by James Axler
The fishman’s smile had disappeared, replaced by a stare of grim concentration. Its light increased until the brilliance lit the entire room, so bright that it was almost impossible to look at the mutant. Gritting his teeth, Ryan squinted enough so that he could keep his eye on the lizardman and keep its hands on the glass. A hazy image appeared in his mind, interspersed with other strange images.
A dank room, the walls covered in mold and dripping water—a strange, bas-relief carving of some kind of tentacle-headed figure—maybe some kind of goddess—dark, dripping corridors, the walls cracked and broken—some filled with still water—the outside of the lair, through this creature’s eyes as it rises from the water—a large building, half-submerged in the lake, its strange concrete rows on the side now crumbling and falling into the water—feeding on pieces of humanoids—taken from the village—arms and legs—gnawing at the fresh, raw, delicious meat…
Ryan released the lizardman and staggered back, his blaster aimed at the mutie, the only thing keeping him from putting a bullet into the beast’s bald skull was the fact that it might go through the mutie’s skull and hit the glass behind it. Their victim hadn’t moved yet, but was still crouched by the tank. As he stared at it, the lizardman’s head slumped to its chest, and it keeled over to collapse on the floor, a thin trickle of black blood leaking from the corner of one sightless, staring eye.
Donfil had also released their captive, and the plaintive look he gave Ryan told the one-eyed man that he had also seen the atrocities the colony had done to their dead comrades in his mind’s eye. Breathing hard, he put his hands on his knees and swallowed, then looked up at Ryan again.
“I know…I know where they are.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“So, just exactly what is this place?” Mildred asked.
They had left the elders’ room and had retreated to Donfil’s quarters, a Spartan set of rooms consisting of a bedroom, small kitchen and outhouse in back. The storm still raged outside, heavy sheets of rain pattering on the roof and lashing at the narrow, shutter-covered windows.
The group had gathered in the candlelit bedroom. Donfil had a hangdog expression on his face as he replied. “Truly the more we learn about these creatures, the more hazardous this task seems. The building they are making their home in is what was once known as the Point Beach Nuclear Power Plant.”
“Black dust! You guys expect us to play exterminator for you around an old nuke plant?” J.B. shook his head. “Not my idea of a good time.”
“It’s not just for them. Don’t forget who’s in there, as well,” Ryan said, his gaze never leaving Donfil.
“Yeah, right. Sorry, Ryan.”
“No cause to apologize. I’m not keen on going there myself, except there doesn’t seem to be any choice.” Ryan fixed his attention back on Donfil. “What can you tell me about the place?”
“It’s about sixty or so miles up the coast, like the elder saw, half in, and half out of the water. Obviously the damage along the lakes was severe. It’s a miracle the entire structure hasn’t fallen into the lake yet.”
“Can we reach it by land?”
“The terrain is rough, but passable, particularly with the vehicle you rescued us with.” Donfil paused, as if thinking. “No doubt any radioactive material is long gone by now, carried out by the tides from the reactors.”
“Yeah, but that shit leaves long, long trails behind.”
Doc rubbed his stubbled chin. “I do wonder about the reason for the lizard people’s sudden aggressiveness toward your village. It would seem to be a long way to swim for sustenance, when I would expect the lake waters around their home would hold ample food.”
Ryan’s gaze met Donfil’s and the memory of what both of them had seen in the lizardman’s memory chilled him. “Whatever the reason, they’ve developed a taste for something more than fish.”
“When we leaving?” asked J.B.
Ryan glanced at the ceiling. “As soon as this blasted storm dies down enough for me to see out the front viewport of our war wag. Krysty’s stuck with those mutie bastards, and every minute she’s there is one too long.” Again his eye met Donfil’s gaze, and Ryan chewed his bottom lip as the unbidden thought of those scaly animals tearing her apart like a meal on the hoof rose in his mind. Shaking his head, he banished the thought.
Krysty wouldn’t go down that way, he knew. Not without taking some of them with her.
