Axler, James - Deathlands 60 - Destiny's Truth

by Destiny's Truth [lit]

  With tires in place, it was J.B. and Dean's responsibility to check that no damage had been done to the systems, and to this end Mildred was in the wag, operating the drive and braking systems, the engine whining and roaring as the wheels rotated, turning on their axles as she turned the wag left and right and put it into reverse.

  It would seem that the alliance of Crossroads, companions and Gate were in luck. All the essential drive systems of the wag were in working order. The wiring that had fired and fused was involved with the comp systems alone. The wag had cut out because the onboard comps appeared to act as a pilot, with a course plotting program—to judge from the maps Mildred had found—that would assist the driver. However, there was a fail safe device on the dash that enabled the driver to switch over to manual, which was perhaps how the wag had fired up again during battle.

  What it meant, more importantly, was that the wag could be fully operational as transport without using the comps. The sec devices on the wag wouldn't be of any use, but as there were notably few other wags in the Deathlands that had anything even approaching such a sophisticated system, this was hardly something that would bother the attack party. The important thing was that the wag worked, and could be used as the decoy to gain access to the redoubt.

  Especially as the braking and drive systems were in full working order. J.B. and Dean had now ascertained this, and were quickly checking the casings beneath for any other damage, as a safety check lest the vehicle suddenly give out on the way to the redoubt.

  "Everything's A-OK here," Dean yelled over the engine noise.

  "Yeah, same here," J.B. gritted, sweat spangling his brow. "Let's get out from under here."

  Even though he spoke almost too softly to be heard over the roar of the engine, Dean was able to ascertain his meaning, and was as swift as the Armorer in scrambling out from underneath the wag.

  "Kill the engine, Millie," J.B. yelled, wondering if it would be possible for Mildred to hear him over the wag noise.

  Obviously, it was possible for her to hear him. Mildred turned off the wag's ignition, and the vehicle shuddered on its jack supports so violently that the wag shifted, the weight redistribution proving too much for the rusty jacks to support. With a creak, and the sharp snap of breaking metal, the jacks gave way under the wag—first two at diagonal corners, then the other two rapidly following as they found themselves unable to adjust to the sudden sharp increase in weight that they were forced to bear. With a crash that made the wag vibrate violently and raised clouds of dirt and tarmac riddled dust, the vehicle crashed to the road.

  "Hot pipe, that could have been us under there," Dean breathed.

  "Good thing it wasn't," J.B. returned, "but Millie's still inside."

  Without waiting for an answer from the younger Cawdor, the Armorer rushed toward the wag. He reached it as the side exit door opened, and a visibly shaken Mildred climbed out.

  "You okay?" J.B. asked anxiously, grabbing her as she stumbled and nearly fell.

  "Yeah, I think so, John," she replied slowly. "I think I might have picked up a little whiplash, as I wasn't ready for that, but otherwise…I feel like I ache all over."

  "It wasn't that bad a crash," Dean said, approaching her.

  Mildred looked at him and laughed. "Could have put that a little better, but you're right. Normally I could have ridden that without blinking. But I'm getting weaker all the time. Jak and Doc must be, as well. It's this damn disease. The sooner we get after the redoubt the better."

  Ryan and Yardie had heard the crash as they left the baron's house, and came running.

  "Fireblast! You okay, Mildred?" Ryan asked.

  "Sure. What did Robertson have to say?" she returned, not wanting to dwell on her own problems and keen to make progress with the objective.

  Ryan filled them in as Yardie arrived, puffing and blowing hard. The sec man agreed with Ryan that his people would help in whatever way they could, although he was quick to point out that the Gate and the companions were far better equipped for the task. It may have seemed like cowardice on first hearing, but there was little doubt that the sec chief was correct. The Crossroads dwellers had spent too long living a relatively danger free life to really have any grasp of serious combat.

  "So, what now?" Dean asked when his father had finished.

