Deathlands 074: Strontium Swamp

by James Axler

  “OH GOOD, I WAS HOPING YOU wouldn’t take too long to come around. Otherwise I would have had to try to rouse you myself, and that would have made me terribly angry.”

  The voice was sibilant and soft, too much so for the man from which it emanated. Jak knew this as soon as he forced his eyes open, ignoring the pain that coursed through his skull as the light hit his retinas. He recognized him as Dr. Jean from the statues and murals they had seen during their recce mission. Beside him, standing slightly back in an attitude of respect, was the sec man who had hit him back in the yard. He recognized him even without the goggles by the scars on his face. His eyes were better hidden: small, piglike and shifty, not resting on anything for any length of time. Perhaps he was nervous. Certainly, the baron made Jak cautious, if nothing else. He was too calm, too quiet.

  Jak flexed his muscles. He was bound hand and foot to a rack, standing upright. He was still fully clothed, and he was pulled tightly to the rack, but not so tight that it was painful. He could just feel the edge of strain in his muscles, but no more. He moved his head to the left and right. It was free to turn, and he could see Marissa bound to a similar rack over to his left. She was conscious, and her face was white, her dark eyes large and round. She was obviously terrified.

  The rest of the room was filled with electrical equipment and some pieces of metal that reminded Jak of ancient predark torture implements he had seen. There was a chair with leather restraints in the center of the room.

  “You show a curiosity, which is good,” Jean remarked mildly, watching Jak with his head cocked to one side. “Marshaling that swamp scum into something even approaching an army was a feat of which you should be proud. I know what many of these people are like, and I congratulate you. It’s a great shame that fate has placed us on separate sides of the divide, for in another time and place I think we may have been allies.”

  He paused, as though waiting for Jak to answer. The albino stayed silent, his gaze now fixed on the giant before him.

  Dr. Jean chuckled. It was strange to hear such a benign sound from someone who was the iron-fisted dictator of the area. “Very well,” he said between his laughter, “play it that way if you wish. It is no matter to me. Soon you shall buy the farm, and go to meet the gods. You will carry with you a message from me, and from the people. Your pathetic force was the last thing to be arraigned against me. Now I have control. The next step is to build my force and extend beyond. I have the old tech, I have the numbers, and I shall use my methods to build other villes, with even greater power. Eventually, my power shall be limitless. But I need the assistance of the gods if I am to succeed. So you shall be my messengers, aided by the words of the people.”

  “You really believe that shit?” Marissa asked him, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.

  Dr. Jean walked over to her and caressed her long, dark hair. “I do, now. Not when I began, but perhaps I was just being used as a channel then, and needed to discover the truth for myself. It was a tool to begin with, but just lately… Yes, I have seen the gods, and they are guiding me. I will feed them, and they will guide me. To this end, I have evolved a better ritual than those I have used before. It’s an interesting one. Perhaps you may have heard of it.”

  He left them attached to the racks and began to walk back toward the door, which Diamond had already opened for him.

  “It’s not actually a voodoo ceremony, it’s something that comes from even farther south and even further back. I read about it in some old texts that I found, and it seemed suitable as a symbol of ultimate power. Basically, I wait until sunup and then I offer the gods your hearts. But the catch is that they have to still be beating. So I’ve got to cut them from your bodies and hold them aloft quite quickly. It’ll be interesting to see how I manage with that, won’t it?”

  He turned and left them alone, Diamond closing the door behind him, to ponder on their upcoming fate.

  THE COMPANIONS HAD PULLED BACK into cover when the sec force had burst through the wall. J.B. cursed himself for the counterproductive effect of his gren attack, but it had been a chance he had to take. The rebels would have been easy meat. At least in the confusion they had seen some be able to effect an escape.

  It meant, however, that the sec force was able to regroup and attack.

  “We should be in there,” J.B. said bitterly, regretting his actions.

