Sunchild

by James Axler

  Ryan opened each door carefully, partly in case there was some hidden intruder, either mutie, man or animal, or in case the floor gave way beneath him.

  "These old buildings were made with concrete floors, so we should be all right," Mildred remarked, "unlike those poor bastards." And she gestured toward the remains of two people that were lying half on the rotting bed, and half on the floor of one apartment room.

  Ryan was looking for an apartment whose rooms overlooked the only route the hunting party could take through the undergrowth. It was important that the rooms be one apartment, and therefore adjoining. He was unwilling to spread his forces over two apartments, with a solid unbroken wall between them and no easy means of communication should a firefight break out.

  The third one they came to was the one they wanted. What had once been a spare and stylishly furnished lounge was linked to a bedroom with a sunken pit for the long since rotted bed by a sliding door that splintered almost to powder with just the slightest pressure from J.B., the runners having long since seized up with rust and the clogging spore of fungi. A creeping vine had encroached along the door, and as the splintered remains ripped the long stems, they shuddered and coiled as though in pain.

  Krysty also shuddered. "I'll be glad when we're through this jungle. Sentient plant life is the worst kind of mutie I can imagine," she almost whispered.

  Ryan and Dean had meanwhile been checking out the windows, and their position onto the old road beneath. Ryan checked the large and wide bay window area in the lounge, while Dean took the deeper bedroom window, which had less width.

  "Listen," he said as he joined the party in the lounge, "they're getting near. Weird noise," he added, looking bemused. "You'd think they want to be heard."

  The companions maintained silence, listening to the distant chant, the higher, keening voices carrying farther through the forest. Suddenly, J.B. whirled, the Uzi falling easily to hand and into a firing position.

  The safety was off, and his finger was pressuring the trigger, on a hair.

  Jak appeared in the doorway. "Me," he said simply. "Covered tracks."

  "Dark night," the Armorer breathed, "I nearly chilled you, Jak!"

  Jak grinned like a white wolf. "Hearing better than think," he said. "Near now," he added.

  Ryan assented. "Time to take formation. What about the cover, Dean?"

  "Some big stems and leaves over the window, but it goes low and that's bad."

  "Okay, you and Doc take in there, and keep well back. J.B., you and me take one side of this, Krysty and Mildred the other."

  "Me?" Jak asked.

  "Take the stairwell. It's the only way up, so if they see us they'll have to come that way. One man can cover it for now, and someone will join you if a firefight starts."

  "Not firefight." Jak shook his head. "They carry knives, but no blasters."

  "Sure?"

  The albino nodded.

  Ryan smiled grimly, his mouth a tight line. "That'll make it easier if it does blow up." The chanting was louder now, and the sound of the hunting party's movement through the forest could be heard clearly. Ryan's voice dropped to a whisper. "Assume positions."

  Jak disappeared into the hallway, heading for the stairwell. Ryan and J.B. took up position at the window, with the one-eyed warrior using the cover of the plant life to assume an upright posture, while the Armorer took a lower position. On the opposite side of the window, Mildred and Krysty took up positions mirroring the men. In the bedroom, with less cover, Doc and Dean took each side of the long window, shielding themselves with the wall at the expense of reducing their field of vision.

  Beneath, the chanting grew louder, the procession of the hunting party coming into view.

  "Bastards," Dean breathed, his jaw dropping and bile rising in his throat. He had to breathe hard to stop himself from being violently sick as the party came fully into view.

  Doc, who was on the blind side of the window, risked peering around. He withdrew his head rapidly, not wanting to believe what he saw.

  "Truly," he whispered to himself, "if there is a God, he has forsaken this place…"

  In the lounge, shielded by the plants, the four companions exchanged looks that registered a mixture of anger and disgust. They had seen many things in their travels, experienced many kinds of degradation and horror. But this was somehow among the worst.

