by James Axler
The friends moved through an arched doorway and faced twin doors. Rising to twice the height of Ryan, and made out of polished ironwood with huge hinges, the portals had bronze knockers bigger than barrel hoops. A very normal-appearing lock was visible at key height.
Ryan raised a hand and closed it into a fist. Everybody halted. He motioned at the doors to Shard, and the man vehemently shook his head and pointed onward.
"That leads to the servants' quarters," Shard said, glancing about nervously. "Hack room is around the corner, past the kitchen."
J.B. checked the lock, but indicated he couldn't see through the keyhole. Doc tapped his wrist, and Krysty agreed.
Ryan felt something was wrong, but couldn't put his finger on the problem, so reluctantly continued onward, deeper into the prison. A long hallway of doors stretched before them and the companions proceeded as quietly as possible. A woman's laughter rose from the other side of a door, followed by a slap, and the sound of sobbing. From another came the steady sound of a whip striking bare flesh. Snoring from another, the sound of enthusiastic sex, more snoring.
At the end of the corridor was a T-shaped intersection, and Shard pointed to the tight. Dropping to his belly, Ryan risked a fast look around the corner.
"Two men with blasters near the door," he whispered to the others. "Big boys, but they look bored."
"Haven't seen enough action," J.B. commented. "After a few decades of protecting your own from nothing, a man gets sloppy."
"Gets dead," Jak corrected, cracking his knuckles. "I'll get."
Ryan stopped him. "With what, the chain? They have blasters. You'll never get close enough."
"You got better?" Jak asked pointedly.
"What we need is a diversion," Doc said.
"Catch them unawares."
"I'm fast," Dean offered.
Mildred gazed at the youngster. "Are you good enough with your hands to kill two in silence?"
"Me either, so don't feel bad."
Kneeling, Ryan studied the floor. "J.B., you got blood on your boots."
The Armorer blinked. "So?"
Ryan handed Doc his chain. The old man accepted the weapon and expertly wrapped it around his gnarled fist. Removing his patch, Ryan exposed the puckered hole underneath. Yanking a button off Jak's shirt, he wrapped it in piece of white cloth from Shard. Stooping-over, Ryan rubbed a finger along the sole of J.B.'s boot and smeared the blood on his face in a line from his socket to his collar.
"Be careful," Shard said, pulling his bead back from the corner. "I recognize them both. The little one is Hamilton. They call him the Hammer of the Citadel. Be careful, he's dangerous."
"What about the big guy with all the muscles. A mutie?"
"Just very large. But Roy is no danger. Has the mind of a child. Stronger than a mule, but he isn't right in the head."
"Would have thought it would be the other way around," Ryan said. Wetting the blood on his face with spit, he managed to get it nice and runny. "Perhaps that is why they always work together."
"I don't know."
"How do I look?" asked Cawdor.
"Awful," Krysty said.
"Perfect," J.B. added.
Rumpling his clothes and tousling his hair, Ryan lurched around the corner.
"H-Hammer...he-help me," he stammered, keeping his ghastly face in plain view. A runnel of blood drooled out of the empty socket.
Pistols snapped out of holsters, then the guards gasped in horror and lowered the muzzles.
"What happened!" the big man asked.
"Fell...stairs..." Pitifully, Ryan stretched out the hand holding his blood-covered fake eye. Hammer scowled and stepped out of reach while Roy came closer. Ryan tripped past the big guard and lunged forward, ramming the edge of his hand into Hammer's throat Gargling in pain, the guard tried to level his pistol, but Ryan hit him again and seized the blaster, slamming the weapon backward into the face of Roy. The big man stumbled back, his mouth a bloody ruin. Viciously, Ryan clubbed both until they dropped, then used his boots until all movement stopped.
The dying men were still bleeding as the rest of the companions slid round the corner. Krysty took Roy's pistol and looped his ammo belt over a shoulder. Mildred searched their pockets and found nothing useful. Lockpick out, J.B. went straight to the unmarked door.
"Doesn't say hack room," Dean said, his clenched fists posed in a boxing stance.
"Would you advertise where the blasters were kept if you were baron?" his father asked, replacing his patch.
