by James Axler
Ryan knew that he was learning something important, something that he somehow already knew. "Odd flavor," he said.
The men laughed. "Bet it did, Brother Cawdor. Not odd enough to stop you pigging at it."
"Drugged." That was it. That was the missing shape in the puzzle.
"Did he say something about the soup being drugged?" There was more laughter. Ryan felt his whole body moving, as though someone were rocking the bed he lay on.
"Drugged me." He heard his own voice, now louder and much clearer.
"Right. Now it's time you got yourself up and walking good, Brother Cawdor."
The words came from Joshua Wolfe, leader of the ville. Ryan took a deep breath, allowing his right hand to wander under the pillow, feeling for the familiar butt of the SIG-Sauer, ready to wipe away the smiles and laughter.
"Don't think so, outlander." Jim Owsley sneered at him.
Wolfe spoke again, insistent. "We've waited enough. Open your eye and get up. There's much to talk about before you and your colleagues entertain us at the testing."
Ryan opened his eye, feeling an instant tsunami of sickness washing around his skull.
All he knew was that they'd been tricked by the Children of the Rock. All of their weapons had been stolen, and there was this repeated talk of the testing.
It was time to fight back against the drugs they'd been given. Now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The tiny flickering digital numerals showed Ryan that it was seven minutes from noon.
He was sitting cross-legged on his own bed, holding his aching head in his hands. Sunlight shone through the narrow gap where the door of their hut stood ajar. The air was heavily scented with the fragrance of the surrounding pines, freshened by the heavy rain of the previous night.
To his right, Krysty was also sitting up, her hands laid flat on her thighs. Her emerald eyes were closed, and her sentient red hair was coiled protectively about her nape. She was meditating, calling silently on the powers of the Earth Mother to help them out of this deep, deep hole.
J.B. stood, looking out of the window of the cabin, Mildred at his side, running her fingers through her beaded hair. Neither of them had spoken much in the past hour or so, locked into their own thoughts.
Ryan noticed that Mildred was holding J.B.'s hand.
Jak rested on the floor in a corner of the room, staring at the hewed logs of the wall.
Dean sat on his bed, quietly staring at the ceiling, completely still.
Doc lay on his back, blankets pulled up to his stubbled chin, eyes closed. He was breathing slowly and heavily, with a faint, whispering croak at the end of each intake. From where he was sitting, Ryan could make out the sheen of perspiration that dappled the old man's pallid forehead.
The main thing that had struck Ryan on his recovery was that all of their weapons were gone— all of them, including the panga.
"They get all your knives, Jak?" Ryan asked quietly.
The white head shook slowly. "Some," was the whispered response. "Not all."
That was something.
"Doc's Le Mat's gone, as well," Krysty said. "And his trusty sword."
"Why fuck done this to us? All fucking words friendly shit! What's game?" Jak asked.
A shadow filled the doorway, and the answering voice came from Brother Joshua Wolfe.
"No game. Oh my, not at all a game! We are being careful, young man. I learned from your wonderful and wise Trader that a man who takes a chance that he doesn't have to take, doesn't often live long enough to take any further chances. Well, something a lot like that."
"What's the danger? If we wanted to cause you trouble, then we could have done that from line one, page one. We had all of the firepower we needed." Ryan closed his eye at a shaft of pain from his headache. "Like Jak says, all your words were just a load of bullshit."
"Possible."
Ryan raised his voice, feeling the red mist of anger swooping over his mind. "Probable!"
The leader of the community wasn't in the mood to be provoked. He shook his head and smiled. "Patience and forgiveness are great virtues, Brother Ryan."
"You drugged us and stole our weapons."
"But of course. Did you believe that it was the fairies and elves of the great trees that had crept in while you slumbered and took your blasters? Goblins and gnomes of the high mountains and the rushiest of glens? No, I rather think not, Brother."
"Cut the crap." Ryan got up off the bed, managing to conceal his dizziness. "What about the testing you talked about? That still on?"
Owsley was at Wolfe's elbow, and he laughed, an unpleasant, abrasive noise, like sandpaper drawn over the edge of a piece of crystal.
