by James Axler
“Shit, this is really making it hard,” Mildred muttered, the first to break the silence.
“Must get to barn, find out what wag team have say,” Jak said urgently.
Ryan nodded. “If the whole ville’s going to be occupied, then there may be a chance for one of us to slip in there. But we’re going to have to be careful—not just of getting caught, but of keeping out of harm’s way when these fuckers go wild.”
“I suspect we may be safer than we think in that respect,” Doc mused. “Consider how Buckley stepped in last night. He doesn’t want these half-wits to ruin his plan with their base desires. He knows how much he will need us, one way or the other. I think he may be even more stringent with them come this nightfall.”
“I hope so,” Krysty whispered. “But what do we do if their blood runs so hot that they forget what he wants…or if even he forgets what he wants?”
“Keep backs covered,” Jak muttered in a low voice. “Use their shit to cover tracks,” he added pointedly.
There was little else to say. Until they knew the extent of what the dwellers of Nagasaki had in mind for their pre-raid celebrations, there was no way they could plan the recce on the barn. And to go there, try to find out something—anything—from those who were within was an imperative.
They rested, trying to get some sleep, preserve some energy for the night ahead. Outside, they could hear the ville go about its business, then begin to wind down as the light faded, replaced by the erratic glow of tallow and oil lamps. There was little else to do except rest and the minutes stretched into hours, seemed to stretch into days, as they waited for the distinctive sound of Boss Buckley, coming to fetch them.
It added no little foreboding to the atmosphere. Partly because of the way that, despite outward calm, they were coiled inside, and partly because of the stretched tension rope of waiting. When they eventually heard the shuffling gait of the chief, accompanied by his two unspeaking sec men. Not that they were silent. The sec men’s giggles and muted laughter could be heard behind the door, responding to something that Buckley was saying, rendered inaudible by the walls and the lack of necessity for him to temper his accent.
They exchanged glances. They were ready. The question was, what were they ready for?
Buckley threw the door open, his ugly face split by a hideous leer that represented the highest of spirits.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he boomed, “y’all ready to party? We’s gonna celebrate tomorrow, what we’re gonna come home with and whipping those Duma asses…” He beckoned them to join him and the companions filed out of the room, noting as they did that the two sec men hung back to cover the rear of the line as it left the room. Jak was last one out, and he looked at the remade Lee Enfield .303 that one sec guard held, and the homemade rifle that the other was cradling. Both men looked at ease, but Jak could see the tension in their arms, visible to his trained eye beneath the folds of their ragged clothing. One move out of line, one word from Buckley, and they would bring the blasters up into firing position.
Buckley may be acting like he trusted the companions, but he was leaving no room for error.
Outside the ranch house, the inhabitants of the shantytown were already getting into full swing. There was a gut-wrenchingly awful smell that overpowered the usual sewage and body odors. As they left the building, they could see that the center of the ville was lit by a giant fire that popped and crackled, giving off dense clouds of smoke as well as an intense heat and a brilliant light.
The light was bad. If one of them was to slip away and try to infiltrate the barn, then they needed the semidarkness they had experienced the night before.
Standing in front of the fire, Ryan could see that it was made of all the detritus that could be found in the ville. There were pieces of brush, carcasses of chilled animals, old split and burst tires…anything the inhabitants could find that would burn. The plastics and rubber crackled, causing the odd jet of blue or purple flame to spurt among the red and orange, the cause of the fumes, smoke and stench. From experience and from some old predark books and magazines he had seen, the one-eyed man knew that some of these old plastics gave off poisonous fumes. This would certainly give them cover if it made the inbreds drowsy or sick, but how could he and the rest of the companions avoid being affected?
Mildred appeared at his side. “Have you seen this circus? Shit, if we get through tonight I’d be glad to walk into Duma on foot and with no weapons.”
“What do you know about smoke from old shit like plastics?” Ryan asked, ignoring her words and cutting to the heart of the matter, pointing out the sparks of differently colored flame.
Mildred stared at the fire and then gave Ryan her opinion. Whatever they did, the companions should keep as far from the immediate area of the fire as possible, so that the fumes hopefully wouldn’t overpower them.
The two parted to spread the word and Ryan was suddenly aware of what Mildred had meant with her first words.
Compared to the previous nights revels, this was a whole new league.
In the light of the fire, which illuminated the center of the ville almost as brightly as if it were day, the ville dwellers were going crazy. There were several barrels of brew, which many of them were dipping their heads into, drinking deep, then emerging for air. There were also some smaller containers, which seemed to contain powders that ville dwellers were either dipping their fingers into and eating, or snorting from. It may have been a kind of jolt or it may have been something looted from the redoubt medical bay or it may have been something they mixed from plants and herbs through knowledge passed down and still just about understood. Whatever it was, it seemed to countermand the effects of the brew. Where the one made them high and energetic, the other seemed to bring them down, like they were strung out on the purest jolt.
In between the two, they were determined to enjoy themselves. Most of them were naked or almost naked, and they ran around laughing and screaming wildly, grabbing at one another. Men and women, women and women, men and men—all were touching each other, licking and stroking. It was a huge chain of rutting humanity, paying no attention to the sex of their partner, or which part of their body they were penetrating.
