Deathlands 51-Rat King

by Axler, James

  She moved closer to Ryan, grasping his arm and pulling him toward her so that she could yell—albeit as quietly as possible—in his ear.

  "Trouble coming, lover."

  "What kind?" he asked, inclining his head so that his mouth was near her ear as he shouted over the noise of the storm.

  Krysty shook her head. "Can't say. It's just getting stronger, that's all." She shivered. "We need to keep alert."

  Ryan looked around him. His people were clustered in a small group headed up by Tod and Tilly, with Mac and the two tongueless sec men bringing up the rear. Their flanks were unprotected.

  Ryan cupped Krysty's cheek in his hand. "We always need to keep alert," he said. "Let's warn the others."

  He moved off and spoke rapidly to Dean and Jak, while Krysty headed for J.B. and Mildred.

  "How's the ankle?" she added to J.B. after telling them of the situation.

  The Armorer shook his head but didn't speak, the pain bringing him to his most taciturn.

  "Dammit John, you shouldn't have to walk on it," Mildred said heatedly. "I should have strapped it up hours ago, at the very least."

  "Sometimes we just can't do what we should," J.B. gritted, leaning a little heavier on Mildred as the pain broke through his concentration.

  Krysty and Mildred exchanged glances. It was obvious that the Armorer's injury was worse that he was letting on, and that could make things difficult if they were attacked by anyone—or anything.

  Meanwhile Ryan had told Dean and Jak of Krysty's feeling, trying, impossibly, to shout quietly. There was no way that he wanted Mac and his sec men to know— at this stage—that Krysty had mutie traits. Chances were that they were muties themselves—hell, it seemed obvious after their leap across the chasm—but people across Deathlands were suspicious of any mutie traits.

  Because of the very weather conditions that made him have to shout, his voice failed to carry back to Mac and the mute guards. They showed no interest in what he was saying, contenting themselves with a desultory glance around the swirling storm fog.

  "Mebbe surprises for everyone," Jak said, palming one of the razor-sharp leaf-bladed knives from his patched jacket.

  Ryan hid his surprise behind an impassive mask honed through years of experience. Dean didn't find it so easy, and his father looked back to see if his surprise had registered with their captors.

  It didn't seem so.

  "Hot pipe!" Dean exclaimed. "How come they let you keep them?"

  "Just take blaster—not bother search me," Jak commented with a shrug that spoke volumes.

  "Triple-stupe bastards," Dean said. It was lost in the storm, but Ryan and Jak got the gist and nodded their agreement.

  "Guess they didn't expect you to conceal anything," Ryan mused.

  "Not used searching. Murphy's men were," Jak said, palming the blade back into its hiding place.

  It was a good point. Ryan had become increasingly aware, as had Jak with his fighter's instincts, that their captors were used to a certain set of conditions and a certain set of enemies. Used to them to the degree that they didn't expect anything outside of their limited experience.

  That could be good. If the chance came, Ryan felt sure that his people could take their attackers, despite the advantage they had of carrying blasters.

  If the chance came. First they had the possibility of an outside attack.

  Ryan, Dean and Jak dropped back a little, until they were level with Krysty, J.B. and Mildred. Ryan viewed the Armorer's stance with concern.

  "How bad is it?" he asked.

  J.B. grimaced in reply, gesturing with his hand to indicate it was okay, but…

  "No bullshit, J.B.," Ryan said carefully. "I think we can take them if the chance comes, so I need to know for sure."

  "For real? Might as well dump me now," J.B. said flatly, drawing an appalled glance from Mildred. "Slows me up too much. I'm as much use as a fart in a methane tank."

  Ryan merely nodded. It would take a lot for him to leave J.B. behind.

  But maybe what they were about to face was a lot. The sudden spray of earth and the inhuman roar as it rose from the ground was certainly no small problem.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Dark night! What kind of mutie is that?" J.B. whispered, rooted to the spot as the creature rose out of the earth, showering dirt and dust that caught in the whirl of the storm and formed an almost opaque curtain around the rising shape.