  "Round up the others. I've got to find Gloria and Tammy. We need to get the plan into place so we all know what we're doing." He looked up at the sky. Twilight was fast turning into night. "The dark will help us, if we can move in the next hour or two, then we can reach the redoubt and get in before sunrise, which'll give us better cover. But we'll have to move it."

  "Leave it to me," Dean said. "If J.B. and Mildred stay here, I'll find Jak, Doc and Krysty. I figure I know where they may be, anyway."

  "Okay," Ryan said grimly. "Let's go to it. There's no time to lose."

  While the one-eyed man headed off to the area where the Gate appeared to be gathered, Dean headed toward the hospital. Along the way, he detoured toward the barn where the two wheel drive tractors had been found. The barn was on the edge of town, and was silent and dark as he approached. But he had a notion that he would find Jak still there, as the albino hadn't returned with the salvaged tires.

  Dean approached openly, using what little light there was so that Jak would be able to see him and not mistake him for an attacker. At all times, the albino was always on the defensive.

  "Jak, you there?" he called softly as he reached the open doors of the barn. There was no answer, and as he peered into the darkness, it was impossible to make out any shapes within. "Jak?" he repeated a little louder.

  A white wraith, like a shadow in negative, rose from the recesses at the back of the barn.

  "Dean? What want?" Jak's voice was small, like one roused from sleep. At the same time, he sounded weary.

  "We're meeting to plan the attack. Got to round up Doc and Krysty, too, but I figured I'd find you here."

  "Why?" Jak was still at the back of the barn, moving slowly as he dressed.

  Dean shrugged. "Figured you'd need some rest, and mebbe you'd find the quietest place."

  "Figure right," Jak replied, moving forward, now fully dressed. "Tired easily. Pox eating me. Clothes hurt on skin, needed to let it breathe. Mebbe try relax totally. Need quiet for that."

  "Damn—sorry I had to disturb you," Dean said, the concern in his voice showing as Jak came out into the twilight. His white hair and pale skin seemed—if it were possible—to be more ashen than usual.

  "Okay." Jak shrugged. "Need rest but know no time left. We need move. What now?"

  "Now we get Krysty and Doc, and I'm pretty sure I know where they are."

  "Then let's go," Jak replied, setting his suddenly frail frame to move onward. "Where?"

  "I figure the med building. Mebbe they'll get an idea of how bad the disease is spreading."

  Without bothering to answer, Jak nodded and joined Dean as they moved back in toward the center of the ville.

  The closer they got to the center, the louder the hum of activity and the more bodies could be seen swarming around, looking busy. But there was one oasis of complete calm and silence—almost, it seemed, deliberately and completely ignored. It was toward this oasis that they headed, for it was here that the med building was located.

  "Really funny how everyone's avoiding this part of the ville," Dean commented with some sarcasm as they approached.

  "Not really," Jak replied, ignoring the wit as he thought of his own reasons for wanting to block out the idea of the pox.

  Dean said nothing more. They covered the last few yards in silence, and Dean carefully opened the door, making as little noise as possible.

  As he and Jak entered, he was taken aback at how the building had changed since the last time he had set foot in it. Before, Hector had managed, with the help of his workers, to keep the small block clean and fresh smelling, even though it was beginning to become overcrowded.

  Now, it was bedlam. T
he smell of the charnel house permeated the air, cutting through even the few measures that he had the time to take against the odor of chilling and decay. Every bed was full, and there were pallets in every available space, each with its own patient slowly fading. It was quiet within the four walls, but not silent. Low groans of agony, the murmurs of delirium, and the hushed talk of those who were still aware and of the ville healer himself mixed together in a low level burble of anguished sound.

  It looked as though the ville women who had previously aided the healer had either succumbed or opted out of helping, as he seemed to be coping almost by himself. The only assistance he had right now was that of Doc and Krysty, who were doing their best to fill the breach, even though the old man himself had begun the first stages of the disease.

  "Shit," Jak whispered softly to himself, getting an unwelcome picture of what was ahead.