Assuming she’s still alive in the first place, his mind chided.
Again Ryan squelched the traitorous thought. If she were dead, he’d know it. He didn’t know how, but he would just know. Just like he knew she was still alive right now.
J.B. leaned against the wall, hands behind his head. “Anything else you can tell us about the place?”
Donfil shook his head. “Like most of those types of places, it is regarded as evil by the locals, a symbol of the predark times. I only know of it because we were blown near the location by a storm when I first came down this way. The captain claimed that anyone who went inside of it never came back out. I guess I will see if that’s true soon enough.”
“Donfil, you don’t have to go with us—” Mildred began.
The Apache held up his hand. “Actually, Healing-Hands Woman, I do. Ever since these attacks began, I have felt a draw to the north, a pull to go there and confront whatever I would find. That was the direction I was trying to persuade our group to go when you found us. It seems that the Great Spirit has one more task for me to finish before I can find my peace in this world.”
“Fair enough.” Ryan crossed the room to the shuttered window and peeked between the slats. “Sounds like the storm’s lettin’ up a bit. We should be ready to move. If it keeps up, it’ll keep anything else inside tonight, and could be the perfect cover to approach the plant by.”
Everyone fell silent at that, checking their weapons and equipment. Ryan was particularly attuned to the sounds outside, gauging the wind and rain, waiting for the best time. The others passed the time in their own ways. Doc and Donfil retired to the kitchen to continue their philosophy discussion. Mildred paced the floor until Ryan made her sit down with a single, intense stare. J.B. and Jak did what most men in the Deathlands did when safe and faced with waiting—they slept.
At last, when night had fallen, and the storm had abated to a steady downpour, he assembled everyone in the bedroom again. “Let’s go.”
With Ryan leading, the group moved through the empty, rain-slick streets. Flickering candlelight gleamed in the windows of other houses, shut tight against the storm. The air smelled of ozone and metal, and the fat drops had an unpleasant, slick feel to them, as if the downpour consisted more of chemicals than water. Checking his rad counter out of habit, Ryan saw that whatever their composition, the drops weren’t radioactive.
Reaching the LAV, they piled in, with Doc and Donfil performing contortions to fit into the rear compartment. When everyone was situated, Ryan fired up the war wag, and they headed out into the night.
Although the wind had died down, the going still wasn’t easy. The storm had lessened, but the rain was still heavy, limiting visibility to only a few yards. Ryan also discovered that one of the headlights had shorted out, on the driver’s side, naturally. Although he would have rather had J.B. scanning around for potential trouble, he had to rely on the other man’s view through the turret-mounted night-vision camera to back up his forward sight.
At best they were able to make about fifteen to twenty miles an hour, Ryan guessed, often having to sidetrack around obstacles even the formidable war wag couldn’t traverse. The surrounding land testified to the upheaval caused by those long-ago bombs—jagged, massive ravines carved into the earth, clusters of hills thrown up in the aftermath. The forest was also thicker here, the tall, gnarled trees nourished by the lake.
After three hours of slow, grueling travel, Ryan brought the wag to a halt underneath a huge tree to check the engine and take a quick break. As much as he wanted to press o
n, he knew that going in with either himself or the wag not operating at top capacity would only hurt their chances. It was almost more important that the wag be running smoothly, as it would play a crucial part in his plan to infiltrate the base.
“You doing all right?” J.B. asked as the others got out to stretch during the brief respite from the pouring rain. A flash of jagged, yellow lightning lit the dark purple sky in the distance, followed a few seconds later by the rolling rumble of thunder.
“Fine. How close you think we are?”
“If the map is even close to our estimated mileage, we’re probably within fifteen miles of it—another hour, ninety minutes at the most, depending on what lies between here and there.”
“That’ll work. By the time we’re ready to go, it’ll be the deepest part of night—when they’re most likely asleep.”