"Today, the Hammer fell," Shard said, sounding very pleased. "That settles many debts." He smiled.
"Footsteps, coming this way," Mildred said softly, positioned near the intersection.
"Hurry up with that lock," Ryan snapped.
J.B. shoved the handle with a twist and the door swung open. Ryan eased in fast, the stolen revolver leading the way.
"Clear," he whispered brusquely, and the rest piled inside, dragging the dead men with them.
The room was small, a single electric bulb hanging from a chain. But the stone walls were lined with gun racks, most holding rows of pistols, the butts jutting outward. Everybody grabbed some and boxes of ammo. Several of the rifle racks were empty. Only a few held some old Enfields, Brownings and Remington .22 Explorers, the weapons held in place by a stout locking bar. J.B. headed straight for it.
A bookcase was full of different types of knives. some badly rusted, others razor sharp in oiled leather sheaths. Jak started weeding the good from the bad. Countless wooden crates covered the floor, the tops nailed tight. Doc started to open them haphazardly. A couple of big oak barrels stood by themselves in corners, a clear space around them, indicating explosives.
Dean pried off a lid. "Black powder," he said, and moved on to search elsewhere.
Wandering in a circle, Shard couldn't believe his eyes. "I've never seen so many blasters in my life," he gushed uncontrollably. "There's enough here for every prisoner in the whole ville."
"Now there's an idea," Mildred said, stuffing her pockets with loose bullets.
Ryan tossed the man a Browning rifle. "Here's one of your own. Know how to use it?"
With clumsy hands, Shard worked the bolt, peering inside the slide to check the stacked clip of .38 long rounds. "I've seen enough runaways slain," he stated grimly, levering a round into the chamber.
"Good, then you know to shoot for the body, not the head."
"Head wound would kill quicker, no?"
"And it's tougher to hit,' even for somebody trained. Shoot for the belly, that's your best bet."
Shard slung a belt of cartridges over his neck. "As you say."
"No autofires, no grenades," Doc reported, shouldering a Browning Automatic Rifle.
"Must have them elsewhere," Ryan said, rejecting an Enfield and taking a Browning. "Too bad."
All conversation stopped as footsteps sounded outside the hack room. Someone asked somebody else about the blood on the floor. The door latch rattled, then stopped and the steps moved away quickly.
"Time to go," Ryan said, tucking a knife into his boot.
"Any fuses?" Doc asked, closing a revolver and tucking it into his belt His frock coat bulged with ammo boxes, and another revolver.
J.B. nudged a roll of what resembled gray string on the floor. "Sure, lots. Why?"
"Diversion. Just in case."
"Good idea," Ryan said, filling his pockets with live rounds. "J.B., give us...say, twenty minutes."
Cutting off a length of the fuse, J.B. held it to the light bulb until it caught He counted as it sizzled into ash.
"Three seconds for a foot," he said, impressed. "Smooth burn."
"Too fast," Jak said, searching his clothes for somewhere to hide another blade.
"Better drape it over the gun racks for maximum length," Krysty suggested.
Agreeing, J.B. started to wrap the fuse around his arm to measure the length, but soon ran out. "We have ten minutes," he said, tucking the end into a barrel
of black powder. "Then it's boom."
Ryan slung a Winchester rifle over a shoulder.
"Ready?" he asked, a big-bore Browning resting in a combat grip. "J.B., light her up."
The Armorer pressed the end of the fuse against the light bulb and it caught immediately. Dropping the gray twine on the floor, he made sure it didn't loop over itself and cut their time short. Ten minutes was barely enough to get away as it was.
Jak eased open the door, and Doc checked outside. When he announced it was clear, they regrouped in the hallway. J.B. locked the door.
Krysty then shoved in a knife blade and snapped it off at the hilt. "That'll stop anybody from interfering with our surprise package."
"Now what?" Dean asked, his two S&W .38 revolvers crossed at the wrists to steady his aim. The boy knew he was short on sleep and so was taking no chances on getting arm weary when he needed accuracy. "We looking for Leviathan?"
"There's no way of knowing where she is," Ryan said. "We're just going to head out of here."
