by James Axler
Chapter Thirty-Four
The grating of a key in the lock jerked Doc back from the brink of total panic.
He had wriggled around onto his side, kicking out with the heels of his cracked knee boots, pounding at the splintered sides of the old chest, conscious that he was making precious little progress and that smoke was filtering in from a substantial fire elsewhere in the cabin.
"Doc, are you all right?"
He bunked in the light, seeing the silhouette of the elderly woman, taking the proffered hand to haul himself upright onto shaky legs.
"I am a little fatigued, madam. But what of your good self? Did those brutish thugs harm you?"
Smoke billowed around her, and he could see a deep cut leaking blood from her forehead. He reached up and gently touched the wound. Maya winced and pulled away.
"Not Brother Owsley," she said. "It was that last severe shock did the damage. Quite threw me ass over tits, and I banged my temple on the dining table."
"Have they gone?"
"Wouldn't know, Doc. Think so. Ran off like they'd messed their breeches."
"I confess that I do not entirely blame them. It was as unpleasant an earthquake as I think I have ever encountered. There is a fire…" He waved his blue kerchief to try to clear the air.
She managed a rather wobbly grin. "I fear the old homestead's done for, Doc. Got my felines out of the way. Looks like they all sensed it coming and headed out into the woods. Collect them together later. Main thing is for us to get our asses into gear and out of here."
"I am with you, ma'am." The old man had another coughing fit as the smoke thickened, and he could now glimpse the red-gold glow of flames, burning on the first floor.
"Best take it careful outside. Those religious crazies could be anywhere close by," she warned.
The kitchen and living quarters were well ablaze, bright fire dancing along the tumbled ceiling. Doc thought he glimpsed a dead ginger cat, pinned beneath a fallen rafter, but he felt it better not to draw attention to it. He followed Maya toward the open front door.
She hesitated a moment, just inside, glancing behind her, shaking her head sorrowfully. "Best part of a lifetime going here," she said.
Doc took her by the arm and led her gently out, blinking into the light, moving off the veranda to lead her past the cottage garden.
"Least you've got your blessed cats and you also have your life," he said, taking in several deep breaths, savoring the clean freshness, while behind them the flames were roaring into an inferno.
"You're a fine person for looking on the bright side of life, Doc," she said, shaking her head ruefully.
"Better to look in the mud and find a diamond than find mud among the diamonds. Or some such saying. I disremember the details."
One of the sec men suddenly appeared from behind a fallen apple tree, holding his rifle at the high port, eyes wild, bleeding from mouth and nose.
"Hold it there, bastards!"
SEVERAL OF THE BUILDINGS of Hopeville had gone down under the quake, and at least a quarter were ablaze. The gusting wind was whipping up cascades of red-and-orange sparks that whirled into the air, vanishing among the mighty trees. A few men and women, looking shell-shocked, wandered around the ruination of their settlement, one or two making halfhearted efforts to throw buckets of water onto the fire.
"Best get our weapons," J.B. shouted, still gripping Mildred by the wrist.
"Makes sense." Ryan glanced at Krysty. "You manage it, lover?"
"With you. May Gaia aid me."
An elderly man saw the prisoners making a break for it and opened his mouth to yell a warning.
Without breaking step Jak plucked out one of his concealed throwing knives and flicked it toward the old man. There was the distinct click of his wrist snapping with the effort of hurling the leaf-shaped blade.
It struck the brother with a fearsome accuracy, sticking in the right eye, driving through, pulping the liquid orb, penetrating the front of the brain through the optic nerve, beginning the rapid process of dying.
The man's arms flung wide as though he were welcoming an invisible comrade. A watery thread of blood inched over the stubbled cheek. The lines went down in his legs, and he stumbled and fell, fingers scrabbling in the wet dirt.
"Head for Wolfe's house," Ryan shouted. "Over there." The big building was one of the few that didn't seem to have been damaged by the storm and the following quake, standing rock solid at the head of the single street of the ville.
The ground trembled in a violent aftershock, making Ryan stagger sideways, clutching at Krysty to steady himself. Somewhere there was the sound of a woman screaming in terror. Jak had darted over to retrieve his knife from the twitching corpse, resheathing it out of sight.