The Armorer shoved his fedora back on his head as he regarded Ryan. “Yeah. All we have to do is sneak into a place we know nothing about, which is crawling with psycho lizardmen who’d just as soon tear your head off as look at you, rescue Krysty and get out alive. No problem.”
Ryan grinned at his friend’s matter-of-fact tone. “That’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you, J.B.”
“What’s that?”
“Your eternal optimism.”
“Oh, I sure as hell bet you’re going to do it. I’m just not sure how yet.”
“Leave that to me. I’ve got a few tricks to play on those muties that’ll even our odds.”
“Care to share?”
“Not just yet,” Ryan said. “I’m still working out some of the aspects.” That, and he knew that J.B. wasn’t going to like a certain part of his scheme, so he wanted to give him as little time to bellyache as possible. “Let’s get everyone rounded up and get going.”
A low whistle in the night brought everyone back together, and they began the laborious process of packing back into the cramped quarters. Once everyone was wedged back inside, Ryan fired the wag up and kept moving.
The forest thinned out as they kept heading north, giving way to rolling hills and fields covered by tall grass as high as the obport. After nearly sideswiping a four-foot-high anthill, Ryan had to throttle back. It wouldn’t help to get the wag hung up on an embankment or stuck in a ravine.
It was closer to two hours later when J.B. signaled Ryan to stop. “I think I’ve got it in sight. Come take a look.”
Squirming out of his seat, Ryan made his way back to the gunner’s chair and stared at the monitor. The blocky form of a huge, rectangular building was lit a ghostly green by the night-vision camera. It was completely dark, with no torches, no lights dotting it at all.
Ryan shrugged. “What else could it be? Donfil, can you come up here?”
With muffled grunts and more than a few curses, the shaman poked his head into the already-crowded area. “Whatever you’ve called me up here for had better be good.”
Ryan pointed at the screen. “Is that it?”
Donfil peered at the screen for several moments. “John Barrymore, is the lake next to this structure?”
J.B. panned the camera over to show the vast expanse of the nearby Great Lake. “If that isn’t it, I don’t know what is.”
Donfil nodded. “We’re here.”
“Okay, let’s get down to the lakeshore, and I’ll lay out the plan.”
Ryan scooted back to the driver’s seat and cautiously found a path between two huge hills that led down to the water. The rain was lighter now, a faint drizzle pattering on the roof. With the front of the wag facing out to the lake, Ryan got everyone out and outlined his plan.
“Black dust, no!” As expected, J.B. objected to the whole idea. “That’s your plan? Are you kidding? You’re going to go in there and get yourself killed.”
“Look, we have the ultimate distraction here in the war wag. If you, Donfil, Doc and Mildred hit them from the lake side, you’ll draw them to you. You’re attacking their home, and any animal’ll come out to fight for where it lives. I doubt these will be any different. Just make sure to keep the hatches locked, and we’ll clear the rest of them off when we join back up.”
J.B. opened his mouth to protest again, but Ryan held up a hand to stop him. “While you’re causing all kinds of ruckus out here, Jak and I will be hitting them from the land side. In the confusion, we should be able to find Krysty and get out, ideally without them even knowing we were there.”
“And what if there’s more of them than you think? Or they don’t come out to see whose tryin’ to shoot through their home? Remember what Trader always said: ‘splitting your force means splitting your power.’”
“Yeah, but you’ll have the wag, which more than makes up for us not being with you, and we’re not trying to fight them, but get in, get Krysty and get out. We’re stealth this time—the less combat for us, the better. Your job is to make as much noise as possible and let us do ours.”
J.B. had folded his arms during Ryan’s speech, and for a moment the tall man thought his oldest friend was going to go against him, but at last the Armorer shook his head. “Fuckin’ risky, but I’ll go along. We’ll bring the thunder, make no mistake. Have those scaly bastards swarming out to see what’s knocking on their door.”
“All right, give us twenty minutes to get into position, then you light up their back door with everything you got. Sync in three, two, one.” Ryan and J.B. matched times on their chrons, and the two groups prepared to head out.
