Axler, James - Deathlands 60 - Destiny's Truth

by Destiny's Truth [lit]

  Two wheels would make it almost impossible. But if it was a four-wheel-drive vehicle, then Jak also needed to take out a back wheel. He moved in closer, so that he was almost underneath the vehicle. In a sense, this made him both more at risk, and also safer at the same time. Although he was closer to the Illuminated Ones than any of his companions, he was also at such an angle that it might actually prove impossible for them to get a clear shot at him.

  None of this mattered to Jak. The only thing he could focus on was disabling the wag and drawing the Illuminated Ones out into the open. He positioned himself and fired a short, controlled blast at one of the back wheels. He was so close that he could feel the blast of air as the tire melted and the air forced its way from the wrecked tubing. The stench of melted rubber filled his lungs, choking him.

  It didn't matter; three tires were blown. Now they would have to come out into the open. Jak crawled backward triple fast, for the first time noticing that he hadn't been fired upon. A glance toward Doc, holed up in a doorway and drawing fire, told him why. Time to return the favor. Jak rose to his feet and started to fire on the wag as he retreated, drawing the sparse Illuminated fire in order for Doc to come out of the doorway and also back his way to safety.

  The wag fell silent. Although the companions kept firing, there was no return fire. Ryan ceased and held up a hand to indicate the others should follow suit: but there was little need for him to do this, as his fellows had also noticed the sudden cessation and had stopped.

  Now it was a waiting game. The companions retreated to the cover of the alleyway. The Illuminated wag was out of commission, and those inside had two options—they could stay there indefinitely, or they could come out and fight, in an attempt to reach the other wag and so gain safety and a return to the redoubt.

  The wag engine had been cut, and it sat, dark, malevolent and silent.

  What next?

  IF THE COMPANIONS had been able to halt and disable their wag, the Gate party who had effected an ambush at the other end of the road hadn't been so fortunate. The wag that had headed in their direction hadn't been damaged, and so had been able to maintain and build speed and momentum as it tried to escape the grens and the continuing fire.

  Tammy had been delegated by Gloria to lead the attack party, and she watched as the wag approached. Her tactics were simple, and almost suicidal. As the wag approached, she yelled bloodcurdlingly loud and leaped into the path of the wag, followed by her warriors from either side of the road.

  With the wag coming head on, there was little chance of any initial fire in their direction, and so they were able to fire off volley after volley of laser blasts, peppering the front of the wag. They knew that they would be unlikely to penetrate the alloy covering, but the intent was to try to shatter the armaglass with the lasers, or at least make it so hard for the driver of the wag to see what he was doing that he would veer off the main drag and crash into one of the buildings, enabling them to mount an assault.

  To an extent, their tactic was successful. The wag veered, the driver blinded by the laser fire hitting the armaglass shield and ducking at the wheel instinctively, throwing the vehicle off track. It slewed sideways, and some of the Gate warriors dropped, firing at the underside and trying to disable the wheels.

  The return fire from the side of the wag was instant and claimed two Gate warriors, the laser burning raw weals in their flesh, the smell rising with their screams as they fell.

  "Cover, cover," Tammy yelled, imploring her team to protect themselves while still trying to attack. While her warriors sought cover, Tammy stayed upright in the center of the road, directing her fire in an arc along the ob slits on the side of the wag. She ignored the returned fire that cut trails in the earth and tarmac around her, her face grim as she continued to fire, ignoring the rising bile and fear in her guts as she waited for those under her command to get clear.

  Fear could be a good thing in battle, if it hit a person right. Sometimes fear inspired heroic acts. Tammy knew that if no one covered the Gate women as they made for cover, then all would stand a good chance of getting chilled. But if she stood and fired, then most would make it, and it would be harder for them to pick her off.

  Even so, she was relieved when the warrior in cover began to fire, covering her so that she could reach safety.