  “No, that’d be triple stupe. They’ve got infrared, and we wouldn’t be able to see who the hell we were blasting,” Ryan stated.

  “He’s right, John. Let’s see what happens when the dust settles,” Mildred said quietly, trying to reassure the angered Armorer.

  In truth, it was almost impossible to see what was going on. Using the confusion as a cover, they moved out of the shadows and the alley, and onto the main streets. The ville dwellers were still going about establishing their own posts, and took little notice of the companions as they moved along the street. They had their weapons combat ready, but so did everyone else. Added to this, a small crowd was gathering on the street near the old building that housed the dormitory. The front had been broken in, and some sec men had spilled through.

  “Figure some of ’em got away through there.” J.B. smiled, feeling better about his gren attack.

  “Yeah, at least you bought them that opportunity, John,” Mildred murmured.

  The companions tried to melt into the milling crowd outside the building. Beyond the broken glass of the old shopfront, they could tell that the blasterfire had almost decreased to nothing.

  “Reckon Jak’s one of those who got away?” Krysty asked.

  Ryan shrugged. “Mebbe. I don’t know how we’re supposed to find him if he has, though.”

  “I think we may not have far to look,” Doc commented dryly. “I fear that the good Dr. Jean knew only too well for whom he was searching.”

  As the companions watched, Diamond led out four sec men, each pair of whom had a body strung out between them. Both were easily recognizable: one was Jak, the other Marissa. Both were obviously breathing.

  “Friend LaRue did have a large mouth, did he not?” Doc commented.

  “Mebbe that’s saved them,” Ryan muttered. “At least they’re alive, and we’ve got a chance to snatch them back.”

  At their leader’s urging, they began to move through the crowd as the sec force started to disperse it. Moving to the margins, they could see that Jak and Marissa were loaded up onto a sec wag, which started to roll down the street.

  In the space of less than an hour, their objectives had completely changed. From seeking to aid the insurrection and warn the rebel force of attack, they had been forced by circumstance to change their focus. Now, rescuing Jak and Marissa and getting out in one piece was the primary objective.

  They kept on the track of the sec wag as it rumbled through the ville. It was relatively easy. Its appearance heralded a swarm of armed dwellers, eager to see what was happening, and their attention impeded its progress. The companions were able to disappear into the crowd. As long as they could keep the wag in sight, then they could plan a rescue bid when they found its final destination.

  It was no surprise to J.B. and Ryan when the wag drove across the square that housed the shrine to Dr. Jean, pulling up by the building that housed the altar on what would once have been courthouse steps. As they held back and watched, Jak and Marissa were unloaded and carried into the building. Looking up, they could see it was about eleven stories high.

  “Well, that’s really simple, then,” Krysty said sighing. “They’re in there somewhere and we don’t know the layout or what the security’s like.”

  “We’ve got one advantage,” Ryan said. And in reply to Krysty’s raised eyebrow, he added, “They’re not expecting us. We’re ready for them, but no way are they ready for us.”

  * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  The square was a lot emptier than it had been when J.B. and Ryan had taken part on the recce mission. Back then, making your way a
cross it without being spotted would have been easier. Now was going to be harder. The baron’s call to arms had left the ville dwellers with tasks of their own to undertake and their pilgrimages to the shrine much curtailed.

  The companions held back after watching Jak and Marissa being carried in. A sec guard manned the doors around the side of the building where the wag had stopped, and as it pulled away they could see there were two sec men on guard, each with what appeared to be an MP-5.

  “Five on two is good odds,” Mildred murmured.

  “Yeah, but what are the odds on us alerting a whole shitload of others on our way?” Krysty returned.

  In truth, this was their problem. They had to get across the square without attracting attention, and then overpower the sec men—the easy part—and get into the building without being noticed—the not-so-easy part.

  Dr. Jean inadvertently gave them a helping hand. As they lurked in the shadows, the vid screen around them blared a fanfare, followed by the face of the baron, broadcasting once again.