Nobody else in Hopeville seemed to be aware that the prisoners had escaped.
DOC REALIZED that the sec man was terrified, eyes staring, mouth gaping, breath coming fast. His voice was thin, high and ragged. "Stop there! Don't move."
But the muzzle of the Winchester rifle was wandering from side to side.
Doc let go of Maya's hand and half turned away from the pursuer, masking the movement, reaching for the silvered butt of the little .32 automatic that he'd noticed in the woman's belt. He palmed it smoothly and thumbed back on the hammer, firing from the hip.
The snub-nosed blaster bucked in his wrist, spitting out its flat sound and a tiny jet of flame. The bullet hit the sec man an inch above the big brass buckle on his broad leather belt, driving straight through and splintering the spine. It broke up, distorting, shredding the intestines into ragged loops of bloody tissue.
The rifle went spinning into the mud, and the man dropped like a discarded doll, clutching at his stomach, rolling and kicking, screaming out his shock and agony.
"Got him, Doc," the woman crowed. "Brilliant piece of shooting!"
The familiar voice was from behind them, near a tumbledown shed with all of its windows shattered. "Yeah, fuckin' brilliant shooting."
THE HOUSE WAS SILENT.
There was the smell of wax polish, and banisters glistened, oak paneling reflecting the light of several dangling oil lamps on brass gimbals.
A full-size oil painting hung crookedly on the opposite wall of the entrance hallway, showing a soldier from predark times in a green uniform florid with crimson and gold frogging, holding a drawn cavalry saber. He was a tall, handsome man with a proud, scarred face.
"Find the weapons," Ryan snapped.
J.B. sprinted up the staircase, followed by Jak and Dean, while the others started to check out the ground floor. The lamps swung from side to side as yet another brief but powerful aftershock made the building tremble.
There was every evidence of panic. The dining table lay on its side, food spilled, glasses broken, the smell of beer strong in the dusty air. Chairs were on their backs and sides, legs in the air. Ryan found a smear of what looked like fresh blood on the edge of the doorway into the kitchen. The stove had slid the length of the room, still lit, with a pot of beans miraculously steaming away, undamaged.
Mildred called from the back room, which looked as if it had once been Wolfe's private study. Dark oak shelves lined the walls, with all of their books piled higgledy-piggledy on the gleaming floor.
"Locked cabinet in here. Seems like it might hold some blasters."
Ryan poked his head into the room, agreeing. "Yeah. Let's smash it open."
He picked up a heavy stool and hefted it over his head, bringing it around with all of his strength to hit the inlaid cabinet just above the ornate brass lock. The wood splintered under the blow, and the door swung slowly open, revealing the rifle, scattergun, machine pistol and a variety of familiar hand blasters and knives.
"Get your blaster, Mildred. I'll take Doc's Le Mat. Hope to give it to him real soon."
Ryan tucked the SIG-Sauer P-226 into its holster, the balance immediately feeling right. The eighteen-inch panga went into the oiled sheath on the other side, and the Steyr SSG-70
rifle was slung comfortably over a shoulder. He tucked Doc's massive cannon into his belt.
The others came running in, heels ringing on the wooden floors, clattering on the stairs.
J.B. straightened his back, testing the action of the Uzi, a rare glacial smile decorating his sallow face. "Dark night! That feels better," he said, hefting the powerful weapon across a scrawny shoulder.
The others helped themselves to their own blasters, emptying the shattered cabinet.
"We going to spread some chilling around the ville?" J.B. asked.
Ryan shook his head. "Best is to get out clean and fast. That way we can go after Doc. Mebbe get to him in time to do some good. Might pick up the sec gang on the way back."
"Think should take out Wolfe." Jak glanced along the hall, through the open front door. "Evil bastard. Best without him."
Ryan considered the teenager's suggestion, recognizing that there was something in Jak's idea. Brother Joshua Wolfe's presence on the planet would be better terminated.
He shook his head. "No. Think it's better to get out fast, Jak. Time's not on our side."