  The hunting party beneath was now in full view. Their ragged clothes, wrapped around them like robes rather than worn, were multicolored and dyed from the flowering plants, as Jak had surmised. He had been correct in observing that none of the six below carried blasters, just long knives that were a mix of hand-hewed blades wrapped onto wooden hafts with twine and a couple of old knives, rusty but still honed enough to provide a jagged sawing edge. As they approached, the companions could see that the hunters were muties, each with his own particular traits. One had a vestigial arm growing from his chest, the tiny, half-formed fingers on the end clenching and unclenching in time with his step. Another had a completely bald head that had dewlapped layers of skin that sunk over his one eye, which was located near the center of his head. The dewlap was covered in open sores. A third shuffled on a stumped foot that had a thickened pad of calloused skin where the toes turned under. The fourth was enormously barrel-chested, with a thin, tapering waist and sticklike legs that had straining whipcords of muscle supporting his weight and balance. The fifth was unevenly made, with his head sinking into his body at an obtuse angle.

  But it was the one at the front who seemed the most mutated. In many ways, he was a perfectly muscled specimen, with flowing blond hair, a chiseled jawline and the high keening voice that cut across the others. His eyes glowed with an insane, messianic light, and he strode evenly on legs that were strong, with well-muscled calves. His torso, however, was an immediate and grotesque reminder of his mutie heritage: for in the center of his chest, poking through the saffron-and-yellow robes he wore, was the head of another body, small and stunted, that grew from his stomach. The eyes on the head of the small "twin" looked around with a similar gleam to that of their "owner." By his bearing, as well as his position, this mutie was the leader of the party, setting a fairly swift pace at the head of the first pair.

  They walked in a ragged file, in three pairs. Each pair had a pole suspended between them, the pole dipping and swaying as the catch that hung from it took the weight of the singing kill, jogged into motion by the carriers' uneven footfalls.

  Except that kill was the wrong word. The catch was still alive…at least some of the catch was still alive, while some of it had died on the journey.

  Two children were suspended on each pole. There were three boys and three girls, a pair per pole. They were still alive, but dying rapidly in agony and pain because they hadn't been tied to the pole.

  They had been impaled.

  The front carrier of each pair held a pole end that was sharpened to a point and dripping in blood and bodily fluids. The sharpened end had obviously been inserted through the rectum of each child, and passed through the body to come out of the mouth. How they had managed to impale two children on each of the long, swaying poles was something that none of the companions cared to consider at that moment. Possibly, they had been drugged or sedated in some way.

  It didn't matter. All that mattered was that the children had been impaled while alive, their internal organs ripped and bones crushed while they were still alive, and some of them were still alive now, suffering unimaginable pain as they died slowly while being taken to wherever the mutie hunters came from— probably the ville marked on the map as Samtvogel.

  Mildred raised her ZKR, sighting at the leading mutie, her teeth clenched to prevent tears rolling down her face, and to prevent herself from crying out in rage and horror. Krysty felt Mildred move, despite being unable to tear her eyes away from the procession beneath. Krysty reached down and stayed Mildred's hand.

  "Not our fight…not now," she whispered.

  The processi
on passed from view, seemingly unaware of the observers above them. They continued on the road out of the old ville.

  As they passed, the companions relaxed their guard, J.B. slipping out to bring Jak back from his guard on the stairwell. The albino eyed them impassively as Mildred told him what they had seen.

  "Good Krysty stop you," he said simply. "Not fight if not need."

  Ryan agreed. "Although I would've loved to have chilled those fireblasted fuckers just for the hell of it," he added.

  Doc shook his head sadly. "Much as it saddens me to say it, I fear Jak is correct. You made the right decision, Ryan, my boy. Who knows what perversity the noise of a firelight would have brought out of the woodwork."

  "There'll be time enough for them later, if we come across them again," Ryan spit, biting on his disgust. "Now we need to find a way into the underground ville, see if they're the people who attacked us or if we can ally with them."

  JAK SCOUTED ahead, then returned to tell them that their path into the forest was now clear. Checking weapons, they assembled in the old lobby and moved out. Ryan and Jak took the lead, the albino leading them through the path he had scouted.