  "Fireblast! Scatter," Ryan yelled, pushing Dean away from him and falling in the opposite direction, temporarily blinded as specks of dust hit his good eye, making it sting and close in a mist of tears. He felt the earth beneath him as he hit, rippling with the disturbance of the uprising.

  He rolled, blinking and clawing at his eye to clear his vision. As he righted, it returned to him in a blurred and distorted form. He almost wished it hadn't.

  It was a lizard of some kind, hideously mutated and grossly enlarged, but probably descended from the Gila lizards that still roamed the desert plains. Its tail flicked out behind it as it emerged from its hiding place and looked around, the cold, blank eyes taking in the scene of confusion, unblinking in the face of the storm and protected by a thick yet transparent skin that covered the eyeball.

  Ryan estimated the creature to be about twenty feet in length, stretching up to five and a half feet in height at the tip of its head. About half of the body length was in the tail, which flicked ominously behind. The bandy, scaled legs were planted firmly in the soft, freshly churned earth, sinking deep into the soil.

  Casting a glance behind him, Ryan could see that their captors had retreated several yards and were spreading out into a fan formation to try to deal with the creature from a variety of angles, spacing themselves so that it wouldn't be able to take more than one of them with the wickedly vicious tongue that now shot out toward Dean.

  Ryan watched helplessly, knowing that he wouldn't be close enough to help his son. The tongue, dripping venom, snaked out at speed. Dean was still on his butt, where he had fallen when pushed by his father as the lizard erupted from the earth.

  The boy yelped in shock and surprise, but had sense enough to allow his instincts to take over. Pushing himself up with his feet, balancing by thrusting his arms behind him, he scooted backward in an ungainly crab-like manner. Ungainly it might have been, but it allowed him to get up enough speed to evade the tongue, which lashed at the earth.

  The lizard retracted its tongue, screeching in frustration.

  Ryan made it across to his son in a few strides, plucking at Dean's arm and helping the boy scramble to his feet. Father and son retreated a few more yards before taking shelter behind a pile of rocks and earth strewed about when the lizard erupted onto the surface.

  "Good evasive move," Ryan panted. "You're learning fast, son."

  "Either that or get chilled," Dean replied with a grin. "But why aren't they trying to chill that thing?"

  "Mebbe they've just got to take their time. They must be used to them," Ryan answered.

  But it was a good point. What were they doing?

  It was a question that J.B. and Mildred were also asking themselves. They had dived to the ground and inched toward the scant cover offered by a few rocks. It wasn't much, but on the flat valley floor it was all they could find.

  J.B. eyed the fan formation adopted by the outsiders, and also ran an appraising eye over the blasters before taking another look at the lizard.

  "They haven't got a hope," he said flatly.

  Mildred furrowed her brow. "What do you mean, John?"

  J.B. pointed to the lizard. "You see the scaling on that? It'll be like the armor on a war wag. Those homemade blasters are powerful, but they won't have the ammo to get through. Either ordinary lead or the collection of junk that goes in that giant bastard's blaster? Not enough."

  "You're right," Mildred said flatly, following his reasoning. "They need steel-tipped—"

  "Or some good plas-ex to pitch down its throat," he added with gr
im humor. "None of the calibers will be strong enough, and the shotgun blast may itch it a little, but otherwise it'll just ricochet off—"

  "Right, so heads down," Mildred shouted as she saw Tod draw a bead on the lizard.

  The giant leveled his blaster, then raised the barrels slightly, sighting along them to line himself with the lizard's head. It turned its eyes to him, impassive as he pressed the trigger and took the bucking recoil as though it were nothing more than a feather.

  The lizard raised its head and screeched, turning to one side so that the load of metal and scrap discharged by the homemade shotgun hit the scaly, armored skin and flew off at a variety of angles, showering the ground around with hot metal. There was a very slight scorching on the scaled skin, but otherwise no damage.

  Ryan saw Tod mouth a curse before the lizard turned to him, flicking out its lengthy tongue.

