by James Axler
"Best get it over," Krysty said.
"Yeah, lover. Let's... What's wrong, Lori?"
Huddled in her new fur coat, the girl shook as if she had an ague. When she tried to speak, her teeth chattered so much it was impossible to understand her.
Doc hugged her, then looked away from her to the faces of the others, seeing his own concern mirrored in everyone's eyes.
Finn broke the silence. "She can't fucking swim," he said quietly without anger. "That's it, isn't it, Lori?"
The girl began to cry, then buried her face on Doc Tanner's shoulder, which answered the question.
"I'll take her through," Jak suggested, standing up, muddy water pouring from his clothes. "But we best go quick."
Lori pulled away, backing against the wall of the tunnel, eyes wide and blank with terror, her right hand dropping to the butt of the pistol at her belt. Ryan saw immediately that she wasn't going to go through easy.
Which meant it had to be hard.
"Lori," he said, calm and friendly, stepping toward her, watching her fingers gripping the butt of the small Walther PPK blaster.
"No, no, no, no, no," she repeated, flat and dull, shaking her head.
"That's all right," he reassured her. "Nobody'll make..."
He watched her eyes, seeing her glance across to Doc Tanner for reassurance. That was the moment.
The punch jarred through his wrist and elbow, clear up to the shoulder. There had been no point in trying to pull it. The girl was in such an advanced state of panic that she could easily have gone for her gun. And then he'd have had to kill her. Better to lay her out cold.
Her teeth clicked together as she went over. His fist had hit her clean on the angle of her jaw, so that she was sent back up the tunnel, heels teetering, spurs jingling, before she crashed down, one leg kicking out in a residual gesture.
"You cowardly bastard!" Doc Tanner yelled, stepping toward Ryan and raising his sword stick.
"Don't do it, Doc," J.B. said gently. "Ryan did it for the best. We try and force her, someone'd get chilled. We leave her, she gets chilled on her own."
The old man turned away, eyes closed, shaking his head. "I had not thought... had not..." He turned back, moving to kneel beside the unconscious girl.
"Leave her, Doc," Ryan said. "No time. Finn, you and Jak drag her through. There's room?" he asked the boy.
"Easy. I'll hold hand over nose and mouth. Won't choke."
Finnegan and Jak plunged into the dark water, gripping the limp figure of the girl between them as they kicked their way out of sight. Ryan counted a hundred heartbeats, then gave the old man the nod.
"Go join 'em, Doc. And tell her I'm really sorry about hitting her."
"I accept that you were correct in your course of action, Mr. Cawdor, but you can scarcely expect me to relish it."
Hat jammed on his head, one hand steadying it, Doc Tanner vanished from their sight. Ryan, J.B. and Krysty waited for a few moments. The water at their feet swelled and surged, lapping at the toes of Ryan's combat boots.
"Fireblast!"
"What's?.." Krysty began, looking down. "It's rising. It's getting..."
"See you the other side," the little Armorer said, tucking his beloved fedora into the front of his coat as he jumped feet first into the pool. A trail of bubbles indicated his progress under the ledge of rock.
"The rain," Krysty said. "I can hear it. Hear it louder. Ryan... it's like thunder on..."
There wasn't time for her to finish the sentence. The pool began to foam and froth, a reddish scum appearing on its surface. Where it had begun to rise slowly, inching up the slight slope toward them, it now swelled wolfishly, clawing at their boots, forcing them back up the tunnel into the blackness behind them.
They hesitated. Already the water had risen at least two feet, pushing along a dozen feet or more. The power of the surge was frightening, bubbling like a monstrous cauldron.
"What d'you think, Lover?" Krysty asked. "Be difficult to swim through that now."
Ryan bit his lip in anger. Another half minute and they'd all have been through safely. It crossed his mind to wonder how the other five were on the far side of the pool. If the flash flood had this kind of awesome power, then what would it be like in the chamber beyond?
"Got to move back. No knowing how long this'll go on 'fore it subsides again. Could be a couple of hours. Come on."