  Ryan had to admit that Jak had done a fine job. The way through the thick undergrowth and the hidden and treacherous rubble was easier than he had expected, and he was relieved by the way that Doc was able to tackle the terrain. The rest had allowed the old man to recuperate his sometimes surprising reserves of strength, and the old man's outrage at what he had seen had added vigor to his step.

  They proceeded with nothing to impede them for over an hour by Ryan's wrist chron, making good distance and coming to the area on the map where the first of the underground tunnels was sketched in.

  "What exactly are we looking for, lover?" Krysty asked.

  "Hard to say," the one-eyed man replied, studying the map. "It could be an old subway, or mebbe a sewer. Could be something leading from a basement of one of these old buildings," he added, indicating the ruins around them. They were now entering Seattle proper, and in the distance the remains of the needle could be seen, still precariously defying the elements, jagged and crumbling against the currently still skies.

  "So how do we know what to look for?" Mildred interjected, her mind still distracted by the hunting party.

  "Signs of disturbance, mebbe regular use," Dean mused. "If this ville is underground, then I guess they try and keep it as sealed off as possible, with just one or two ways in and out."

  "Exactly," his father agreed. "So if we can find some signs of life, then we're heading right."

  Jak had been scouting the way ahead while they stopped to examine the map, as they had reached an area beyond his previous foray. J.B. kept watch.

  "Jak's back," the Armorer said softly as Jak whistled to alert them.

  The albino reached them, appearing noiselessly in their path. "Found way in," he breathed. "But sec men headed here. Armed."

  Ryan cursed. "If they're after the muties, then they'll be trigger happy. Take cover until they're past. Keep alert, but no firing unless necessary. This is their land, and they know it too well."

  Ryan was stating the obvious, but it didn't hurt to reinforce this in his companion's minds. Without needing instruction, they split into two separate groups, one taking each side of the trail they had been following.

  Jak and Dean took one side, with Mildred and Doc, while Ryan, Krysty and J.B. took the other, mindful that they were a man short on their side.

  They were safe in cover and stilled when they heard the sec team approach. The sec men were making no attempt to hide their approach, and the conversation that could be overheard soon revealed why.

  "Those mutie fuckers. I say we should wipe them out once and for all," one sec man muttered savagely. He was a large, bearlike man with straining muscles, flowing white hair and beard. He carried a battered Heckler & Koch like Ryan's old and once favored blaster. The one-eyed man noted this from cover, knowing how effective the H&K could be, especially in the relatively confined clearing of the track.

  "You know Alien wouldn't hold with that," drawled another, a rangy man with receding sandy hair and a Lee Enfield .303 in his hand, carried with a casual air that suggested speed when surprised.

  "Damned Alien," the bear growled. "Harvey knows what I mean. We can't afford to lose kids like that."

  "We can't afford to lose anyone, Jake," a third sec man said, this one younger than the others, seemingly sluggish. He was fat, with a belly that spilled over his belt, and had a blaster that looked from a distance to be a Colt Detective Special.

  The fourth sec man wore a plaid shirt and had long, silver-gray hair that belied his youthful face. Carrying a Sharps rifle over his shoulder, he had so far been silent but now he spoke in slow measured tones. He sounded more thoughtful than the others, and had a reasoned edge to his voice.

  "Seems to me there's no way to stop the muties. The Sunchildren have always been a problem, but their pesthole ville is too exposed to mount a good attack without them seeing us coming from a long way off. No good to us to have too many men chilled wiping them out. They don't often trouble us, right? They only sacrifice once a year, and it's only the dumb-ass kids that lets themselves be swiped. Just the casualties of living."

  The bearlike man glared at the silver-haired sec man. "We get them back, and I'll let that stand, Downey. We lose them, then you 'n' me gonna come to blows…Harvey or no Harvey."

  "Meaning?"

  "You know what I mean. It's a shit code to live by, letting our young get taken and not giving a fuck."