  In order for him to get within a truly effective range, Tod had also moved within reach of the lizard's tongue. He was too stunned by the ineffectiveness of his blaster to move quickly, which was his downfall.

  The tongue whipped across the space between them, the venom hitting the giant before the tongue itself as droplets shot off the end, propelled by the speed at which the snaking pink rope moved.

  Tod screamed as the venom hit him, eating like acid through his patched denims and dissolving his skin. One drop hit him below the left eye, stripping the skin away on his cheekbone, leaving raw and bloody flesh. The eyeball caught some of the vitriol and seemingly dissolved, the aqueous humor running down onto the exposed and bleeding mess of his cheek.

  The scream stopped with a choke as the tongue curled around his head, muffling and choking any resistance. He was pulled forward and onto his belly as the lizard began to retract its tongue, dragging him toward it, his legs kicking in the dust, arms flailing at the tongue that encircled his head.

  The fact that Tod was such a big man made the lizard slower than usual in retracting its tongue. Slow enough to allow Tilly to run at it with a piercing scream, wielding one of her knives. Mac and the two mutie sec men covered her with blasterfire that pinged off the lizard's skin as though they were insects buzzing against it.

  Ryan thought she'd go for the weak spot on the lizard, but he became instantly aware of the bond that existed between Tilly and Tod as she headed for the tongue wrapped around his head, hacking at it with the knife, trying to free him, regardless of the fact that the acid had to have already brought him close to death, his arms and legs becoming more and more feeble in their thrashing; regardless of the way that the venom ate into her own rags, scarring skin that was already raw and weeping from old burn wounds.

  The lizard made a rumbling sound in its throat and moved one large foot, the claw coming loose from the soil in a shower of dirt and dust. It was in pain, and concentrated entirely on that which was causing the pain: Tilly.

  Mac and the sec men had no ideas on how to tackle the lizard. They just kept blasting ineffectively. But the fact that its attention was focused on the two human objects occupying its immense tongue meant that there was an opportunity for someone with a better idea to act, providing they could move swiftly.

  Like Jak.

  Ignoring the whining slugs from the sec men's blasters as they rained around him in ricochet, the small and wiry albino took to his feet, running low to the ground and zigzagging to keep as much out of the lizard's eye line as possible. Ideally he would have run straight toward it, taking a path between the side-facing eyes and so hitting the creature in its blind spot. He remembered a mutie hare that had run into him when he was young. Walking across some swamp ground, he had seen the creature running toward him and had figured it would move out of his way. But it didn't. Instead, it ran straight into him, breaking its mutie-weakened neck on the toecap of his heavy boot. Jak had wondered why, until he realized that the hare had eyes on each side of its head, facing out and around…but unable to swivel so that it could see what was in front of its nose.

  It was a lesson he had never forgotten. Unfortunately, right in front of the lizard's nose was its acid-venom tongue, wrapped around Tod's head.

  The creature's attention seemed focused on its tongue and the irritation caused by Tilly screaming and trying to hack at the pink, thick and veiny length with one of her knives. Her screams were part frustration and part pain as the acid venom ate through her rags and into her flesh.

  Tod had stopped moving. She was too late; he was already dead. The only thing that was keeping her going was frustration and hysteria.

  Good. Let her distract the creature so that it didn't notice the small albino figure who flitted in and out of the corner of its vision.

  Ironically Jak's progress was slowed by the sudden diminution of the storm. The whirling dust had given him some cover from the creature, and now he had to hope that its attention didn't stray to the sides…at least not until he was underneath the body and into another blind spot.

  His progress was slowed by the churned-up earth. It slipped under his feet, undermining his balance, making it hard to maintain speed and keep upright. Sweat ran down his matted hair, dripping off the strands that hung over his face, stinging his eyes.

  Jak ignored it, focused only on the task he had set himself.

  He circled to the creature's left flank, so that he was running parallel to, and almost underneath, its body. He could feel the coldness coming off the scaly skin. He bent as low as he could, coming up the side, boots slipping and sliding on the loose clods of earth and the powdery topsoil.

