by James Axler
“Think I found the way inside,” Fife said, jerking a thumb. In the tiny glow of his butane lighter, stairs were barely visible past a sagging bulkhead.
Turning, Ryan whistled sharply. It was answered by the call of a whip-poor-will, and Krysty climbed over the rent and wiggled inside.
“Watch where you step!” Ryan said. “This place is a deathtrap.”
“So I see,” Krysty said as two more sec men climbed in through the rent.
In a feathery rush, more birds exploded out of the darkness, and they both dodged aside. With a gasp, one of the sec men tripped on the warped steel and tumbled backward out through the rent.
Rushing forward, Krysty instinctively reached for the falling sec man even though he was already yards away, then she flinched as he hit the ground.
Going to the body, Doc checked for a pulse, then looked upward and sliced a thumb across his throat.
Muttering a quick prayer to Gaia, the woman solemnly turned away from the rent and lit another hurricane lantern. “Okay, Cam, where are the main blasters?” Krysty demanded, her hair coiling tightly to her head.
“Not sure,” Fife said from the office. “I know how to find them from the bottom, but doing this backward is like trying to cut your own hair.”
“Difficult?”
“Nuking near impossible.”
Going to the rent, Ryan shook one of the grappling hooks loose and coiled it around an arm. Returning to the office, he firmly set the hook inside the twisted wreckage of some sort of pump, then tossed the coil through the open doorway.
“We follow the main waterlines,” Ryan said, climbing down the rope. “The last thing that any sailor would want is a fire in the ammunition bunker, so one of the water pipes will lead us directly there.”
“If not?” Betty asked with a scowl.
“Then we blow a hole in the side of the ship,” Fife snarled in reply, “find the front and crawl up the cannons to get the guncotton. Now shut up and run!”
* * ** * *
EASING THROUGH THE pine trees, Jak paused when he heard the sounds of diesel engines. Going prone, he carefully crawled forward through the layers of old nettles and soon found the edge of the breach.
Almost directly below was the APC, dark smoke huffing from the louvered exhaust vents.
The machine was surrounded by sec men on motorcycles, checking their weapons and coils of ropes and torches. Clearly, Ryan had read the queen correctly. She was here for something inside the wreckage.
“How big a piece, ma’am?” a sec man asked, stuffing a hacksaw into his backpack.
“A foot square will do fine,” a woman answered through a blasterport of the APC. “But get as many as you can, and in different sizes.”
“Going to armor the whole laser?” another sec man asked, his clothing and weapons marking the fellow as some sort of officer.
“Every damn inch,” the woman replied. “The next time Ryan tries a trick shot, I’ll burn out his remaining eye, then serve it to him on toast!”
The mob of sec men gave a polite ripple of laughter.
Biting the fuse on a pipe bomb down to a mere nubbin, Jak lit it with his butane lighter and rolled it over the edge.
The laughter abruptly stopped as the lead pipe thumped onto the ground. Snatching up the pipe bomb, a sec man tried to throw it away, and the blast tore him apart, limbs and organs smacking into the APC. The rest of the sec men staggered under the deafening concussion, and several fell off their motorcycles, reeling drunkenly.
“Creeper!” a sec man snarled, firing a pump-action shotgun as fast as he could work the action. He emptied the weapon at the pine trees on top of the hillock, the flurry of nettles ripping away to gently sprinkle back down.
“What?” a sec woman asked, cupping a hand to her bleeding ear.
Biting the next fuse dangerously short, Jak set it burning, then actually waited an entire second before throwing it. He heard the bomb clang off the top of the APC, then came a strident explosion.
As the shrapnel hissed through the air, Jak risked a fast peek. Apparently the pipe bomb had bounced off the PEP laser and fallen on the far side. Protected by the armored bulk of the machine, the Granite Empire sec men had only been buffeted by the concussion of the explosions, and nobody seemed to be even slightly injured. However, they were all staggering even more than before.
“There he is!” a sec man yelled.