  The engine of the wag whined as the driver crashed gears, trying to right his vehicle and, panicking, making the whole process more complicated. The vehicle moved backward and forward, trying to hurriedly right its course while still being fired upon from cover. Laser blasts tried to knock out the tire and hit the underneath of the wag while still peppering the sides to prevent return fire from inside.

  "We're not doing it," Tammy cried in despair. "We haven't damaged the bastard at all!"

  Seemingly impervious to the blasterfire, the wag finally managed to right its course and drove through the hail of fire set up by the Gate attackers. It broke past them and picked up speed as it hit the blacktop that led away from the main drag. The Gate warriors kept firing until Tammy gestured them to cease.

  "No good," she said, seemingly to herself. "Fuck it, I hope Ryan's doing better…"

  THE AIR WAS ALMOST crackling with tension. The firefight taking place at the far end of the drag only accentuated the silence as the companions waited in cover for the Illuminated Ones to make their move. They had to, as they were presented with little option except to come out and fight.

  There was only one variable, as far as Ryan could see. The wag was fairly spacious, and there was no way of telling how many sec may be inside. They would be on equal terms as far as weapons, and Ryan was pretty sure that his people were better fighters by far. But would they be outnumbered?

  They could only wait and see.

  The back of the Illuminated wag opened, and the soldiers within emerged. Two came first, running sideways to take cover in the doorways and lay down a covering fire with their laser blasters. They were followed by three groups of two: eight fighters in all.

  The companions returned the fire and cut down two of the Illuminated Ones before they had even reached cover, the laser fire cutting across their bodies and making their one-piece suits smoke as the material smoldered in the heat. The lack of sound—their screams muffled and contained within their helmets— made their chilling an uncanny sight, as they seemed merely to crumple to the dirt.

  The remaining six found themselves clumped together in two doorways, with little cover for all of them, and no way of safely firing at the companions.

  They were so hopelessly inept that for one moment Ryan hoped that they would surrender. Chilling them would be like chilling defenseless children, and if they lived then at least he stood a chance of learning something from them about the redoubt.

  But any such hope was fleeting. They may be tactically inept and have no experience of combat, but their courage couldn't, at the moment of truth, be doubted. Two of the soldiers fell flat, laying down a covering fire while the others charged forward, headed for the alleys where the companions were firing from cover. They kept firing as they ran, the laser beams raking the head of the alley. Their hope was that they could stop the companions from firing by making it too hard to take aim, and perhaps hit some of them by chance. It was an insane, suicidal tactic, and they were picked off with ease. The combat was over in a matter of seconds, and the Illuminated Ones lay scattered across the road, their chilled corpses zigzagged by lines of burned flesh and charred cloth where the laser blasts had claimed them.

  The companions emerged from cover and surveyed the charnel house before them.

  "They did not have a chance, really, did they?" Doc asked, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

  "Shouldn't feel sorry for them," Mildred said sharply. "Look how ill you are, Doc—they're part of the problem."

  "Ah, but is it really that simple?" the old man mused. "Consider, dear Doctor—they have spent several generations underground being fed a doctrine that leads them to act as they do
. Granted, that is not our concern. But can we not spare the briefest of thoughts? After all, if we had been born where they were, would we be any different?"

  "Probably not," Ryan replied before Mildred could answer. "But the harsh truth is that it's not our problem."

  Any further reflection was stopped by the arrival of Gloria, with Tammy close behind.

  "The other wag escaped," Gloria said without preamble.

  "We tried, but couldn't do any damage to stop it," Tammy added.

  Ryan nodded. "It's okay. This one was already damaged enough to slow it when it got this far…gave us a better chance. And we only need one, if we act quickly."

  Without further explanation, Ryan strode past the Gate warriors and the chilled Illuminated Ones, and climbed into the back of the wag. J.B. followed him, and found the one-eyed man examining the comps and control panel of the wag.

  "What do you reckon, J.B.?" Ryan asked without turning.

  "Three tires out—that should be easy to fix if we raid some ville wags for spares," the Armorer commented. "Some damage underneath by the look of the smoke—mebbe electrics, as the main chassis system seemed to be working okay. Give that a check. If it was the electrics, then mebbe the comps don't work."