Awkwardly, Mildred tried different grips on the parkerized Colt .38, the best of the bunch. To her sensitive hands, the gun was too barrel heavy, the action stiff, and the cracked tigerwood grip was very uncomfortable. The Colt was a single-action, not a double, but she had loaded in six rounds anyway. She didn't think there was much danger of a misfire. It wouldn't be long before the gun saw action.
"Which way?" she asked.
Shard gestured and took a step when a loud bang heralded the sharp cracking of a slug hitting the stone wall near them.
"Sec men!" Krysty cried, the longblaster in her grip booming in response. Down the corridor, a man toppled backward, a crimson stain on his chest.
More reports sounded, and the dull rattle of a .22 Thompson submachine gun, the small-caliber rounds impacting everywhere in a maelstrom of lead.
Ryan fired his rifle a fast five times. "The lock," he yelled, blasting steadily.
Thumbing in rounds, J.B. shook his head. "No way."
"When you have superior numbers and arms, attack," Doc said in that singsong way of his that meant he was quoting somebody. Yet his hands never stopped in their task of reloading. "When outnumbered, retreat, and attack later."
"When trapped, do the unexpected," Ryan added. Standing, he triggered the rifle and took off down the corridor at a full run. "Charge!"
Chapter Thirteen
Wild shots rang out, and the two groups were upon each other.
Blasting one man in the belly, the discharge of his pistol setting his clothes on fire, Ryan kicked another in the groin and received a brutal jab in the ribs. He reeled, feeling something snap inside.
"Incoming!" Krysty shouted in warning. She fired her blaster twice, then found J.B. in her sights and lashed out with the weapon to smash in the nose of an attacker. They were too close for blasters now, and everybody pulled out knives.
As two of the sec men closed in, Jak lashed out with knives and blood sprayed from the impact.
Limply, the two dropped to the floor. Mildred shot a man in the knee and sternum. Dean sidestepped a saber jab then put his pistol into the man's ear and fired, the slug's exit taking a chunk of bone and gray matter with it. Doc elbowed a man in the throat, then ducked under a knife thrust. Bobbing and weaving, Jak knifed another.
Summoning his resolve, the Annorer grimly waded into the massed figures, punching and jabbing, kidneys, groins. This was no boxing contest with referee and bell, but a fight to the death using every weapon Mother Nature armed people with.
Two more sec men darted around Ryan and charged at Doc. Undaunted, the old man yanked a saber blade from a still warm body and swung it in a glittering arc to parry a vicious knife cut. Swiveling his own blade inward to protect his vulnerable wrist, Doc thrust his arm forward, the razor-sharp edge slicing one man across the cheek and opening the throat of another. Then two men tackled his arm and wrestled away the blade. Doc drew his blasters, killed one and wounded another.
Yelling as dramatically as possible, Mildred dashed across the cellar, hoping at least one of the sec men would follow her. Three did. But upon turning the corner and reaching a clear area, instead of collapsing in a faint or cringing in fear, Mildred drew her pistols and gunned them all down ruthlessly. Hastily, she reloaded.
Clumsily, Shard clubbed the sec men with his rifle, doing little damage. Then he froze as Doc raised a sword and lunged straight for his throat! The shiny blade went past Shard's head, missing by the thickness of a shave, and for one terrible instant, Shard saw a distorted version of himself reflected in the polished metal. Then the blade withdrew streaked with red, somebody gagged behind him and a sec man went crashing to the littered floor.
"Thanks," Shard panted, his heart pounding in his chest.
"Fight or get out of the way," Doc snapped.
Grimly renewed, the former prisoner waded into the fray, punching, biting, stabbing and clubbing like a wild beast
With the sound of splintering wood. J.B. shattered a rifle stock over a sec man's skull. The Armorer retreated to the wall as a knife wielder moved in for the kill. At the last instant, he danced out of the way, the blade shattering as it struck the stone wall. J.B. threw his arm forward, two stiff fingers going directly into the ocular cavity, crushing the man's eyeball like a ripe grape. He screamed.
The whole building shook as the hack room violently exploded, the door blowing off its hinges. Dust rained from the rafters and glass shattered in a hundred windows. Startled, the remaining sec men stumbled from the concussion, confused and dazed. Prepared for the expected blast, the companions finished them off with ruthless efficiency.