  His distinctive voice cut through the burble and caused both Krysty and Doc to turn and face the door.

  "My dear lad," Doc began, "are you here to assist, or because you yourself have taken a turn for the worse?"

  Jak didn't answer—seemingly didn't hear—as he surveyed the carnage spread across the beds and floor space of the med building. But Dean was quick to reply.

  "I've come to round you all up—found Jak, now you two. We're going to get the plan of action."

  "We're ready to move already?" Krysty asked, not looking up from the patient she was tending.

  "The Gate are assembling, and we're all getting a full briefing."

  Krysty smiled crookedly, and said wryly, "Probably the sort of language those coldhearts use about planning a fight."

  "Yeah, but if we're gonna best them, then what better way to think of it?" Dean replied.

  Krysty turned to Hector. "Reckon you'll be able to cope until we get back?"

  "You think you will?" Hector looked at her, his eyes deep into his head, shot through with red and lined with black and discolored skin. He had the initial stages of the disease, and was still working himself harder than his sick body could cope. He knew that his time was limited, but he was determined not to give in to the pox until he had no choice.

  Krysty shook her head. "Mebbe, mebbe not. I don't want to give you a false hope. All I know is that we'll fight to the last one of us to try and get out of there with the antidote, and with any disease they have in there completely destroyed. Because if we don't, then we're all chilled anyway."

  Hector's face creased into something that may once have been a smile, but in his weariness and illness came out as more of a grimace. "Well, if you're going to do that, then I guess the least I can do is try and keep it together here until you get back."

  "Good man. Now we'll have to move," Krysty replied, bidding him farewell as she and Doc joined Dean and Jak, leaving the hospital and making their way rapidly toward the center of the ville. As they went, Dean explained that the wag was ready, and told them that J.B. and Mildred were waiting while Ryan went in search of Gloria and Tammy.

  RYAN CAWDOR WONDERED what Gloria and Tammy had been up to when he had left J.B. and Mildred, heading toward the north end of the drag. After the firefight that had resulted in the chilling of the Illuminated Ones, and it was clear that the battle was over and won, the Gate had massed in the center of the drag, waiting for word from their leader. Gloria had come and surveyed the chilled, and had then disappeared toward her people. They had moved up toward the north end of the drag, and—Ryan assumed—Robertson's people had taken away the corpses of the Illuminated soldiers when they cleared their own chilled.

  It was only when Ryan approached the cluster of Gate people that he realized that something else was going on. He could hear the crackle of flames, and from the center of the group a light began to rise and illuminate the area around, silhouetting the warriors as they stood. There was also a low mumble, like a chant he couldn't understand.

  Ryan pushed his way through the throng, the Gate people giving way easily when they saw who was trying to move through them. The one-eyed man reached the center of the gathering, which had circled around a rapidly built fire. Gloria and Tammy were in the middle, leading the chanting. In front of them lay a pile of corpses. From their pale skin, mixed sex and the tightly cropped hair, Ryan guessed that these must be the corpses of the Illuminated Ones. But where were their uniforms?

  Gloria was still chanting, almost in a trance, but Tammy was aware enough to see the one-eyed man as he emerged at the front of the crowd. She left her queen for a moment and approached him.

  "What's happening?" Ryan asked, indicating the fire and the pile of corpses.

  "You know our tradition," Tammy replied. "We burn the chilled, as we're always on the move. And although these people were our enemies, as they enter the next realm they are warriors stripped bare of allegiance, just like ourselves. It's the least we can do to give them a noble departure."

  "I appreciate that, Tammy, but we can't waste time. The wag is ready to roll, and we need to all know what we're doing triple fast if we're going to move and be in place before sunrise."

  Tammy nodded. "It'll be okay, Ryan. We're nearly through."

  Ryan cast his eye over the corpses. "Yeah, I don't want to fuck with your ways, but what have you done with their uniforms? We're really going to need those."