He led the way. Now the light had virtually disappeared, and he felt his way along the slippery walls, hearing the thunder of the water behind them, imagining it pursuing them. The passage rose and fell, and Ryan wondered if the flood had sought out a lower level ahead of them where it would trap them.
He felt the tension of panic rising in his chest as his pulse and respiration thundered. His good eye probed the blackness ahead as he tried to remember the way the tunnel had gone and wondered whether there was any side trails to confuse them. Water lapped around his ankles, cold and glutinous, like the embrace of a dying sticky.
"You there, lover?" he called, shouting at the top of his voice against the rising roar of the torrent.
"Yeah, keep moving. Getting deeper."
The passage sloped down, and for a few moments the water was up to his waist, chilling his groin, making him gasp in shock. Then the passage jerked up again, so that the water only slurped at his boots. The floor was streaming, slippery and infinitely treacherous. The current was so fast that to fall would mean death in the shrinking darkness.
When the passage narrowed, he banged his head hard on the ceiling, stunning himself. "Watch your head," he screamed, hearing fear ride his voice.
Then the ceiling caved in, and someone fell on his shoulders. Fire lanced across his ribs from a knife or spear, as fingers clawed at his windpipe. The extra weight was enough to knock him off balance, and he slipped over, head plunging into the cold mud.
Chapter Six
The Heckler & Koch went clattering into the water. Ryan couldn't breathe. Something held his head under the slime, as a knife or spear sliced across his stomach and cruel fingers tried to rip out his throat. Feeling skins with his hands, he guessed it was an ambush from the stunted muties who had been trailing them since they had arrived in the complex. It had crossed his mind that the muties had probably built the maze of tunnels scaled down to their dwarfish bodies. This one had been hiding in a dugout in the celling when it had heard them back away from the rising flood.
Ryan's only edged weapon was the long cleaver that was sheathed at his belt, useless for such close combat. He half rolled, kicking out to try to gain a footing. Pushing against the walls of the tunnel, he threw himself back, feeling the satisfying crunch as he smashed his opponent into the jagged stone.
The grip on his throat loosened for a moment, and Ryan was able to reach behind him, grabbing under the skins between the man's thighs. Feeling the softness of the dwarf's genital sac, he squeezed and ground it as hard as he could, digging his nails in. In the noise and confusion he wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a scream. Finally the mutie was off his back, and Ryan straightened, his head at last clear of the torrent. There was a flickering yellow light from the hole above him where the ambush had been launched, and he made out the head of another man, staring down at him. A spear lunged toward him, and he dodged, seeing the first mutie approach again, face contorted with pain, mouth open, long wolflike tusks gleaming golden.
One of the strange sectioned spears was in his right hand, jabbing at Ryan's belly. The blow wasn't hard to parry with the side of an arm. Ryan blinked — mud had gotten in his eye. He watched his enemy. The water was just above his knees, swirling and tugging, making it difficult to maintain balance. The best thing to do, he figured, was to get in close and use his superior height, strength and weight in hand-to-hand fighting.
The lance darted out again, and Ryan took a superficial cut on his left hand from the jagged, barbed ivory tip. He felt the warmth of fresh blood trickling down inside his coat from the two wounds across his ribs
, but nothing seemed too seriously damaged. Beyond the mutie's shoulder he caught a flicker of movement and the flash of brilliant crimson hair. Whatever problems Krysty might be having, there was nothing he could do to help her. Not yet.
"Come on, you evil little fucker," he breathed, watching the flat, blank face, seeing nothing in the mud-colored eyes.
Out came the spear, but he was ready, moving easily like a dancer inside the thrust, grabbing the wooden haft and pulling the mutie toward him.
Above the sound of the water, he heard the mutie utter a squeaky cry. Ryan swung a punch at the open mouth, but the mutie was quicker, ducking and grappling with him. A foot hooked behind his ankle, and Ryan fell again, dragging at his opponent's arm. Once again he swallowed a mouthful of the muddy stream, flailing and kicking at the mutie.
The creature tried to butt him, and Ryan turned, biting the side of the attacker's neck. His teeth slithered off the wet skin, and he tasted grease and sweat and wood smoke. He locked an arm around the scrawny neck, simultaneously managing to pull him closer and heave himself from the water, sucking in a great gasp of fresh air.
