes,” Ryan commanded, easing the Steyr from the gunboot alongside the saddle. “And don’t use a flintlock! They’re so loud the echoes would bring every mutie in the area down on us like flies on shit.”
“Softly, softly, catchee monkey,” Doc muttered under his breath.
“Do you know any other poem than that?” Mildred growled irritably.
“Of course! Jak recently taught me one about a very flexible fellow from Nantucket.”
“Pass! Kipling is fine.”
“Why are they always fighting?” Ricky asked, leaning forward in his saddle.
“Just friends ribbing each other,” J.B. replied with a chuckle. “Honestly, they’re just so damn much alike.”
As the wind increased, everybody hunched lower in the saddle.
“Anything useful on the map?” Ryan asked, watching the trees for any suspicious movements. The area seemed totally devoid of game, which usually meant there was either a big mutie nearby or a radiation crater. Both of which he seriously wished to avoid at the moment.
“I have no idea. This is supposed to be at the bottom of a lake,” J.B. growled, his glasses speckled with melting flakes. “We’re so far off the map, that we might as well use it for tinder.”
“S-sounds g-good to m-me,” Ricky said, his teeth chattering. “Damn, it’s almost as cold as Alaska!”
“Not want ever go there again. Use spare socks like gloves,” Jak said, displaying his own oddly clad hands. “Helps lot.”
Grinning widely, the youth dug into a saddlebag and soon was wearing some cold woolen socks.
“Better.” Ricky sighed. “Thanks.”
“Just don’t get them wet,” Mildred warned, then paused to blink into the distance. She couldn’t be sure with the storm in the way, but there was a large dark circle near the base of a cliff. It could be a cave, which would be a godsend under the present circumstances. Unable to restrain herself, Mildred thumped her knees against the horse and trotted off in that direction to see.
“Trouble?” Ryan called, pulling the warm SIG-Sauer from inside his jacket.
“Not sure,” Mildred replied over a shoulder, resting a hand on the ZKR pistol holstered on her hip. Then the wind shifted and she burst into a wide grin. “Cave! I see a cave!”
Instantly the companions headed in that direction. Joining the woman, they stopped a few yards away and studied the area before easing down from their horses.
“Better get razor, people,” Ryan commanded, shaking his head to dispel the growing collection of snow. “There could be anything inside.”
“Mountain cave usually bear,” Jak said, holding the Colt Python between both hands to warm the weapon.
“Yeah, usually,” J.B. agreed, carefully advancing as if walking through a minefield. Reaching the opening to the cave, he waited for Ryan to take a defensive position, then proceeded inside a few yards.
The companions fanned out in a defensive maneuver and slowly advanced. Coming out of the snowy darkness was a concrete embankment, similar to the kind used to reinforce weak hillsides and keep them from burying an access road.
Stepping into the tunnel, the two men listened intently for any snores or growls that would indicate hibernating bears. But there was only a deep silence ahead of them, and the soft howl of the snowy wind coming from behind them.
Peering owlishly into the darkness, J.B. sniffed. “No smell of spoor. You?”
“Nothing,” Ryan said. “Try a flare.”
Pulling a civilian road flare out of his munitions bag, J.B. twisted off the cap and rubbed the rough top across the igniter nubbin. In ragged stages, the flare sputtered into life, the bright magnesium flame banishing the darkness for yards.
“Looks clear,” he announced, glancing around. Holding the flare high, he studied the ceiling for any signs of bats or spiders. Those could be real trouble. They often became rabid and moved so fast it was difficult to kill them.
Thick smoke rose from the flare to pool on the ceiling and slowly trickle away, flowing like water back toward the entrance. What looked like a pile of leaves off to the side proved to be just that, windblown leaves.
“What’s that?” Ryan asked, squinting at the ceiling.
Lifting the flaming road flare higher, J.B. grinned at the unexpected sight of a line of fluorescent tubes set into a smooth featureless material.
“Those are light bulbs and that’s ferro-concrete!” J.B. shouted excitedly. “Cave my ass, this is a predark tunnel!”