  "I didn't say I didn't give a fuck. Just that you have to accept shit if you live in it. We win, we lose."

  The four sec men passed by where the companions had hidden themselves, blasters ready.

  Ryan was relieved that the sec men hadn't seen them and there had been no need to fight. From their dress, they weren't allied to those who had attacked them on the blacktop, and perhaps they would know who those weird people were. And certainly he knew that his friends wouldn't be averse to joining a party headed for the mutie ville of Samtvogel. But not now. To reveal themselves would be to invite a firefight. They would stay hidden, then progress to the ville. The arrival of the sec men was fortunate, as it would allow them to track an entrance to the underground ville that much more easily.

  On the other side of the path, Jak tensed. Only four sec men, with none behind? He knew that he had seen double that number. He raised the Colt Python, ready to use it.

  "Don't," warned a voice behind him as he felt cold metal against his neck.

  A whistle sounded from behind Ryan, and the sec men on the path whirled and hit the forest floor, ignoring the curling creepers as their blasters jumped to hand in ready positions, trained on the foliage in front of them—the area where the companions were hiding.

  Ryan fell to one side, rolling as he hit the branches and plant stems, coming around with the SIG-Sauer in his hand.

  He came face-to-face with a snub-nosed Colt Magnum Carry, the small-barreled blaster chambered for six rounds of .357 Magnum, despite its size.

  The rangy man holding it in an outstretched hand smiled, his uneven yellow teeth showing in almost a snarl.

  "I wouldn't, my friend. You're good, but this is our land."

  Chapter Seven

  "Well now, let's get you all out here in what passes for the open in this pesthole of a forest. Let's see what we've got here."

  With this, the rangy sec man gestured with his blaster, ushering Ryan onto the path through the undergrowth. The one-eyed warrior tensed his muscles as he rose, his hand wavering toward the panga still on his thigh, judging if he could reach swiftly the SIG-Sauer that he had been forced to discard on the carpet of creeper vine.

  The sec man grinned. It was a slow, lazy grin that started at the corners of his mouth and spread across his face without ever touching the eyes.

  "You could try, my friend, but you'd only get another empty hole through the center of that thic
k skull," he drawled.

  Ryan judged the distances, then relaxed visibly. It would be volunteering for the farm, and he would wait for a better chance. He cursed his unwillingness on this journey to head straight into a firefight. His attempts to move stealthily and avoid wasting both time and ammo had led them into this.

  Ryan stepped slowly backward, out into the center of the path. Jak, Dean, Mildred and Doc were already standing there, stripped of their weapons. As Ryan emerged, he saw from the corner of his eye that J.B. and Krysty were also emerging backward, their hands in the open.

  "That was a fine job of ambush, friend," he said slowly. "Never heard you coming. Did you, Jak?"

  The albino nodded.

  "You're not so bad yourself, Cyclops," the sec man replied. "We knew you were there, but not how you figured we were coming…unless it was that mutie scum," he added, directing a venomous glare at Jak.

  Jak's blazing red eyes returned the look, not moving but saving it for a time when he could even the score.

  The four sec men who had passed them were now on their feet, blasters raised but easy. There would be no nervous trigger fingers here, only carefully considered blasting.

  The sec man who had his blaster trained on Ryan was one of four who had swept around behind the two groups as they waited in the undergrowth. His companion was a small, wizened man with nut-brown skin, and a 9 mm Walther PPK was trained steadily on J.B. and Krysty. Covering the others were two sec men who looked like twins, both with shoulder-length matted dreadlocks and coffee-colored skin, small glazed brown eyes unwavering. Both had beards to cover their pockmarked skin. They were intent on keeping their charges well covered.

  "Don't know shit 'bout whose these fuckers are, Harv, but they ain't Sunchildren," one of them said in a high-pitched voice. It sounded out of place in his burly frame.

  "Shouldn't say that, bro," the other replied in an equally high voice. "That mutie shit can be all-fire clever, and this dude sure is mutie," he added, indicating Jak.