"Course it's on, outlander. That's just what all of this is about."
"Drug us and take our weapons? Why not just chill us all?"
Wolfe smiled gently. "That is not the way of Our Lord, the military fundamentalist. We have simply taken precautions. Made sure the testing will go well. And fairly."
"Fairly?" It was Ryan's turn to smile cynically. "Not a word I'd link to you, Brother Wolfe."
"Then you would be wrong, Brother Cawdor. Hopeville is built upon the strong foundation of fairness."
"Hallelujah, brothers and sisters." The cry came from the large woman, who clapped her meaty hands together with a noise like distant thunder. Krysty looked across at her, and was surprised at the glance of bitter hatred that she received in return. The woman spit in the dirt to show her contempt.
"We shall all eat at God's own table," Wolfe said, lifting his hand to silence the people around him. "A time to remember things past and to look forward to things that are soon to come. Let us go dine."
JOSIAH STEELE WAS TRYING to explain the purpose of the testing to the six outlanders. Doc was still very unwell, with a scorchingly high temperature, and Mildred had insisted that the old man had to stay warm and snug in his bed, with plenty to drink to fight off the real dangers of dehydration.
"Everyone who comes here has to prove themselves worthy of acceptance to the Children of the Rock. That's why we all have had to face the testing."
"What if a woman arrived with half a dozen little children?" Krysty asked.
Steele hesitated. "Guess that the rules can always be bent some."
"But not for us," Ryan stated, munching away at a crusty bread roll. "One child doesn't count."
"Guess not. Seems there's too many aces on the line between you and Brother Wolfe." Steele helped himself from a small iron caldron of thick pork-and-lentil soup. "Too many rivers for you both to cross."
The food was very good, satisfying to the palate and rich, well flavored, without the oppressive bitterness of the previous evening's meal. Also, Ryan had watched carefully, taking the precaution of checking that he and the others ate out of the same cooking pots that the members of the Children of the Rock had dined from.
Mildred slipped away to go back to their cabin and check on Doc's progress, returning with a worried look on her face. She squatted alongside Ryan, putting her mouth close to his ear, speaking fast and low.
"I think he's about at his worst," she said. "At least that's what I hope. Temperature's sky-high, but his heart and respiration are steady."
"Conscious?"
She pulled a doubtful face. "Sort of."
"Recognize you?"
"I think so. But he's away on the far side of knowing where he is and what's going on."
"At least they won't be making the old buzzard take part in this stupe testing."
Mildred nodded. "No, I guess not."
THE MEAL WAS SOON OVER, the dishes taken away by the women, the scraps devoured by the lean mongrels that scavenged around the ville.
"Testing time is nearly upon us, my beloved brothers and sisters." After a significant pause, the leader of Hopeville added, "And outlanders."
There was a hum of excitement around the open area that had the central fire at its heart. It seemed like the whole settlement was there, wit
h the sec men all armed with their Hawes Montana Marshal revolvers, many of them also hefting their Winchester rifles.
Ryan suspected that the display of arms was for their benefit, not to hold off any potential attack by the Apaches who lived among the trees.
He stood and stretched, savoring the powerful scent of the surrounding pines. "We're ready as we can be, Brother Wolfe," he said. "Then let's get at it."
RYAN AND THE OTHERS stood together near the smoldering fire, feeling oddly naked without their weapons.
After the meal they'd been allowed to go back to their log cabin to clean up and get ready for the afternoon. And while there, they'd had a short but bitter conversation about what they should do.
J.B., allied to Mildred, had urged very strongly that they should cut their losses and run for it.
"Leave the blasters?" Ryan had asked in disbelief.
"Why not? Dark night, Ryan! We can always replace the weapons. Much as it hurts me. But I'm real triple unhappy about the setup here."
"I'm not delighted with it, friend. I'm not comfortable when anyone takes away my blasters. But it seems best to just go along with the flow."
"We can jump a guard or two. Grab their blasters. Try and retrieve our own weapons and blades and be out of here. All in ten minutes flat." He replaced his fedora. "Less."