  His companions watched him as he moved to one side, his head just appearing over the top of the lizard's body before he ducked lower, lost to view as the still fighting Tilly and the corpse of Tod blocked their view. The body was getting closer to the mouth, leaving a wet, indented trail on the ground as it was slowly dragged closer to the maw.

  Around on the left flank, Jak moved in closer to the drooping belly. His red eyes glittered with concentration as he took in the narrowing gap. It was about twelve inches. He was small and slight enough to make it without having to scrabble out some of the loose earth and so alert the creature as to what was happening beneath it.

  Without hesitation Jak sank onto his belly and snaked beneath the creature, slithering like its kind as he prised himself between the belly of the lizard and the loose earth between its splayed feet.

  He turned as he moved beneath, coming out under the head of the beast on his back. Drops of saliva and tongue venom dripped around his head, but he didn't notice. If it fell on him, there was little he could do to prevent it. He accepted the risk with his usual unspoken fatalism. In the Deathlands you either chilled or got chilled. There was no other choice.

  Free of the lizard's body, Jak was directly beneath the soft throat and jaw of the beast. He could feel, rather than smell, its fetid breath as it filled the air around him.

  Jak pulled his body upright, sitting beneath the throat of the lizard with his knees pulled up, ready to spring to his feet. He palmed one of his leaf-bladed knives. They were designed and honed for throwing, but were also useful in hand-to-hand combat. The razor-sharp edge should have just the cutting power he desired. The last thing he wanted was for it to get stuck.

  Ignoring the stench that filled his mouth and nose, Jak took a deep breath and thrust down with his calf muscles, propelling himself up with a force that made his stomach muscles ripple and strain with the effort. He rose to his feet beneath the creature, and before he was more than halfway up he made the first sweeping incision in the soft scales that covered the gizzard.

  Even the softest parts of the mutie lizard were tough, and Jak felt the resistance jar his arm as the knife bit into the scales. But with a little extra push, he penetrated the skin and felt the knife bite into soft flesh. He pulled across from left to right, feeling the flesh rip and tear as the point moved through the gizzard, the hilt of the knife left behind, following with just that slight degree of drag as it caught on the tougher skin.

&
nbsp; Blood started to drip from the wound, a shower that turned into a torrent as Jak hit an artery. The lizard released its tongue from around Tod as it tried to scream in agony, finding that its voice was reduced to a gurgle.

  Beneath the lizard's slit throat, Jak was hit by a sheet of stinking, hot blood that turned the ground beneath his feet into a mud bath. It covered him plastering his hair to his head, staining him as red as his albino eyes.

  The lizard's tongue whipped through the air in a random series of jerks, any control lost as the creature began to lose control of its motor functions.

  Tod's corpse lay on the ground, the head giving off steam as the heat from its enclosure hit the colder air of the storm. All who were looking on were grateful that the storm could obscure their view to some degree, as the giant seemed intact until their eyes reached his neck. There, any semblance to a human being ended. Strips of raw flesh hung off the skull, which in itself seemed to have shrunken and altered shape in some degree. It was as though the acid venom had somehow softened the bone, and the pressure of that immense tongue wrapped around the head had meant that the skull had been compressed so that it seemed elongated, and much too thin for its body.

  Tilly took one look at it and fell to her knees, howling in terror and heart-wrenching pain. She rocked back and forth, lost in her own world.

  It was to prove fatal. Jak had taken his drenching and stayed beneath the head of the beast for a good reason. While the tongue thrashed about aimlessly but dangerously, it was impossible to try to second-guess the creature's movements. There was a danger that it could collapse on him, but Jak would rather take his chances of using his speed to get free than risk being caught by the tongue.

  Such a thought didn't enter Tilly's anguished mind. She just stayed on her knees and howled.

  It was only a matter of time until the tongue caught her.

  Krysty tore her eyes away from the inevitable, catching sight of Mac and his two mute sec men. They had all stopped firing, and were watching the tableau in front of them in slack-jawed horror. She saw Mac mouth something and shake his head sadly.