Despite being much smaller and lighter than Ryan, the mutie was a vicious and cunning fighter, throwing Ryan off balance for a third time, hands scrabbling toward his groin. With great effort, Ryan turned so that the clawing fingers tore at the side of his thigh rather than at his scrotum.
Again he dipped his head, seeking the mutie's throat with his teeth, finding flesh and clamping his jaws shut. An artery pulsed between his lips as he drove his teeth through skin into flesh. Blood, salty and warm, spurted into Ryan's mouth.
The mutie screamed like a pig being gelded, then thrashed and kicked. One hand came up toward Ryan's face, attempting to rip and pulp his one good eye. Ryan seized the wrist, squeezing it and feeling the thin bones flex and snap like twigs.
He clamped his teeth together with great force, spitting out blood from the corner of his mouth, working through the beating wall of gristle that protected the carotid artery in the throat. The mutie, even with a broken arm, wasn't down, and he nearly succeeded in kneeing Ryan in the groin, instead delivering the blow to his leg.
Ryan's head bobbed as he chewed into the man's flesh. As he finally severed the artery, there was a great burst of wetness and heat that nearly choked him. He opened his mouth and pushed away from the yelping mutie, seeing the lifeblood, almost black in the tunnel's dim light, spout clear to the ceiling.
The dying man was carried away by the surging torrent, his broken arm waving crookedly as he whipped around a sharp corner and vanished.
Ryan stooped to retrieve the fallen blaster, glancing at the trap in the ceiling, seeing someone still stooped there. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger, firing a short burst. There was a cry of pain, and the mutie fell backward out of sight.
"Any more?" a voice shouted from behind him.
"Can't fucking tell," he shouted back. Wading toward Krysty, who was stooping under the low roof a few yards away, it struck him that she was in a peculiar, lopsided position.
"Took your time there, lover," she called. "Getting too old for all this."
"Didn't know it took long. Shows how time hisses by when you're having fun. You hurt your leg?"
"No. Had a mutie come after me, but I neck-chopped the little bastard. Knocked him under water. Then, 'fore I knew it, I had the heel of my boot jammed tight on the back of his head. He's still down there. Figure he's 'bout had enough?"
"Let go and find out."
Krysty moved away, and the sodden corpse of another mutie rose slowly to the surface, face up, eyes and mouth open. It began to drift in a circle before the girl pushed it, allowing the current to carry it off and follow the other chilled body.
Ryan took Krysty's hand, holding her tight. "Done good," he said, leaning and kissing her on the cheek. "You get hurt?"
"Some. He had one of them folding spears, like Whitey got. It caught me 'cross the belly."
"No serious damage... lower down?"
"No. Not that I noticed. Bled a little. The son of a bitching fucker tried to rip my balls off. That made me real angry."
Krysty stared up at the circle of yellow light. "Could be more of 'em up there?"
"I reckon they'll have had it on their toes when the shooting started. I'll lift you and you take the blaster," he said, handing her the gray G-12 caseless.
"Water's stopped rising."
"Yeah. But if'n that passage goes above, we can find a way out and mebbe link up with the others outside. Save us waiting down here. Truth is, I don't much care for this crawling on my stomach under five miles of mud and stone. I'm an out-in-the-open sort of person."
"Me, too, lover."
Ryan steadied himself against the wall of the tunnel, cupping his hands so that Krysty could step up, balance and stand on his shoulders. It would give her the height to look through the open mouth of the tunnel above and blast anything that moved.
If it didn't blast her first.
Her boots were slippery, and she nearly fell. She grabbed his head to steady herself, her fingers tangling in his hair, which made him yelp.
"Watch it," he moaned.
"Keep still. You're rocking around like an aspen in a hurricane."
Then she was up on his shoulders. Ryan braced himself, wincing in expectation of hearing the roar of a gun from some hidden enemy. But all was quiet. She half turned, the heels of her cowboy boots scraping his ears, which made him wriggle again, then she pushed upward, and her weight was off him. He looked up and saw her legs vanishing into the hole above, momentarily blocking the light.