Ryan shook his head against the idea. "Haven't thought it through, J.B. Close on a hundred souls here in Hopeville. All the men are bristling with blasters, thicker than fleas on the back of a hog. No chance."
"But it could be a trick."
"They had us all out cold. Drugged and helpless. All they did was take our weapons off us. It would have been child's play to butcher us there and then. One dull-edged knife and seven slit throats. If that was what they wanted to do. I don't see that as Wolfe's plan." He paused and stared at the others. "But if anyone else has a different view on this, let's hear it." He waited, but nobody spoke. "Krysty? You got any sort of a feeling about what's going down?"
"Not really, lover. Can't say I like it."
Ryan became angry. "I don't bastard like it, either. Thought I'd said that. Talking to my fucking self! But you have to look at the way the dice lie."
"The lice die," Doc muttered from his crumpled bed. "Fly like a flea or flee like a fly. If I fly like a flea, then you won't catch me." Everybody ignored him.
After a few more bitter exchanges between Ryan and J.B., they all agreed to go for the testing and give it their best shot. And then see, that evening, how things looked.
WOLFE SLAPPED his good hand against his thigh, calling out for quiet. "Now we can begin," he said, voice ringing out among the scattered buildings. "Will the outlanders all stand before us now?"
Ryan took Krysty by the hand, leading the others into the center of the ragged circle of men and women.
"Tell us all your names and where you come from," Wolfe commanded.
"Name's Ryan Cawdor. From the ville of Front Royal, up in the Shens. This is my son, Dean." Dean stepped forward.
"I'm Krysty Wroth and I come from the ville of Harmony."
"Jak Lauren. West Lowellton."
"Where's that?" someone yelled. Ryan suspected that it was the giantess.
"Near Lafayette, Louisiana."
"Swampie," shouted a man's voice, reedy and thin. "Look at his hair. Mutie and a swampie!"
Jak ignored him, though Ryan saw the teenager's knuckles whitening.
"I'm John Dix, originally from Cripple Creek. Since then I've been all over Deathlands."
"And my name is Mildred Winona Wyeth. Father was a preacher man. I was born in Lincoln, Nebraska."
"How about the old man?" Jim Owsley shouted.
"Doc's ill," he replied.
"Doesn't signify. Need to know who he is and where he comes from."
Krysty patted Ryan on the arm and replied to the questioner. "Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner. Degree in science from Harvard and in philosophy from Oxford in England. Comes from the ville of South Strafford up in the green hills of Vermont. Anything else you want to know?" she asked, challenging Owsley with her flashing, bright emerald eyes. The sec man looked down at his feet and wouldn't meet her stare.
Wolfe laughed, a natural, friendly country laugh that set Ryan's teeth on edge. "Well, I guess we know about all we need to know about these folks. Nothing out on the surface to stop them being accepted by us here in Hopeville. So, we rest things in the hands of the Blessed Lord Jesus. He can decide if they are meet to join us as Children of the Rock."
There was a moment of stillness, broken by the sound, drifting through the open door of the cabin, of Doc having one of his rending fits of coughing.
Joshua Wolfe addressed himself once more to the group of outlanders, his hand resting on the pearlized grips of the big revolver.
"The testing is carried out alone, one of you against the best we have to offer in the ville. The choice of combat is yours. Who goes first?"
"Combat?" Ryan repeated.
Chapter Twenty-Six
"Combat," Wolfe stated.
Ryan felt the short hairs prickling at his nape. Combat! Their best against the best from the Children of the Rock. "Who goes first?"
"Up to you, Brother Cawdor."
Ryan had been about to step forward himself, when he was beaten to it.
"Me," said a familiar female voice at his elbow, which brought a stir from the crowd.
Mildred smiled at J.B. and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Don't worry," she said.
"You want to go first, lady?" Wolfe asked, his face splitting into a broad smile.
"Yeah, I do."
"Very well. But what kind of weapon do you choose to use here?"
"Can I have my blaster back for the testing? Is that permitted?" Mildred asked.
"Surely. You want to shoot against our best man? Or woman?"