"I'd like to see that shithead chilled," Mildred said. "Did us some serious harm."
Ryan sniffed. "Decision's taken. We'll get out the back way, if we can, into the big trees and loop around. Head after Doc."
DOC STARED at the gloating face of Jim Owsley, feeling a biting pain in his heart at the sickening realization that they were finished. He felt sorrow for himself, and a deep misery that Maya Tennant was also doomed. He'd know the woman for only a few hours, but everything he knew about her was good and positive. Now she was minutes from death.
Owsley was only a few paces from them, holding his Hawes Montana Marshal .45 revolver in his right hand, aiming at Doc's chest.
"Put the blaster in the dirt, you old fuck. Or I chill you and the bitch crone both. Don't much matter to me, one way or the other."
Doc dropped the little hideaway in the mud by his feet, still holding the cane in his left hand.
Owsley's eyes darted around the clearing, staring at the burning house, glancing behind him.
"You see any mutie rats around? Reckon there's nests of them."
The woman hadn't moved at all. Now she edged closer to Doc, laying a hand on his arm. "Don't worry," she said. "You did your best."
"Rats! I loathe them. You seen them around here?" The voice was high and cracking.
Doc managed a laugh. "They're everywhere, Brother Owsley, waiting in the shadows for you."
"Shut the fuck up!" he roared, waving the powerful brass-gripped blaster at him.
"Forgive me, but you had asked me the question, had you not, Brother?"
A tawny cat strolled out of the wreckage of the little shed, stalking up to the sec man, tail held high, back arched, purring loudly. It rubbed against the legs of Jim Owsley, who promptly shot it through its angular skull.
Maya Tennant screamed.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ryan had been straggling to open the back door of Joshua Wolfe's imposing house. But the massive earthquake had distorted the entire frame of the building, breaking windows and jamming many of the doors.
"Fireblast!"
"Let's set our shoulders to it."
J.B. was at Ryan's side, pushing at the stout oaken door, but it was immovable.
"Try upstairs windows?"
Ryan shook his head. "Waste of time, Jak. We'll just walk straight out of the front door. Least we know that it's open. Everyone on triple red."
There was yet another savage aftershock. A long-case clock in the hall, which had been already jarred off balance, toppled with a sonorous clanging sound.
Somewhere outside they all heard an old woman scream in fresh terror.
Ryan paused just inside the front door, peering out. "Right. Head for the nearest cover, then on the trail back toward the redoubt. If we get split up, meet there. Don't stop for anything or anyone. Time to lay down bullets without any questions. Good luck, friends."
He squeezed Krysty by the wrist. "Stay close to me, lover. Close as you can."
The storm had faded away almost to nothing, with an occasional flurry of rain running cat's paws over the surfaces of some vast puddles.
As they huddled together by the door, there was yet another jolting quake that rattled windows and brought the smashing of glass. Ryan grinned reassuringly at Krysty. "Keep the bastards busy," he said.
"Fire," Jak muttered, sniffing the air. "Ville could go like tinder."
Ryan nodded and drew the SIG-Sauer, thumbing back the hammer. "Ready? Here we go!"
THE CAT'S HEAD was blown apart by the heavy-caliber bullet, and its body flopped limply in the dirt at the sec man's feet. It didn't have time to make a sound as it died.
Maya stood still, hands reaching up to her face, as though she were about to gouge out her own eyes. Doc touched the woman on the arm, seeking to comfort her, and to restrain her from any violent action.
"Please…" he began.
But it was too little and too late. Maya was launched into a red-mist rage, half running at Owsley, clawing toward the man's face.
"Murderous, coldheart bastard," she screamed.
Doc closed his eyes, not wanting to see what he knew was going to happen.
The boom of the blaster was muffled, the barrel of the weapon pressed hard into Maya's stomach. The jolt of the .45 round threw her backward, hands clasped over the small entrance wound. Doc blinked in horror, seeing the hideous gaping chasm of blood and splintered bone at the center of her back.
"Oh, dear God, no…" he breathed. His eye was caught by the little blaster glinting in the mud, but he knew that Owsley would shoot him down before he could reach it. His fingers tightened compulsively on the hilt of the swordstick.