"Anything?"
Her face reappeared, the long red rags of her hair dangling down, almost touching him. "Nothing. Come on up, lover."
She reached down, giving him a wrist to grip. In one steady motion, he hauled himself up to the higher level. Slumped against the far wall of the tunnel, which was wider than the one below, was the corpse of the third mutie, its head more or less pulped off its shoulders by the burst of lead from the G-12.
"Time we got out of this bastard warren," Ryan said, stooping and peering as far as he could into the dimness. The light at their elbow was a small clay lamp, with a wick floating in liquid fat.
"I can hear something," Krysty whispered. "Way we came. Could be J.B. and the others."
"Let's go, then," Ryan said, leading the way, finger ready on the trigger of the H&K.
* * *
It took them an hour to reach full light and fresh air. Ryan stood in the entrance to the tunnel, drawing in deep breaths. "That is sogood, lover. I wasn't meant to be a fucking mole. If we ever find another redoubt like that, I'm going to get right on back into the gateway and move along to the next stop."
"Me, too."
The sky was an unusual color — clear pale blue, with only a few wispy white clouds streaking across it. From the cold thin air, Ryan figured they had to be up a considerable altitude. From experience, it felt like around a mile high.
At first he saw no sign of another living being. There was the edge of what looked like a big lake, not too far away, and a lot of mountains all around, many snowcapped. The wind was from the north, clean and light.
"It's beautiful," Krysty said, putting her arm around his shoulders. "What Uncle Tyas McCann would have called 'God's Country,' I guess."
Ryan moved to the sharp-cut brink of a drop and looked down. He turned to Krysty, a smile on his face, and said, "They're here."
"Where?"
"Down," he told her, pointing with the muzzle of the mud-streaked blaster. "All of 'em."
Several hundred feet lower on the sharp, scree-covered slope of the mountain, five minute figures were visible. One with white hair, stark against the gray rock. One with yellow hair and one with a clumsy black hat. One round figure and one with glasses that glittered as he looked up toward Ryan and Krysty.
Ryan held his G-12 above his head, waving it slowly to and fro, signaling they were all right.
/> "They're safe," he said. "We all made it."
Chapter Seven
"He killed how many?"
Finnegan grinned. "Six."
Ryan looked at Jak Lauren, who was shuffling his feet like a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar. "How did you take six muties all on your own, son?"
"With spear," he replied, flicking the sections in his fingers so that they blurred into the full-length weapon. Ryan saw that the cane shaft was streaked with dried blood.
"All six?" It was hard to believe. "What the chill were you doing, Finn?"
"Stopping me from sinking in the water and being drowned. Thank you, Ryan," Lori said, with affronted dignity. There was a little congealed blood around the corner of her mouth, and a deep purple bruise on the left side of her jaw, making speech difficult.
"No other way," Ryan said, looking across at Doc to see if the old man understood.
"Oh tempora! Oh mores!" Doc replied. "Means when you're up to your neck in shit, you can't get along by smelling roses."
Lori nodded. "I suppose I know why you hit me, Ryan. Sorry I made trouble. But I still didn't like it very much."
Finnegan was eager to tell Ryan and Krysty about Jak's prowess in the underground battle. "I never seen nothing like the bleached-out little fucker. Like fucking poetry in motion, Ryan. One after another, like skewering fish in a pisspot."
"Was easy. They came one at time, so killed 'em one at time." Jak's red eyes sparkled at the memory.
"You gut-rip 'em?" Krysty asked.
"No. Barbs on spears catch clothes. Snag on furs. No time rip clear. Had to stab at necks and faces."
"I swear he hit three out of the fucking six right splat in the middle of the fucking eye. They was down and thrashing in a row."
"Got no more brains than 'gator shit," Jak muttered. "Came together and I'd been chilled."
"I couldn't get my blaster to waste any of 'em for him. An' Doc and J.B. was bursting out the water, all pop-eyed. Real stiff in that river. Trying to tug you down and under."
"Sure," Ryan said. "We know it, Finn."