Ryan was turning to head into the darkness when he noticed two dark forms beside him instead of the one he expected. “Uh, Donfil, you’re with the wag, remember?”
Hefting his Combat Model 686 .357 blaster, Donfil More shook his head. “No, Ryan, tonight my place is with you. I must go inside the lizardmen’s lair.”
“J.B., can you three handle the wag?”
“Lake’s pretty calm, shouldn’t be too much trouble. Best get moving—chron’s running.”
“All right then.” Ryan stopped as he saw the six-foot harpoon in the Apache’s other hand, but decided not to question his choice of secondary weapon. “You’re with us. Quick and quiet, let’s go.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Within twenty paces, the lakeshore, wag and Ryan’s companions were lost to the night. The light rain was as much hindrance as help now. While it cut down on visibility both for Ryan’s group and any enemies they might encounter, it also made it difficult to hear if anyone was nearby.
Ryan set a ground-eating pace for the first five minutes, until they were close enough to make out the dark shape of the building against the night sky. They had hand-cranked lights, taken from the wag, but weren’t going to use them until they were inside the building.
As they got closer, the way grew more treacherous. The shattered remains of crumbling buildings lay everywhere, making footing uncertain at best. About to cut over a hillock to scout a path to the rear, Ryan was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Turning his head enough to look behind him, he saw Jak pointing around the left side of the mound, then tapping his ear, indicating he’d heard something on the other side.
How many? Ryan signed back.
One to three, Jak signaled.
Stay here, I’ll look. Although Jak had taken the precaution of tucking most of his stark-white hair underneath the army cap, enough still spilled out from underneath that it might attract attention. Ryan, on the other hand, with his tanned skin and inky-black mane, blended with the hazy night like a six-foot-tall ghost—there one moment, gone the next.
Squatting, he crawled up the hill a foot at a time, always making sure his hand and footholds were secure before moving again. He was aware of the time ticking down, but wasn’t going to risk alerting those inside with a careless falling pebble.
It was probably only a minute or two, but it felt like ten times that long before he crested the hill enough to poke his head over and see what was going on below. A splash made him duck back, but the figures before him were intent on the g
round, not anything above them.
A few yards away, three lizardmen were playing some sort of game with a live rat, chasing it back and forth between them, much like larger animals would do with a prey before killing it. The rat, easily eighteen inches long, and more than a match for anything its size or smaller, ran through the puddles of water, squealing in terror as the looming predators toyed with it and made it run back and forth until it was exhausted. Everywhere it turned, there was no escape—a clawed foot or hand would come down to block its path, sending it back to the other two muties.
Ryan could almost have felt sorry for the tortured rodent, but this night he was glad for the distraction. Ducking behind the hill, he waved Jak and Donfil to join him at the top. Once they were both there, he signaled who would take which target. When they had all gotten the message, Ryan drew his hand blaster, thumbed off the safety, and stuck his head back up to see when they would make their move.
A frightened shriek caught his attention just as he realized he couldn’t see two of them. Rustling in the grass on the other side of the hill made him realize what had happened—the rat had to have found a hole in the circle of lizardmen and made a beeline straight for the hill they were lying on.
He brought up his blaster just as the wet grass in front of him parted, and the nightmarish head of one of the muties appeared. Scanning the nearby ground for its prize, it had just enough time to register a much more dangerous presence before Ryan put a bullet into the top of its skull. Its brain turned to mush from the 9 mm bullet’s passage, the lizardman fell on its face and slid back down the hill in a soggy, lifeless heap.
At the same time Ryan fired, Donfil rose from cover and launched his harpoon at the second lizardman, who was just starting to climb the wet slope. The metal shaft impaled the mutie through its collarbone, slicing deep into the vital organs to kill it where it stood. The creature reached up with a tentative hand to feel the long wooden shaft protruding from its shoulder, exhaled its last breath in a gout of blood and saliva before falling to its knees, then over on its back.