The sec man seemed hypnotized by the dying woman, watching her, wide-eyed, as she staggered backward, miraculously keeping her stumbling balance.
"Stupe bitch…" he stammered.
Maya turned her head, her eyes staring blankly toward Doc, as though peering down a long dark corridor. One hand reached toward him, then the lines went down and she dropped to her knees, sliding forward onto her face like a swimmer entering deep water.
"Devil," Doc whispered, hands moving almost without his control. One hand gripped the ebony shaft of the cane, the other twisting the silver lion's-head hilt, drawing the rapier blade in a silent, smooth action.
He was four short paces away from the stupefied sec man, who stood with his Hawes Montana Marshal revolver pointing at the dead woman.
"Stupe bitch," he repeated quietly.
It was like he was paralyzed, squinting at Doc as the old man closed with him, dropping the sheath of the sword, the steel glinting in the watery sunlight.
"What…?"
There was another aftershock, which made the whole forest shift sideways, trees rustling, branches creaking and splitting. The sec man took a half step sideways, fighting for his balance.
Doc felt a fierce, burning exultation as he lunged at Owsley, the needle tip of the blade slicing into the man's belly, two fingers above the belt buckle. Hot blood flowed over the slender steel, down over Doc's hand, dripping to the dirt. A full ten inches penetrated Owsley's stomach, and Doc gave his wrist a savage twist, lancing through muscle and intestines, opening up a great gash. Loops of blood-slick guts spilled out, splattering in the mud by the dead cat.
The blaster dropped from the nerveless fingers, and a thread of blood came worming out of Owsley's gaping mouth. The eyes widened, and his fingers groped for the murderous steel. But Doc had already withdrawn the rapier, stepping away from the mortally wounded sec man.
"The debt is well paid," he said to Owsley in a calm, conversational tone.
Though the man was dying, he was still able to move, tottering away into the edge of the forest, clutching at his stomach, trying to stuff the coils of muddied intestines back inside himself.
Doc ignored him, kneeling in the damp dirt by the side of th
e dead woman, feeling for her cold fingers.
SEVERAL OF THE BUILDINGS of the settlement were burning well, the wrath of God having finally being visited on the evil community.
As Ryan darted out of the front door, his arm linked with Krysty's, he realized that the big house, Wolfe's own home, was one of those that had caught fire. Flames billowed out of the rear living rooms, smeared with thick, oily smoke.
"Whole place'll go," he said.
"Serve it right. Serve them all right," Krysty panted as they headed for the fringe of trees. "Only wish we could've chilled Wolfe himself."
"No time."
He could see J.B. and Mildred, about twenty yards ahead, following on the heels of Jak and Dean, the youths sprinting toward the forest. So far nobody seemed to have seen them.
Jak was already close to the nearest edge of the dank, dripping forest, where the powerful quake had brought down three of the biggest trees, the giant limbs tangling with one another into an impenetrable maze.
Ryan heard the crack of a rifle and saw a gout of dirt kick up within a yard of Mildred's heels, but he couldn't locate the shootist among the smoke and confusion.
The woman stopped in her tracks and turned, the barrel of her target blaster scenting the air like the tongue of a hunting snake.
She froze like a pointer, and her right arm straightened, pointing almost directly at Ryan, a little to his right and above him.
He saw the tiny crimson flash from the muzzle as she squeezed the trigger, the blaster kicking in her hands, and he felt the warm blast of the bullet as it passed within a few inches of his head. Ryan spun to see the effect of her shot.
Josiah Steele was about thirty yards away from him, standing in the entrance to one of the houses, the Winchester rifle drooping from his shoulder. His white shirt was dappled with scarlet, just above the breastbone. His jaw had dropped with surprise, and he looked as if he were trying to speak.
But the .38-caliber shot was mortal, and he slipped to his knees, the rifle clattering on the porch. Mildred still held the SKR 551 aimed at him, hesitating a moment, considering a second bullet, but she saw almost immediately that it wasn't going to be necessary.