Jerking backward, Jak felt the hot passage of a bullet score his cheek. Damn! Then all of the sec men cut loose with their weapons. Dirt danced from the arrival of the hardball rounds, bark fell off tree trunks and nettles exploded into the air, creating a green whirlwind.
“Get that son of a bitch!” a woman bellowed.
Listening to the furious sec men, Jak quickly withdrew as they tried to climb the steep mound. Gently bringing up his assault rifle, Jak patiently waited for a face to appear over the edge. But from the grunting curses of the people, it seemed the incline was too steep and the ground too soft. The combination making a climb impossible. Suddenly, Jak had a newfound respect for the crossbows and climbing ropes of the Concord sec men. Biding his time, Jak waited a few minutes, then lit two more pipe bombs and rolled one down the inner slope, then the other over the opposite side.
As the first one arrived, the sec men dashed away, only to then thunderously encounter the second. Tattered bodies went flying high, and a couple of the motorcycles whoofed into flames, the ammunition in the saddlebags quickly cooking off until it sounded like pitched battle between a thousand troops.
In a rumble, the diesel engines of the APC roared to life, and the machine raced away.
Knowing what was coming next, Jak dropped the rest of the pipe bombs and started running for his life. Speed was his only hope now.
Over the soft crunch of the nettles under his boots, Jak could hear the low hum of the PEP laser building power...then he hit the ground and braced himself.
A moment later something as bright as the sun swept along the top of the hillock, the thick trunks of the pine trees exploding as their sap instantly boiled into steam. Hammered by wood chips from every side, Jak pulled his camouflage jacket over his head, and stood to make a desperate dash back along the curving mound.
Again and again, the laser lanced out, the trees detonating like bombs before toppling over to loudly crash into one another. As a pine tree in front of him burst into fire, Jak thought this was the end. Then the laser moved on, igniting other trees, and he realized that the beam couldn’t actually reach the crest of the mound from the ground below. The angle was wrong!
Until the APC pulled back farther, Jak thought sagely. That sent a surge of cold adrenaline through the young man, and he redoubled the effort to race away from the mauling power beam.
Soon, machine guns and assault rifles added their fury to the one-sided battle, but just as quickly they faded into the distance as Jak pounded through the forest. The cool air in his face washed away the reek of the burning pine, and he grinned like an idiot when he saw the crossbow bolts sticking out of the trees ahead.
Forcing himself to pause, Jak whistled like a chickadee and was answered by a robin.
Clawing his way through a tangle of bushes, Jak saw Ryan and the others climbing up the inside slope.
“Find?” Jak panted, holding an arm to a stitch in his side.
“Stand here a few minutes, and you’ll find out,” Ryan growled, pulling up the ropes and tossing them down the exterior slope.
As the people scrambled down the mound, they jumped the last yard to save a moment, then raced for the motorcycles. Standing nearby, Mildred and Ricky already had their machines running and pointing in the correct direction.
“I figure if you came running, every second would count,” Ricky said in unnecessary explanation.
“Triple smart!” J.B. shouted, removing a barrel of guncotton before straddling a Harley-Davidson motorcycle.
“Time?” Krysty demanded, jumping onto her machine and gunning the engine.
Removing the second barrel, Ryan shoved back the kickstand and revved his motorcycle. “Three minutes!”
Jak shot the man startled look.
“Bad fuse,” Fife explained with a shrug.
“Wait!” Mildred said, pressing wavy pieces of cloth into his hand. “Stuff these into your ears!”
Obediently, the companions did so, making sure the plugs were in good and tight.
“What is this shit for?” a sec man demanded, looking at the strips of cloth as if they were covered with worms.
“Do as you’re told, Private!” Betty snarled, stuffing the soft wads into her ears.
Grumbling compliance, the sec man followed orders.
Their rear wheels spinning, the companions and the Concord sec men threw out a spray of loose rocks and dirt as they raced away from the impact mound and directly into the forest.