  Tammy grinned. "You don't need to be dressed to enter the next realm, for fuck's sake. We stripped them 'cause Gloria figured you'd need them. I'll get them for you."

  "That would be good. Then I'll leave you to finish in peace. But tell Gloria we can't waste time."

  "She won't want to," Tammy answered before departing swiftly to collect the uniforms. Within a couple of minutes, she had returned from the other side of the circle and handed a pile of clothing to Ryan.

  "Now go. We'll be with you soon, and we'll bring the headpieces with us. They're too many for one to carry, and besides you need to figure who'll fit these," she said.

  Ryan nodded, then left the Gate people to their ceremony.

  "What the hell are those women doing?" Yardie asked as Ryan passed him with the uniforms.

  "Something that's none of our business," Ryan snapped, "so leave them until they're done. Then we go over the plan. Everything set?"

  The fat sec man nodded. "We've handed as much of our ammo and blasters over to J.B. as we can spare—we have to keep some kind of sec for ourselves, just in case—and any wags or other transport that you need has been readied."

  "Other transport?" asked the one-eyed man, baffled.

  The fat sec man nodded. "We've got a few horse-drawn carts, and the horses for them. I know the Gate have theirs, but I figure they may be useful. Some of us want to volunteer to go with you, as well."

  "But you said—"

  Yardie held up his hands. "I know what I said, and I wasn't wrong. You and the Gate are far better fighters than we'll ever be. But that don't matter. We can help, and if we don't, well, that might be the margin between winning and losing. Between us all having a future or not. And that's a gamble I ain't willing to make."

  Ryan grasped the fat man by the arm. "Shit, you got more balls than I thought, and I'm sorry I doubted and misjudged you."

  Yardie gave a short laugh. "Dunno about that—I got more balls than I thought!"

  Ryan grinned. "Okay, you gather everyone from Crossroads who you can, and we'll meet at the south end of the drag as soon as the Gate have finished. I mean everyone, too. Even those who'll be staying here. I want everyone to know what's going on. It's not a difficult plan, but so many people involved makes it that way."

  Yardie nodded his understanding and left the one-eyed man as he went to gather any of the Crossroads dwellers who were still standing and fit enough to take part in some way in the action ahead.

  Ryan headed back to the wag, where he found Mildred had been joined by Jak, Dean, Doc and Krysty.

  "Fireblast! Where the fuck has J.B. gone?"

  "Armory," Mildred answered. "They're turning guns and ammo over to
us, and John wanted to see what we had before we started."

  "There isn't time. When everyone else is preparing—"

  "—I can check the weapons and get them working then," J.B. finished, coming up as Ryan spoke. "I just wanted to get an overall idea of what we had."

  "Which is?" Ryan asked.

  The Armorer shook his head. "Not much. But the Gate have enough of an armory as it is, and we'll be okay. Plus there are some more laser blasters from the chilled Illuminated Ones."

  "Speaking of which," Mildred interjected, "what are we gonna do about those?" She indicated the uniforms Ryan was carrying.

  "That's a good question," the one-eyed man said softly. "I figure we can only divide these up according to who they fit. They won't notice anything at first, as long as the uniforms fit."

  "What about the helmets?" Krysty asked.

  "The Gate will bring those. They're not so important, and I'd guess they're all one size but adjustable, if they're anything like the ones we've come across before."

  "Okay," the red-haired woman agreed. "I guess we'd better get these fitted up if possible, then."

  She took the uniforms from Ryan and began to hold them up, one by one. They were marked by the burns of the laser blasters that had chilled their original occupants, but the biggest problem was their size. Some of them were large enough for Ryan or Krysty to fit into, but a couple of them were too small for Dean or Doc.

  "Shit—I really didn't want to leave any one of us out of the wag," Ryan said. "Any of the Gate may be able to cope with the wag and keeping up the deception until we can get those sec doors open, but…"

  "But you would rather have people around you that you can trust totally, and who you know will cover your back?" Doc queried.