There was also some fighting. Drunk, stoned, not getting what they wanted or else being hurt by someone else’s brutal sexuality, some were turning on each other and lashing out. But these fights in themselves did nothing but stimulate the sexual excitement and ended up in more coupling.
In the middle of it all, Buckley stood, now naked. The woman Ryan recognized as Mags—partly by the scars that still covered her from her fights—was on her knees in front of him.
Ryan turned away. He cast frantic glances over the center of the ville. It seemed that everyone was gathered within the warmth and light of the huge fire. The fumes caught at the back of his throat, leaving a sickly sweet aftertaste that turned his guts.
If it was going to knock them out, make them less aware of what was going on, then all was well and good.
Catching sight of his people, he could see that Mildred, Krysty and Doc were banded together on the far side of the fire trying to keep a distance from the fumes without becoming too conspicuous. Together, they were able to look as though they were on the verge of joining in the orgy whilst at the same time using their numbers to beat away anyone who came near. They were also farthest from the barn. Unless Jak was already on his way, it was up to Ryan.
The one-eyed man turned, and was about to strike out for the barn, imposing and silent in the darkness beyond the edge of the fire’s light, when he saw Jak coming toward him. The albino teen glided through the rutting and fighting crowd like a wraith. It was almost as if the dwellers around couldn’t see him as he slipped between them, fending off any clutching hands or body contact with the deftest of swerves. He could have cut them down at any moment, but he wanted to remain anonymous for the now.
“Ryan, no guards. Everyone fuck and fight,” Jak murmured as he drew close. “Clear to
barn.”
“You’ve recced it?” Ryan asked.
Jak gave the briefest of nods. “Moat got spiked trap, nothing else. Mebbe sec usually guard it. Mebbe no one even in there now.”
“Buckley made like there was.”
“Yeah. Was,” Jak interjected.
Ryan shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out. If it’s all clear, then I’ll try and get in. These fuckers are too busy with each other to notice, but tell the others I’m going in…and cover for me if you have to.”
“No problem. Go now—these all out cold before long,” Jak said with something as close to disdain as his toneless voice had ever come.
As Ryan moved toward the darkened area around the barn, he looked back to see Jak melt into the crowd, threading his way through to the remaining companions. It was all in Ryan’s hands now.
Ryan made his way through the crowd, pushing away advances and hands that groped at him. One woman—tall and thin, with a twisted leer where her mouth should have been and flat, empty breasts that dangled down to her navel—grabbed at him and tried to kiss him, one hand reaching for his crotch. Ryan yelled and pushed her back, cuffing her to the ground. The hungry look on her face showed him that, rather than dissuading her, he had done nothing but excite her.
He glanced toward the barn and the encompassing darkness. It was only thirty yards away, but it may as well have been thirty miles as the woman scrambled to her feet and lunged at him again. He was being watched by others who were excited by the sexual fight that was developing. There was no way he could head to the barn right now. Not in front of them.
The woman came at him again, laughing and snorting, drooling at the thought of what she could do to the muscular warrior. Ryan put his weight on his back foot, ready to counter the momentum of her lunge—for she threw herself onto him from close range, almost driving him back onto the muddy ground. If he had fallen, that would have been the end of his attempt to reach the barn.
Instead he was able to close in on her. He took one of her pendulous nipples in one hand and twisted hard. She yelped in pain, but instead of driving her back it only served to inflame her. He felt hot breath on his neck—but from behind. A man was behind him, arms clutching at him—he could tell the sex of his new attacker as he could feel the man’s erection in the small of his back. Lifting a combat-booted foot, he brought it down hard on the man’s uncovered shin, causing him to stumble back, yelling in anger and pain.
One down, one to go. Swiveling, Ryan took the woman off balance, flinging her into the man who had been behind him and who was still hopping in pain. She cannoned into the man and they went down in a heap.
Ryan used the moment to slip away from them, checking for any other watchers before moving into the cover of darkness.
Still keeping triple red, in case a stray sec guard had wandered into the area since Jak’s recce, he moved swiftly across the land between the shantytown and the moated barn. Here, there was darkness and silence, the activity of the revelers falling away to nothing. It took a few seconds for his eye to fully adjust to the gloom.
Coming up to the front of the barn, he was struck by how silent it was. If there were any captives within, they had been subdued to silence by their ordeals. And the prospect of escape wasn’t enough to entice them on this night. What if he managed to broach the moat, get inside the barn, only to find it empty?
Come to that, what exactly did he hope to discover? What could any prisoners tell him that would help in the coming day?
This wasn’t the time for doubts. Swiftly and silently Ryan moved around the circumference of the moat. It took him a few minutes and when he had arrived back at the front, he was in some ways no wiser. As Jak had told him, the dry moat, dug to a depth of about ten feet, was baited with spiked metal mantraps that ran all the way around. The barn itself had only the one set of doors and the original wooden structure had been augmented over the years by concrete, stone buttresses and sheets of metal plundered—by the looks of them—from a variety of sources. The double doors were closed from the outside by a long metal bar that ran horizontally across the middle. There was a moveable wooden slat bridge to cross the divide, which was sitting on the ville side of the moat.