Wildly zigzagging between the trees, the world was eerily quiet from the plugs in their ears, and there only seemed to be the muffled sounds of their labored breathing. Slowly, time ticked away as they attempted to get as far away from the predark battleship as they possibly could.
“Time?” Doc bellowed at the top of his lungs. He had a pocketwatch, but it was tucked into his vest and would require releasing his grip on the handlebars, which at the current speed would be tantamount to suicide.
“Any second now!” J.B. replied, bent low behind the dirty windshield.
A thick silence enveloped the forest, and there wasn’t a sound for the longest period, then a blinding light blossomed behind the companions. Frantically braking to a halt, they turned off the bikes just as a warm hurricane ripped across the landscape.
Hugging the heavy machines, the companions and the people of Concord held on for dear life, digging in their boots, as the powerful wind bent the pine trees, yanked bushes from the ground and sent a host of tiny animals helplessly airborne. As the hot wind began to ease, an unexpected earthquake shuddered through the ground, rattling their teeth and shaking the motorcycles until it seemed as if they would break into pieces.
Dust filled the air, and Ryan hawked to clear his throat when he saw a roiling mushroom cloud begin to form in the distance, the thick column of fiery black smoke rising steadily upward as if escaping from the very bowels of hell itself....
Chapter Nineteen
The steady beat of a drum filled the tiny cave with a sense of home and helped to cover the sounds of the cannies eating their dinner.
In the flickering light of the fire, they appeared to be naked, but each was warmly dressed in tight clothing made from tanned human skin, carefully bleached to match the same tone as their own.
Thick canvas was stretched across the opening of the cave. It served to hold back the evening chill and to hide their presence from wandering creatures both norm and mutie. An enemy might find them, but would never know their numbers or strength until it was far too late.
Everybody was armed with bones knives and blowguns. But several of the hunters also wore animal-leather gunbelts around their waists, the blasters and bullets gleaming with fresh oil.
“Animal flesh,” Little Flower muttered as if that was the foulest thing in the world. Using a sharpened stick, she extracted a small morsel of charred meat from the crackling fire. “This isn’t going to fill our bellies, or fuel our revenge!”
“However, at the moment, it’s all we have,” Iron Fist answered, the swirling patterns on his chest showing that he was the new leader. “So, shut the fuck up and eat your bear.”
“Day-old bear,” Little Flower snarled, choosing another piece in the flames.
“Pity about that body in the ground,” Black Sunshine said. With a sigh, the girl glanced longingly at the mouth of the cave. “If only the machine people hadn’t buried him with their nightsoil...”
“There will be all of the fresh meat you wish after we capture the outlanders,” Iron Fist growled, using an oiled cloth to polish a Winchester longblaster.
“Blasters aren’t the way of our ancestors,” Emergency Exit muttered. Surreptitiously, the old fat cannie flashed a frightened look at the machine weapon at her hip. “They were wise and at one with Nature. They listened to the Earth, and hunted with club and bone, knives and ropes, blessed rock and holy darts!”
In loose unison, the rest of the cannies paused in their meal to repeat the words in a ritual chant.
“Unfortunately those days are gone,” Iron Fist returned, awkwardly loading the bullets into the side receiver of the Winchester. Flipping the longblaster by the lever as he had seen the outlanders do, he was delightfully rewarded with satisfying clicks as the weapon loaded a fresh bullet and primed itself for combat.
“Now it is the Time of the Blaster,” Broken Rock stated, stroking a .44 AutoMag as if it were a loving pet. “A new moon of fire and steel!”
The drumming stopped as a dark shadow appeared at the mouth of the cave. All of the cannies grabbed the new weapons, fumbling to thumb off the safeties and chamber rounds.
“Meat!” Sweet Willow cackled, shuffling into view carrying a large burlap bag slung over a hunched shoulder. “I bring fresh meat and news of our enemies!”
Eagerly, the cannies surged forward to relieve her of the burlap bag. Inside were a dozen human arms. The intoxicating smell was overwhelming.