"Man. Who claims to be the finest sharpshooter in Hopeville?" Mildred challenged.
There was a confused hubbub, with several names being put forward. But gradually Ryan was aware that a single name was being repeated.
Wolfe heard it, as well, keeping a thin smile pasted in place. "Sounds like Brother Carlo Caitlin. Step forward, Brother Caitlin. Will you accept this woman's challenge?"
Caitlin looked to be around thirty, with long, light brown, shoulder-length hair. Ryan noticed that both his hands lacked any fingernails, and the skin around his mouth was puckered with old scarring. He smirked as he moved forward out of the crowd with a slight swagger. A .44-caliber Winchester 94 slung over his shoulder, with a telescopic sight fixed to the barrel that Ryan didn't recognize. "Take her on anytime. Not like a real testing, Brother Wolfe. Shootin' against a woman."
Mildred addressed the leader of the ville. "I can definitely use my own blaster? Check the load myself, have a little time to go over it, sight it in? No weasel-word trickery?"
"Surely. The lord of all armaments will pronounce the verdict for us."
Caitlin was already becoming irritated. "Time's wasting, brothers and sisters. I say we set to it here and now. Why not, in the name of gentle Jesus?"
"Get her blaster, Brother Steele," Wolfe said, keeping his patient smile pasted firmly in place. "I imagine that Brother Dix might wish to go over it out with you, Sister Wyeth. You may have fifteen minutes from now."
"IT'S FINE," the Armorer said, quickly and neatly clicking the weapon back together, having given it a lightning field-strip and clean. He wiped a layer of thin gun oil off his fingers with a length of cotton rag.
Mildred took it, automatically checking the load, feeling the familiar balance as she weighed it in her right hand. "Wonder what they'll want us to shoot against."
"That man Caitlin," Krysty said, lip curling in disgust, "had a beady little red eye like a rabid ferret. Looks to me just like a classic redneck shootist. Put one through the belly and leave it to suffer."
"You happy with your blaster against his long gun?" Jak asked.
"Guess so. Unless they set up
the match at a half mile or over. Then I'd struggle."
"Be little point in this testing they have if it was all a cheat," Ryan said, hearing the layer of doubt that hung there in his voice.
"STANDARD MATCH TARGET of nine inches across, graded in regular circles from ten through to one point. Shoot just four rounds at each distance, beginning at twenty-five yards, then fifty, then one hundred. Finally at two hundred paces."
"Long range for a big pistol," said a voice from the watching crowd.
Wolfe half turned. "Anyone object to it? How about you, Sister Mildred?"
The woman shrugged, the beads in her hair tinkling softly. "Doesn't matter to me," she said.
Mildred walked calmly to the mark scratched in the dirt at the end of the ville's main street. The heavy Czech revolver was at her side, her thumb already on the short-fall cocking hammer.
The targets had already been nailed to pine trees, one above the other, out at the agreed distances. Brother Wolfe called out that the outlander would aim at the higher target and Caitlin at the lower. "We'll spin a silver coin for the right to shoot first or second."
"Heads," Caitlin called as the glittering coin whirled in the air.
Wolfe neatly caught the coin, peered at it and then quickly pocketed it. "Heads it is," he called loudly.
Ryan glanced at Mildred, questioning whether she wanted to object to the blatantly unfair tossing. But she simply shook her head.
"I'll go first," Caitlin said, readying himself on the mark, slowly bringing the rifle up to his right shoulder, squinting two-eyed along the barrel.
The big .44-caliber blaster was as steady as a rock. The man licked his lips and held his breath, finger creeping onto the spur trigger.
"Open fire at will, Brother Caitlin," Wolfe said quietly. "And may Blessed Jesus the marksman guide your bullets to their target."
The crack of the Winchester was flat, the echo of the shot instantly swallowed up by the vastness of the surrounding forest.
A tall man, as skinny as a lath, stood at a safe distance from the target, holding a tiny brass folding telescope that looked like it dated back into the 1800s. He raised it to his left eye, hesitated a moment, fiddling with the delicate adjustment.