  "Let's see," Ryan said, flicking a switch. The console lit up. "They've got an emergency system, at least. Radio's shot to shit, though," he added, attempting to get some life out of it.

  "That's good. No way of telling who's in the wag, then."

  Ryan agreed. "Otherwise, it looks like an ordinary wag. As long as there's a stick shift, a wheel and some pedals, we can ignore the rest of the comp shit." He stood back, thought for a moment, then nodded decisively. "Yeah, it'll do."

  The Armorer took off his spectacles and polished them. "Let's get to it, then. Quicker we move, less suspicious they'll be at the redoubt."

  "Right," Ryan agreed. "You explain to the others and to Gloria. I need to talk to Robertson. We'll need his help, and it's about time he was put in the picture, considering what those coldhearts have done to his ville."

  J.B. didn't bother to answer. With a brief nod he was already about his task before Ryan's last word had died away.

  Chapter Eight

  "Ryan, you wanna tell us what the fuck that was all about, and how come you got some of those fancy blasters that those coldheart bastards had? And another thing, what the fuck is going on here with all these naked women running about beating the shit out of everyone and what the fuck does this have to do with the fact that my ville is getting shot to shit by that ugly bastard disease that Hector can't stop and—"

  "Whoa, slow down, there!" The one-eyed man held up his hands in an imprecation of surrender as the baron continued to talk loudly and at a rapid pace. The normally laid back Robertson was highly agitated and animated, which, Ryan had to admit to himself, was hardly surprising after the events of the past few hours. But now it was Ryan's task to try to calm him down so they could talk rationally about what was going on.

  "You don't tell the baron to slow down when you've just shot the fuck out of the main drag," Yardie raged. The fat man waddled across the room, his face flushed and angry, eyes bulging, until he was right in Ryan's face and the one-eyed warrior could smell the man's bad body odor and spirit soaked breath.

  "And you don't do that to me," Ryan answered with an icy calm and a voice so low that it was barely audible. "If you want to talk about this in a reasonable manner, then we will. I came here to put you in the picture, after all. But if you want to play it hard, then I'll break your fucking neck before talking to the baron. Do you understand me, Yardie?"

  The fat man wilted visibly before Ryan, his eyes registering the cold look on the man's scarred face.

  "Yeah, well, I suppose you should have a chance to explain what's been going down," the fat sec man mumbled, backing off.

  "Good," Ryan said. "Now, if you'll let me explain without butting in, then I can tell you the whole story, and what we need from you in the way of help."

  Robertson nodded. "Okay, you always seemed kinda straight, so I guess the least I can do is hold my tongue till you've finished."

  Ryan began to tell the baron and the fat sec man about the Illuminated Ones, and how his people and the Gate had ended up in the vicinity of Crossroads. He was, as ever, careful to avoid mentioning the redoubts and the mat-trans. He did, however, sketch in as much background detail as possible about the Illuminated Ones and their plans to take over the land. Much of this was still guesswork, but he presented it as fact in order to gain the ear of the baron.

  Not that it seemed necessary. Robertson's daughter—the first to contract the disease after being taken by the Illuminated Ones—was dead, and her corpse, along with all the others that had amassed since the disease had taken hold, had been burned on the advice of Hector, who had obviously taken in all that Mildred had told him about such diseases. The baron was still carrying the pain from this, and it had cut him deeper than he was willing to admit. Whatever it took to end this horror, he was willing to take his part.

  "So, you tellin' me that you can get into their strong hold and wipe these motherfuckers out?"

  "Got to."

  Robertson sat back, shaking his head, for a moment lost in his own thoughts. Finally, he spoke. "You reckon this plan of yours will actually work?"