“Real food!” Little Flower grabbed a limb and tore off a piece of flesh with her pointed teeth. “S’good!”
“Blessings upon you for both of these gifts, Greatmother,” Iron Fist said, advancing to kiss her on the forehead. “I praise the Sky God that you have returned to us alive and unharmed.”
“I very nearly didn’t return,” Sweet Willow said bitterly. “But I did as you commanded and returned to the vertical ship to hide in the trees like a birdling.”
Shuffling over to a cut log, she sat heavily and pried off her moccasins to wiggle her toes in the heat of the fire. “The outlanders and the machine people had a mighty battle. The fields were covered with fresh bodies, and there was so much blood you could taste it in the air!” She sighed in memory.
“And the news, Greatmother?” Razor Wire prompted gently.
“Did they come back?” Black Sunshine asked eagerly, lowering her arm.
“They did,” Sweet Willow stated resolutely. “And they destroyed the ship. The blast was so great my ears are still ringing.”
“Lies!” Rising from the ground, Shadow Cliff waddled forward to tower over the old cannie. His arms and legs were so heavily muscled they bulged, making a normal gait for him impossible. But nobody ever laughed at the man because they had all seen Shadow Cliff rip the head off a stickie with his bare hands.
“Sadly, it’s the truth,” Sweet Willow said. “The ship is gone, returned to the sky from which it came.”
“More lies!” Virtually a giant, his strength was unbelievable. Shadow Cliff seemed to fear nothing, except his tiny wife, a fact that caused a great deal of amusement to the rest of the cannie tribe, but always very far away from the towering colossus and his deadly hands.
“I was there, you were not!” Sweet Willow shot back defiantly, a hand going to the knife sheathed behind her back.
The two cannies stood facing each other for a long moment, the tension in the air palpable.
“By the Long Dark Night, she tells the truth!” Shadow Cliff laughed, slapping her on the shoulder. “So you saw them, but did they see you, little one?”
“Does the worm see a cloud?” Sweet Willow retorted, slowly releasing the knife.
“Tell me of their leaders,” Iron Fist said, squatting, the Winchester balanced across his thighs.
&n
bsp; “It was hard to tell who was in charge at first,” Sweet Willow said, bending to massage her feet. “They all carried blasters and talked constantly.” She smiled. “But the one-eyed man was always obeyed.”
“Ryan,” Iron Fist growled. “Did they call him Ryan?”
“They did,” Sweet Willow said with obvious satisfaction. “And they bragged about killing our people last moon and freeing the meat from the blessed fire.”
“Were they all there?” Black Sunshine asked eagerly.
“Oh yes, the one-eyed giant and his friends.”
“They have returned,” Iron Fist breathed. “That is excellent news.”
“Maybe not. The mountain men have brought along their iron box that chills with a rainbow,” Sweet Willow added. “And the outlanders now ride machines instead of horses.”
“The laser?” Iron Fist asked. “This is not good news. It chills farther than a bullet can fly.”
“Who cares about the mountain men? The outlanders are riding machines and that means they aren’t as smart as we feared,” Shadow Cliff said, cracking his oversize knuckles. “Only fools ride machines! What machine can make another? What machine can fuel itself by eating grass?”
“Machines are also fast,” Razor Wire reminded him, removing a metal ring from one of the hands before gnawing on a finger. “Much faster than the best horse. True, my friend?”
Frowning deeply, Shadow Cliff nodded. “True.”
“Bravery like this must be rewarded,” Iron Fist said, going to a bundle of cloth near the hammocks. Unfolding a section, he extracted a sleek .32 Remington blaster and tossed it over.
“Thank you!” Sweet Willow gushed, tucking the weapon between her ample breasts.
“You earned it,” he said. “Now, which direction were they traveling?”
“Toward the Damaged God,” Sweet Willow replied, lowering her voice reverently. “Or maybe the Forbidden City.”
“Are the mountain men forcing the outlanders toward the god?” Little Flower asked. “Are they to be a sacrifice to the Humming Air?”
