In a burst of speed, Houston scampered down a broad street, then disappeared into a cross street. Turning the corner, Ryan spied the dog running past a group of sec men coming down the street with crackling torches and crossbows in their hands.
"It's the outlanders!" a sec man cried, starting to level the crossbow. "Chill them!"
Releasing his grip on the Steyr, Ryan pulled the SIG-Sauer and fired, the silenced blaster coughing twice, the whispering 9 mm slugs tearing through the soft tissue of the men's throats and the guards fell, drowning in their own blood.
One of them got off an arrow that whizzed past Jak, and he jerked an arm forward. The blade hit the sec man in the chest dead center in the heart. Still holding the crossbow, the man went completely still, then slowly toppled.
Another raised his longblaster and Dean flipped his Bowie knife into the man's stomach, making him drop the blaster. Then Ryan stroked the trigger on the SIG-Sauer and the guard flipped backward minus a face.
"Take the bows," Krysty directed, tugging a quiver of bolts from the trembling arm of a corpse. "Once we start shooting, all hell is going to break loose."
"Has already," Ryan muttered, slitting the throat of a guard who was somehow still alive.
"A silenced blaster," Sparrow whispered. "You folks work for the Trader!"
"Close enough," J.B. stated, watching the windows along the street while Mildred took the other crossbow and a second quiver. The stock seemed to be whittled from a house beam, the cross hammered from a steel leaf-spring out of a car. She had seen similar homemade weapons before. They were crude, cumbersome and extremely powerful.
"Is he coming?" the man asked eagerly. "Going to do Gaza and Hawk? Be glad to help there."
"Go find your dog," Ryan ordered.
Moving around the sprawled bodies, Sparrow took off after the animal, with the companions close behind. Raised voices were heard in the distance, but they moved away from the group heading for the keep. Oddly, the area was starting to look familiar when Ryan saw the dog start for a redbrick building without doors or windows.
"Dark night, this is the rear of the temple!" J.B. said.
"Call him back now!" Ryan ordered brusquely.
Sparrow whistled and the dog stopped, looking back at his master, then turned and trotted back.
"So that's where he is," Sparrow said hoarsely. "They got him in the temple. Might as well leave. Most likely he's aced already. Or worse."
"What do you mean 'worse'?" J.B. demanded.
"Blood for water," Sparrow said, quoting the ville mantra. "But I also hear the Scorpion God likes it spiced with screams."
Doc was in a torture chamber? Shitfire. Ryan swung around his blaster until it pointed at Sparrow. In spite of the evening chill, the fat man started to sweat.
"You kept your part of the deal," Ryan said gruffly. "So we keep ours. Now leave before I change my mind."
Sparrow nodded energetically and took off at a run down the street, Houston tagging along behind his corpulent master.
"If he talks, we're dead," J.B. said, tracking their departure with the Uzi machine gun.
Ryan turned from the man and the dog. "He wouldn't do anything until he's set his brother free, and then they'll have to discuss whether they should side with Trader or Gaza."
"Say, fifteen minutes."
"Mebbe ten."
Staying in the shadows as much as possible, the companions moved around to the front of the building and studied the two guards at the door. Both were large men holding bolt action longblasters, with a muzzle loading pistol tucked into their belts. They were smoking cigs and appeared bored.
"No other doors," Krysty said, her hair a wild tempest of motion as her hands tightened on the crossbow. "We have to go in this way."
"No problem," Ryan said, removing the half-spent clip from the SIG-Sauer and gently inserting a fresh one.
Suddenly a bell began to ring from the keep and the guards jumped at the sound, casting away their smokes to slide their blasters off their shoulders and work the bolts.
"Shitfire, that must be the ville alarm," J.B. cursed, ducking lower into the shadows.
"A single shot from them, and we'll have the whole ville coming down our throats," Dean added, glancing around. Lights were appearing from behind closed windows. "Whatever we're going to do better be soon."
"We move on my mark," Ryan growled, steadying the SIG-Sauer in both hands. "Ready…go."