Not turning, Ryan sharply whistled. “Bring in the horses!”
In seconds the rest of the companions joined them inside the tunnel. As the wind eased, they all stood a little taller, and even the horses whinnied, showing their pleasure at being out of the storm.
“Strange,” Doc murmured, “and oddly familiar.”
Nobody replied to that, but they all tightened their grip on their weapons.
“You sensing anything?” Ryan asked.
“I’m not sure....something...” Krysty replied, clearly annoyed at the vague answer.
“A tunnel in the middle of nowhere,” Doc said with a scowl.
“At the bottom of a lake,” J.B. reminded curtly, moving the road flare around. The tunnel went on for quite a while, the end lost in solid blackness.
“Could this be the entrance to a redoubt?” Mildred asked hopefully, swinging her medical bag behind her back to keep it out of the way in case of a firefight.
“Mebbe, but more likely it was an air base or a missile silo. The predark gov had those hidden in the damnedest places.”
“Still, those are almost always excellent locations to get out of a storm,” Doc stated with a small shiver.
“Let’s find out,” Ryan said, working the bolt on the Steyr. “Two yard spread, I’m on point. Ricky, guard the horses.”
“Check,” he said, resting the DeLisle on a shoulder.
Lighting candles, the companions started forward with their weapons at the ready. The flickering glow of the candles barely illuminated the passageway, and they saw the raw sleeve of ferro-concrete dotted with the occasional ceramic brick. The white square shone like a beacon in the gloom. More and more of them appeared until the tunnel was fully lined with the ceramic bricks.
This far from the opening, the air was noticeably warmer, and Ryan paused as the end of the tunnel appeared. Now, the companions advanced slower, in a standard two-on-two combat formation, constantly checking for sensors or antipersonnel devices.
Sure enough they easily located cracked mirrors set into the wall where sec cameras had been hidden. Ryan pried one of them open using the panga, but only found dark machinery thickly coated with corrosion and cobwebs proclaiming the lack of power.
On the other side of the tunnel, Jak gave a low whistle. Set into a small recess was a squat rapid-fire covered with ferruled cables. The battery pack ha
d cracked open wide, the corrosive materials inside spread across the deadly weapon like a disease.
“Dark night, that’s an Auto-Sentry,” J.B. started. “Good thing it’s out of commission, or we would have been aced before hearing the first shot.”
“No bomb shelter,” Jak said with a half smile. “Gov installation?”
Without replying, Ryan slowly walked along the wall until reaching a large metal door. The floor was covered with loose leaves, but the door was completely untouched by the passage of time, the metal perfect in every aspect.
“This is vanadium,” Ryan said, running a hand across the satin-smooth metal. “Just like in a mat-trans chamber.” Then he scowled at the sight of a keypad hanging loose from the ceramic brick wall, the internal wiring dangling freely.
“Damn it, somebody tried to smash their way inside,” Mildred growled, leaning closer to inspect the ancient mechanism. “No way we’ll ever get this to work again.”
“Not necessarily,” J.B. said, turning away.
A few minutes later he returned with the dusty battery from the sec camera.
“If this has just a speck of power left...” he muttered, scraping some old wires clean with a knife. Knitting them together, he jumped as there was a bright spark, a red light pulsed once overhead and the door gave a hard click.
Grabbing the handle, Ryan pulled, but nothing happened. Passing off his longblaster, the man took the handle in both hands and planted a boot against the wall.
Bracing himself, Ryan bent to the task, steadily increasing the pressure. Nothing happened for a minute, then the door opened a crack and a reeking hurricane of dark fumes blasted outward, forcing the companions back gagging and gasping for air.
Chapter Eight
Quickly covering their faces, the companions backed away as far as possible.
“Incoming!” Ryan shouted down the tunnel, not knowing how else to warn Ricky. If there was a reply, he couldn’t hear it over the sustained rush of foul gases.
Impatiently, the companions waited. It took several minutes, but the fetid exhalation finally ebbed.