Would there be any alarms? Ryan doubted it. He could see no obvious wires or traps around this sole entry and the fact remained that the power to run an alarm system was something that Nagasaki failed to have. The barring of the door and the moat would be enough, especially as any attempt to break into the barn would have to be from this one spot.
Looking over his shoulder at the now distant revelers, Ryan took the wooden slat bridge and maneuvered it so that it swiveled over across the divide. It was made of a heavy wood to take great weight, and his tendons and muscles strained and popped as he heaved it around. It was at least a two-person task, but he had no option.
As it settled on the small strip of dirt in front of the door, Ryan heaved a sigh of relief. His arms and thighs ached and he let them drop for a second, breathing deeply to allow oxygen back into his bloodstream. He walked slowly across the wooden bridge, testing its strength and security with each step. It stayed firm.
Ryan was now acutely aware of his exposed position should any of the Nagasaki revelers stray from the fire. He looked over his shoulder, scanning the immediate area. All was quiet. He took the bar in both hands, testing its weight before gently lifting it, not wanting to scrape the metal of the bar against either the wood of the doors, or the metal of the retaining brackets, making any kind of noise that could attract attention to his activity.
His aching muscles protested, but he held the bar firm, gently lifting it so that he was able to clear the danger area and lower it to the ground.
Not knowing what to expect, he took hold of the doors and eased them open. As he did so, two things hit him. The first was a dim light that seemed all the brighter for piercing complete darkness. The inside of the barn was illuminated by a low tallow light that flickered and could undoubtedly be seen from the center of the settlement. Ryan pushed the door closed again, so that he blocked the light. He would have to be careful how he entered, cutting the escape of that light to a minimum.
And he would also have to take a few deep breaths before entering, allowing him to breathe only shallowly once inside. For the other thing to hit him had been the stench that escaped as soon as the doors were opened. A combination of charnel house and sewer, it made Ryan fear for what may be within.
But there was only the one way to find that out. Taking one quick glance behind him to check that it was safe, he pulled the door open a crack and slipped himself through the crack, hurriedly closing the door again.
Inside, he despaired of finding anything or anyone that could tell him anything of any use. In fact, he despaired of finding anyone alive. For the stench hit him like a physical object and was the result of the carnage within.
The barn was lit by three tallow lamps that were suspended from brackets hammered into support struts around the central section of the floor. There was an upper level that disappeared into gloom, but it was the filth around the center that took his attention.
The straw scattered as a floor covering was old, sodden with urine and covered in feces. It was also covered in the remains of bowls of slop stew, and stains that could only be blood. There were also human remains: body parts, intestines. Hands and feet were visible in the mess, some almost mummified, some seemingly quite fresh. Hanging from nails up into the roof, attached to the stanchions that held the tallow lights but above and beyond their feeble beams, he could see round objects that were virtually indistinguishable, but…could they be severed heads?
The barn was used as a slaughter and trophy house. Whoever came in through the heavy doors stood no chance of ever getting out alive. The whole exercise had been pointless. With a sigh, trying to ignore the sickened churning of his stomach, Ryan turned to leave.
It was then that he heard the rustling, far off into the darkened depths of the b
arn. Rats? No, it was too loud, too full a sound to be something that small. Aware that he could not use a blaster for fear of alerting anyone to his presence, Ryan slipped the panga from the sheath on his thigh, the blade gleaming dully in the fallow light.
Scanning the edge of the darkness with his good eye, he could see no signs of movement.
“C’mon, if you’re there, then attack me. If not, then I want to talk to you.”
“Why?”
Ryan was startled. It wasn’t just that his hidden companion had spoken, but it was the sound of the voice. Cracked, weary, almost hushed by strain. In just one word, the speaker had expressed pain and suffering that had driven him almost beyond endurance. It was a genuine question. Why the hell should he come out of hiding and face a man with a deadly weapon, especially when it sounded as though he had no strength left to do more than crawl.
“Why haven’t you come for me?” the voice continued.
“Because I didn’t know you were there,” Ryan replied simply. “Because I assumed this was just a slaughterhouse.”
“It is,” the voice said quietly, seemingly unable to speak at anything other than the one pitch. “It’s just that they do it slowly. Have to have their fun first,” it continued, pitch rising hysterically—or as much as it could manage—on the word fun.
“Listen, I don’t have much time,” Ryan said urgently, taking a gamble. It was true. He had little time—for himself, for his people and for the poor speaker who sounded as though he may be on the verge of madness. “I’ll level with you. We were captured by these freaks, too. The only reason we aren’t in here is because they want us to help them mount a raid with a stolen wag. Then, they say, we’ll be let free. I’d trust Buckley as far as I could throw the fat fucker, but we’ve gone along because we’re outnumbered. What we need is information.”
He stopped, as he could hear a small, choking sound from the pool of darkness that held the speaker. It was either a sob or a laugh or perhaps even both. He waited until it had subsided and then was about to continue when the voice broke the darkness.