Stepping into plain view, Mildred clicked on the nukelamp, bathing the two guards in its blinding light. Covering their faces, the men cursed as Krysty and Jak used the crossbows. The bolts took the men in the throats, neutralizing any chance of them crying out in pain. Gagging on their own blood, the guards staggered drunkenly about as the companions rushed across the open courtyard and finished the job with knifes. It was brutal and messy, but there was no other choice.
Jak and Dean pushed the bodies against the wall, while Ryan tried the door. It was locked tight. The one-eyed man got out of the way as J.B. rummaged in his munitions bag for some tools and got to work. The rest of the companions nervously stood around the man, watching the windows and side streets for any movements. The alarm bell continued to sound from the keep.
"Barred from the inside," the Armorer said in frustration. "No way to open this without using a gren."
For a long moment, Ryan stared hostilely at the door as if it were a living enemy. "Give me the sword," he demanded.
Jak passed over the ebony stick. Unsheathing the blood smeared blade, Ryan wiggled the point between the door and the frame. It took some muscle, but he finally got the slim steel to slide all the way through, then he pulled it upward in a hard jerk.
There was a crash inside and the door swung open a crack.
"Bring them," Ryan directed, slipping into the building with the SIG-Sauer leading the way.
The companions dragged in the bodies of the chilled sec men, leaving behind a wide crimson trail. But there was nothing they could do about that. Inside the temple oil lanterns burned in wall niches, illuminating a large empty room decorated with a wall tapestry of a blue scorpion. There was nothing else but a gate made of slim iron bars sealing off an arched doorway.
Reaching high, Mildred pulled down the tapestry and stepped outside to mop up the excess blood on the stoop, while J.B. went to work on the gate. As the physician came back in and tossed aside the gory cloth, there was a solid click and J.B. pushed open the gate.
"Hey, what was that?" a man called out from a dark corridor. "Who are you folks?"
Stepping through the archway, Ryan fired the silenced weapon directly into the unseen face. The blaster coughed, its muzzle-flash lighting the corridor for a heartbeat, and the man jerked backward as an explosion of blood and brains slapped against the brick wall. As the dead guard crumpled to the floor, the rest of the companions rushed past the gate, and J.B. locked it in their wake. That should buy them a few minutes, but not much more.
"From here on, it's chillin' time," Ryan said low and fast. "Ace anybody you see. All we're interested in is finding Doc."
Jak passed the crossbow to Dean. "Ready," the albino teen said, drawing a knife with each hand.
The brick corridor was lined with more tapestries that were barely discernible in the yellowish light of the hissing lanterns. A set of double doors closed off the end, and Ryan placed his ear to the wood. There were some muffled voices, a laugh and then the telltale crack of a whip followed by a cry of pain.
"That's Doc," Krysty stated, bringing up the crossbow.
Slamming open the door, Ryan withheld firing as Mildred clicked on the nukelamp, filling the next room with harsh white light. As the three sec men lowered their whips, the companions opened fire in unison with every weapon. The men reeled at the incoming lead and arrows, died on the spot torn to pieces.
Walking into the vast room, Ryan felt a shiver go through his bones. This was something new. It was a church from hell. The pews had been removed, leaving the cent
er open for people to gather. A wooden railing stood before an altar at the back of the church, and a giant scorpion stood on a velvet covered altar, a steady stream of water trickling from its open mouth into a stone basin on the floor. Surrounding the basin was a low stone wall filled with dozens of live black scorpions.
Set on either side of the altar were slanted tables, the left covered with a canvas sheet, the right supporting Doc. The old man had been stripped to the waist, his hands and feet shackled with chains and pulled tight, holding him motionless. His back was covered with welts and countless old scars, a few of them bleeding slightly from the cut of the whip, but his chest still rose and fell.
Keeping their every weapon on the motionless scorpion towering over them, the companions crossed the room, and J.B. got to work on the shackles.
"You okay?" Mildred asked, setting down the nukelamp and turning Doc's head to look into his eyes. The pupils dilated to the light. No drugs used this time, but her fingers found a hard lump on the back of his head that told the story. Hit from behind.
"I live," Doc whispered hoarsely. "Th-that is enough."