Doc dropped the saber and reclaimed his dropped pistols.
J.B. found the tommy gun and checked its cheese-wheel clip. "Thought you liked swords."
"My sword," Doc answered, dumping out spent shells and rummaging in his pockets for live rounds. "Not some rusty, bent saber."
"What's the difference?" J.B. asked, working the sidebolt on the Thompson.
"Blade man knows," Jak answered, pulling a knife from a cooling form. He and Doc exchanged glances and nodded.
"Where's the exit?" Ryan demanded, holding his aching side as he reloaded, the rifle held steady between his thighs.
Mildred saw the action and made a mental note to keep a watch on the man. If those ribs were broken, he could easily puncture a lung with too much exertion.
"What? Oh, yes. This way," Shard said, starting off.
J.B. stopped him with his gun barrel. "Is that the nearest exit?"
"Yes," he replied calmly.
Krysty nudged him with her rifle. "Then show us some other way out. They'll be expecting us to try that."
The former prisoner nodded. "Of course. Follow me."
It started soffly at first, a distant yowl that steadily grew in power and volume until it was a banshee keen, a mechanical scream of strident power that built to a thundering howl and stayed there.
"The escape alarm," Shard said, trembling.
"Every sec men will be rushing to protect the ward."
"And his kids," Ryan said, shoving him forward. "Good. Our plan is to leave, not start a revolution."
With J.B. on point, they took the other branch of the T-shaped intersection. A long corridor branched again, and then again in a confusing maze, which led them to a stairwell and a laundry. Clothes were boiling in big caldrons and drying on lines, but not a soul was in sight He guessed that when the alarm sounded servants and slaves not in chains scampered for safety.
"What's out that door?" J.B. demanded, jerking a thumb at the laundry.
Shard blanched. "That goes to the dog kennels. We don't go there." He indicated the stairs. "We go down through the mill and out the chute used to dump the ville's waste into the river."
"Any guards?"
"A few."
"Armed?"
"You've considered escape before," Ryan stated.
Shard seemed embarrassed, as if caught in a lie. "Yes, it's true.
At night sometimes, I dreamed of being free," he admitted sheepishly. "I'm a very bad slave, and wish to leave my masters."
Ryan slapped him on the back. "Good. That's halfway to being free. Not surrendering inside yourself.
Shard looked at Ryan with a strange expression, and clutched his rifle more tightly.
Mildred paused their progress. "It would make sense to have the garbage chute near the kennels. So why are we going this way?"
"Safer," Shard said. "Dogs would tear us apart."
"And slower," Ryan countered. "Aren't they released during an escape?"
"I...well, ah...yes."
Ryan motioned with his jaw, and J.B. took the point. "Then it's the one place we won't find any."
This was obviously new thinking to Shard, and he was hesitant to relinquish the standing order of "don't go near the dogs."
"We're getting out by going to the center," J.B. said. He hefted the tommy gun. "They won't be expecting this."
The kennels were deserted, the picket-fence enclosures for the dogs containing only the miasma of hundreds of animals. Suddenly, a hound dog with a bandaged paw limped into view from a doghouse.
Ryan leveled his longblaster, but Jak stopped him.
"Not hurt us," the albino said knowingly. "Just old bitch."
Ryan relented and the beast watched them passing in silence, then went back to its bed and circled itself a few times before flopping down.
An office converted from a walk-in closet had been recently vacated, the remains of a meal on the desk top still steaming. Everybody grabbed a bite.
On the wall near a centerfold, Dean found an empty gunrack, its locking bar swinging back and forth, keys in the padlock.
"These look familiar," J.B. muttered, examining the keys. "Yes, exactly like the ones I found on the coldhearts."
"So?" Krysty asked impatiently, halfway out the door.
The man smiled at her. "So it means one of the coldhearts once worked here in the kennels, and kept the keys." Taking them off the nail, he slid the most worn one off the ring and swallowed it. "You never know," he said. "Could be useful"
"Planning on getting caught again?" Mildred asked.
"We must hope for the best," Doc said, a blaster in each hand, "but prepare for the worst"