  “My people, we have secured a great victory. The swampland scum have failed in their pitiful attempts at insurrection. With your help, our sec forces have captured those who led this sacrilegious attempt to defile our ville. As I planned to take them and offer them as messengers to the gods after we had raided their hovels, so now they have come to me. Truly, my friends, this is a sign from those who seek to guide our hand. In honor to them, I will still send forth these wretched souls as our messengers, but I will do it tonight. In just one half of a passing hour, they shall be sent on their way to the gods with our blessings and wishes for our greater victories.”

  The fanfare blared once more and the burble of regular broadcasts continued.

  “Our friend does not believe in leaving any loose ends, does he?” Doc mused. “It doesn’t give us a wealth of time with which to plan.”

  “Mebbe that’s for the best, Doc,” Ryan said grimly. “Besides which, it’s going to give us a little cover.”

  “You can say that again,” Krysty said, looking over her shoulder. Already, those ville dwellers living nearest to the square were beginning to leave the streets and buildings they had been defending, and were flocking into the square in preparation for the night’s ceremony. All were still armed, and it seemed that this would give the companions clear cover.

  “Follow me, keep close,” Ryan whispered from the corner of his mouth as he slipped into the crowd that was beginning to congregate. The others followed him, keeping close as commanded. It was easy to keep each other in sight as the square was still quite sparsely populated, the crowd naturally drifting to the shrine that was built on the steps of the old courthouse building. As they neared the front, where people were headed, they peeled off toward the side. The attention of those in the square was so firmly fixed on the shrine, in their drugged haze, that they didn’t really notice the deviation of five people.

  The sec guards on the side door did, however. Both turned to face the companions as they approached. All had their blasters holstered or shouldered, so that they presented no obvious threat. The sec men nonetheless raised their own weapons cautiously.

  As they drew nearer, Ryan took the scarf from around his neck and started to mop his perspiring brow, shifting the weight of the loaded material in his palm. Doc appeared to lean more heavily on his cane with each step.

  The sec men said nothing, eyes unreadable behind the infrared goggles. They stood their ground, waiting for the companions to make the first move, utter the first words.

  “Hey, any chance we can get a look at these scum before anyone else?” Ryan asked, adopting what he hoped was an innocent tone. “They were taken right by where we were defending, so we kinda feel like we’ve got our name on them.”

  The sec men said nothing for a moment, exchanging glances from behind their goggles. They might not have been able to see each other’s eyes, but it was easily understandable when one of them shook his head.

  “No, you know no one comes in here except the chosen ones who work for the baron. You’ll get your chance soon enough, so why don’t you just go and wait around the front like everyone else.”

  While the sec man had been speaking, J.B. and Mildred had been checking out the crowds behind them. No one was looking in their direction, and with Krysty they moved closer together to block the angle from the square, so that anyone looking would see five people who had approached the sec men cluster around them. Nothing more.

  “Okay,” J.B. murmured, only loud enough for Ryan to hear.

  “That’s a real pity,” Ryan continued, addressing the sec men, “because would have made things a lot easier for you.”

  Without warning, the scarf snaked out from his fist, flung with a flick of his strongly tendoned wrist. The weights sewn into the end of the scarf affected its angle of flight, and it coiled around the neck of the nearest sec man, choking him as Ryan pulled it. The one-eyed man pulled it tight, and the force tugged the sec man to his knees, tightening the scarf even more. Forgetting his blaster in the desire to draw breath, he put both hands to the scarf and tried to free it.