"Any more sec men around?" Ryan demanded, taking the nukelamp and playing the white beam around the church. There were no other doors in sight, but that didn't mean a whole lot. Could be dozens of secret entrances.
Doc weakly shook his head while Mildred started to clean the cuts on his back with some of the precious med supplies from her satchel. The scholar winced at the application of shine, but said nothing. He had endured much worse,
"There were three," he croaked, "and three when we arrived. One is very big with a—"
"Got them," Ryan interrupted, taking the man by the shoulder and giving a hard squeeze. "We aced six."
"S-splendid."
"There," J.B. said with satisfaction and the mechanism disengaged, the chains dropping noisily away.
Krysty slid a shoulder under Doc's arm to help him stand, while Mildred helped the man slip on his shirt and coat.
"Think you can walk out of here?" J.B. asked, offering the ebony stick.
Fumbling to button his shirt, Doc stopped and took the stick. Extracting the blade, he inspected it in the white light, then held it out to wipe the steel clean on a sec man sprawled on the floor. The corpse had an arrow through its chest, and a slash along its neck that went from ear to Adam's apple, but not quite deep enough to open the big artery under the skin.
"If need be to leave here," Doe stated resolutely, closing the weapon with a solid click, "I can sprout wings and fly."
"What happened?" Dean asked.
Tucking the stick into his belt, Doc finished dressing. "I went to visit the outhouse, and they were waiting, not inside, but on top. I never even considered the possibility, but shall in the future. They knocked the LeMat away, but I got that man with my sword. Then I was struck from behind and awoke in this charming abattoir."
"Come again?" Jak asked, scowling in confusion.
"Slaughterhouse," Doc translated.
Doing a fast recce of the temple, Ryan walked closer to the giant on the altar. In the yellowish light of the oil lanterns the thing seemed to move slightly as if alive and watching. But starkly illuminated by the nukelamp, it was plain to see the thing was merely a statue covered with oil to distort the light. It was just a trick.
"So this is the Scorpion God," Ryan said in a monotone. "A whole ville terrified of a statue from some predark museum or an amusement park."
"And this explains the blood for water we've been hearing about," Krysty said, studying the basin and enclosure. The scorpions reacted to her presence by running about and arching their deadly barbed tails, ready to attack. "Gaza must feed scraps of flesh to the scorpions so that the people can reach the basin and fill their water jugs."
"Literally, blood for water," Mildred muttered, tossing away a bloody cloth.
"Look at them go," Dean said in disgust. "Little bastards are expecting food."
"Getting oil, instead," Jak snarled. Going to a nearby niche, he removed the lantern and blew out the flame. Returning to the cage, he used the gun butt of his blaster to smash open the reservoir of the lantern and poured the flammable oil over the darting scorpions, then lit the wick of the lantern and dropped it. The fire whoofed alive, and the creatures started high pitched squealing as they burned, scampering madly about and stinging one another in their utter lack of comprehension of exactly what was destroying them.
Checking the bodies, Dean took their blasters, ammo pouches and a folding knife. Not bad, but he had better. Then the boy paused. "I know this man," Dean said slowly. "He was the sec man who met us outside the ville gate."
"Said he would get back at us," Mildred said, wiping her hands clean, then tossing the damp rag away. "Guess he meant it."
"Indeed, he did, madam," Doc told her, starting to sound like his old self again. Using his ebony stick as a cane, he hobbled over, then stopped and forced himself to stand erect without assistance. Only the tightening of his mouth betrayed what the effort cost him in pain.
"By the way, how is the other prisoner? I heard him moan when I was being chained," Doc added. "I would suppose the noise reminded him of his own imprisonment."
Going to the other side of the altar, Ryan yanked away the sheet to expose the bloody remains of what had once been a man. His eyes were gone, as were his ears and nose. The sagging mouth held no teeth, and those were the least of the injuries. Both arms had been removed at the elbow, the stumps covered with horrible scars. His legs were missing at the knees, and there was only a tattered nubbin of flesh hanging between the naked man's scarred thighs.
"I wonder who he was," Mildred whispered, "and what he did to deserve this."