  Ryan shrugged. "It's our only chance. If we act quickly, then they may well figure that the damaged wag took a little longer to limp home. Me and J.B. had a look at the comps and electrics on the wag, and the radio system is shot, so they won't expect a radio response if they call us up when we get near. I figure they'll have sec cameras around the entrance to the redoubt, and they'll see the wag come up alone, and want to let us in. The Gate and anyone else who wants a firefight against these bastards—" he directed a glare at the now less belligerent and still silent Yardie "—will come up at a distance, using cover. The Gate know that land by now, and they'll keep everyone out of sight."

  "And you'll just get out of the wag, say hi and open the doors to everyone?" Despite his lack of hostility, there was still a skeptical note to the baron's voice.

  Ryan smiled. "Yeah, weird as it sounds. Listen, you've got to remember that we've fought these coldheart bastards before, and we know what they're like. They've spent too long underground, and although they had better blasters and a lot of working old tech, they couldn't hold their own in a firefight. You must have seen how the ones in the wag acted when they got out to fight us."

  Yardie broke his silence, his voice sounding uncertain, although the words were, "Yeah, I figure he's right, baron. I saw them, just like a bunch of kids learning the basics of fighting. Come to that, I figure that a bunch of kids would have more suss than that."

  Baron Robertson nodded slowly, biting his lip. "So they'd be so stupe as to just let you in?"

  "Yeah, I figure so. And we'll be wearing the uniforms, so they won't be expecting us to suddenly turn on them when we get out of the wag. By the time they've gathered themselves, then we'll be at their throats and have the main sec doors open."

  "How you gonna manage that?" Yardie asked, but this time there was no sneer of disbelief in the sec man's voice, rather a genuine interest.

  "Seen it in their last place," Ryan lied, unwilling to divulge further information. "They always scratch the code for the door above the keypad. Mebbe it's so they don't forget if they panic. It was all over the last place they were at. I can't see that this would be any different."

  The baron sighed heavily. "This is all too weird. Weird fuckers who come out of the ground and try to chill everyone with some old disease so that they can take over and rule a land where everyone else has taken the last train west… I mean, shit—a disease that goes back beyond the nukecaust?"

  "It may be hard to believe, Baron, but it's as near to the truth as any of us can make out," Ryan said evenly. "I don't understand why they're doing it any more than you do. But it doesn't matter—the only thing that actually matters is that th
ey are doing it. Just ask Hector if you don't believe me or Mildred. We've got a chance to stop them. And if we don't take that chance, then…" Ryan shrugged, leaving the baron to make his own conclusion.

  "Hell, Baron, I'd rather die in a firefight than from that disease," Yardie whispered, almost visibly quailing at the thought.

  Robertson seemed lost in thought for the moment, then suddenly shook his head. "No, you're right. We always try to keep out of trouble, here. You never know who might pay you jack, right? But this is more than that. Yeah, you've got our help, Ryan. Just tell me what you need."

  Ryan grinned. "Time, but there ain't shit you can do about that. Otherwise…"

  "KEEP IT STEADY. The last thing we want is for more chilling before we even start," J.B. muttered through clenched teeth as the Illuminated wag was jacked up a little higher to enable himself and Dean to gain a greater access to the underneath of the chassis.

  "No real damage," Dean commented. "These wags are real good pieces of work." He tapped the metal casings with a wrench. "If we could find out what this metal's actually made of—"

  "I know, I know," the Armorer said sharply, cutting him off, "but right now I just want to get this done before it falls on us."

  Dean followed J.B.'s gaze, and understood his feelings. The jacks that were holding both ends of the wag off the ground were old and rusty. Whether it was real or not, J.B. felt that he could almost see them buckling under the strain. Jak and two of the Crossroads dwellers had already changed the tires that the albino teen had shot out, unbolting the wheels from behind the alloy wheel guards and replacing the exploded rubber with worn but still serviceable tires plundered from wags around the ville. The four wheel drive vehicle had a large wheel radius and girth, and it had been a struggle to find wheels that would match. Eventually, a pair of old tractor wags had been located in one of the field barns, left to rot when their engines had given out and replacement parts couldn't be found. Both had rear wheel drive, and on both the tires for those rear wheels had been still in good order. They had been rapidly plundered and placed on the Illuminated wag.