  Behind him, the second sec man had reacted at Ryan’s action, but not quite quickly enough. As he raised his blaster, leveling it on Ryan and tightening his finger on the trigger, Doc took action. In the blink of an eye, he had withdrawn his sword from the sheath of the swordstick and, in one fluid motion, brought the blade up, proscribing an arc in the air that caused the honed Toledo steel blade to cut through the wrist of the sec man wielding the blaster. Nerves and tendons cut, blood pouring down useless fingers as he attempted to adjust his aim and still fire, the switchback of the arc sliced across his throat, ripping through the purple-and-orange camou shirt and scoring across his shoulders before opening a red maw across his throat. He stumbled forward, not knowing whether to staunch the flow at his throat or at his wrist, fumbling for the MP-5, which he had dropped.

  His stumble took him onto the tip of the sword, which Doc had thrust up and under, bringing it to a position that took it under the breastbone and up into his heart. His deadweight nearly toppled the old man as he sought to retrieve his blade. He was forced to turn the chilled sec man over with his foot and heave the blade from the corpse.

  While he had been doing this, Ryan had chilled his own target. Increasing the pressure on the scarf, he had pulled tighter, the weights in the end acting as counterbalances to keep the scarf firm despite the attempts of the sec man to get his fingers underneath and gain himself—literally—some breathing space. As he choked more and more, so his color changed from a pale tan to a darker, blood-red hue, his tongue poking from his mouth and swelling as he tried to gasp for breath with small, stifled choking sounds. It was impossible to see behind his infrared goggles, but there was little doubt that by now his eyes would be bulging, clouding over as consciousness started to slip from him.

  He was on his knees, slumping more and more with every second that passed, every second that was precious if they were to evade detection and get into the building.

  Ryan pulled tighter, not relinquishing his grip until the sec man had stopped moving. Unraveling the scarf, he could see the deep indentations and weals in the sec man’s neck where the scarf had bitten into the flesh.

  J.B. looked over his shoulder. “Clear so far. Let’s get these bastards out of the way before someone wanders over here.”

  Mildred and Krysty took one sec man between them, while Ryan and J.B. took the other. Doc covered them, keeping an eye on the crowd beyond the side of the building, which seemed oblivious to all except the shrine at the front of the old courthouse.

  Inside, the companions found themselves in the well of a staircase that led upward, with glass-inset doors leading through to corridors beyond. Ryan looked around for a camera, but couldn’t see one. He hoped that the reconditioned old tech didn’t extend to an interior vid sec system. Opposite the glass-inset doors was a plain wooden door. It was open, and inside was a darkened cupboard, used possib
ly for storage…if not before, it certainly was now, as they bundled the chilled sec men into the space before shutting the door.

  “Okay, where would you suppose they keep prisoners in a place like this?” Ryan asked. He was rewarded by a series of thoughtful expressions, but little input. “Yeah, that’s kind of the way I figured it,” he said with a wry grin. “We’re just going to have to work it out as we go along.”

  This part of the building was obviously a service stairwell for the entire block, and was used only for the removal of large objects and for use in an emergency. That was the only conclusion to draw, as on each level there were glass-inset doors on each side of the mezzanine, with corridors leading off that were occupied by active ville dwellers. It didn’t take long for them to realize that not only was this where Dr. Jean lived and kept his captives, it was also the nerve center of his empire. They could see that this was where the broadcasts to the vid screen emanated from—one floor in particular seemed to lead straight onto a studio floor from one set of doors—and as they climbed higher, they were aware that they were entering the more private areas of the baron’s domain. Here there was less activity, but there was also a higher quotient of sec men. They walked freely along the corridors and moved from room to room.

  By the time they had reached the eighth floor, it was starting to look as though they would need some kind of a miracle to locate where Jak and Marissa were being held.

  As they recced through the glass insets on the eighth floor, Ryan and J.B. taking one side, Doc and Mildred taking the other, Krysty peered over Ryan’s shoulder and gasped.

  Ryan turned to her, puzzled. He had seen what she had, but had failed to grasp the significance: two sec men wheeled a clothes stand on which were arrayed a half dozen costumes of colorful design, complete with headdresses. They turned left into a room, then came out minus the pole and headed on down the corridor, talking inaudibly to each other.