"Fuck her…" The tortured spoke, lifting his horrible head. "Didn't fuck her, you bastard. We're in love! Don't care she was going to be your wife, ya got enough, Gaza! Bastard! Stinking, filthy bastard…"
Then a racking shudder shook the man. "Oh, God, please, no more. I'll tell ya anything you want to know. Where the Trader stores his fuel and weapons! Anything! But no more cutting. Please, stop cutting me up! No more!"
Thrashing feebly at his iron bonds, the prisoner began to mumble incoherently. Turning, Ryan gave Mildred a hard look and the physician sadly shook her head. With regret, Ryan placed the muzzle of his blaster to the mutilated remains of man and fired once. The head slapped to the side from the impact of the slug, and the moaning ceased as the man slipped into the sweet release of death.
"One of the Trader's men," J.B. scowled. "Did the local baron's bride and started a war. Damn fool."
"Love makes folks do crazy things," Mildred added softly. "I wonder what happened to the woman?"
"Hopefully long dead," Krysty said with a sigh. "And probably done a lot worse than this."
"Let's get moving before the same happens to us," Ryan said, heading for the front door of the temple.
Chapter Thirteen
The banded door to the keep slammed aside and Baron Gaza strode out of the structure, dragging a sec man by the throat. With a roar of anger, Gaza threw the man down the front steps onto the cobblestone street, where he landed sprawling before the waiting company of sec men filling the courtyard.
"My lord, it's true!" the man cried, rubbing his sore neck. "The people who saw the chilling claim that Ryan has a blaster that makes no noise!"
"Liar!" Baron Gaza shouted. "Find me those traitors and stuff them into the Black Queens!"
The sec men reacted badly to that order, and several openly stroked the grips of the blasters.
"But some of them were children," a sec man from the crowd said in a loud clear voice. Then almost grudgingly he added, "My lord."
Gaza turned on the man, but before he could speak, Hawk strode through the crowd leading his stallion by the reins.
"The children and women are spared, of course," Hawk said, striding through the crowd. "In fact, forget these liars until tomorrow. Tonight we concentrate on finding those murdering outlanders
."
Murmurs of approval rose from the guards, and Gaza forced his rage under control. These weren't his wives, broken and beaten until they lived to serve, but armed fighters who he controlled only through fear. The ville was already twitchy enough about cutting off relations with Trader. If the stupe cattle knew his real plans, they'd probably revolt even faster than if they discovered the truth about the water.
"The outlanders are the top priority," Baron Gaza agreed loudly. "They aced sec men, a crime for which there is only one punishment. To become food for the god and earn this ville more water!"
Shouts of agreement came from the men, a mixture of revenge and greed crossing their dirty faces. Yes, he thought, they would like that idea.
"Except for this Ryan, who goes to the table!" Baron Gaza added as an afterthought. "Perhaps the knives can make him tell the secret of this silent blaster, eh?"
Now the sec man laughed at the foolish notion, his momentary outburst forgotten.
"Wall Sergeant Franz, Gate Sergeant Henny, double the guards on the wall," Hawk commanded. "Nobody leaves this ville tonight without the baron's personal authorization."
"And send off outriders," Gaza directed. "I want twenty men on patrol in the desert around the ville. If this Ryan gets outside Rockpoint, they're to bring him back alive. Chill the rest."
"But what about the night muties?" a man began, glancing toward the high walls.
"My lord, we can't double the wall patrols and send outriders while searching the ville," Hawk said quickly, walking his horse closer to the furious man on the stoop. "We don't have enough troops."
"Do as you think best," Gaza conceded, then sensing a loss of power quickly added, "But the man who captures Ryan alive can have his redhead as a reward. Permanently!"
The baron could see that the guards liked that idea. Pitiful fools. Norms were like horses—you needed a carrot and a stick to make them obey. Beat them once so they knew the taste of pain, then reward them often but always at the end of the stick so they would remember.
"However, I lay claim to the black woman," Hawk said, climbing onto his horse and gesturing at the men on top of the keep. "Even if she surrenders, I want her dead! Now to the walls! Let's find these coldhearts and show their guts to the stars!"
Axler, James - Deathlands 63 - Devil Riders Page 17
