Deathlands - Zero City Part 5

"Even if you sound like James Earl Jones."

"Who?"

The dishwasher musically chimed and stopped working.

"Ah, at last," Doc cried. Opening the door, he moved aside to avoid the outpouring of steam. Using his handkerchief with the blue swallow design, he retrieved his LeMat from the drying rack and laid it on the table to cool.

"Never seen anybody clean a blaster that way." J.B. laughed, his hands weaving laces in and out.

"That'd wreck my Uzi."

"Dissolve the nylon bus.h.i.+ngs, yes," Doc said, carefully replacing the wooden handle on the bare metal frame of the handcannon. "But I recall reading how J. E. B. Stuart used to boil his once a week to clean away the oily residue, while General George S. Patton soaked his in whiskey."

"Would have thought that would be Ulysses S. Grant."

"General Grant waste whiskey on a gun?"

J.B. chuckled. "I stand corrected."

"So, it's good for the LeMat?" Mildred asked, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Mandatory!" Doc exclaimed, juggling the hot blaster from hand to hand. "Absolutely mandatory. I seal the loading holes with grease to prevent a cross-firing. The old girl needs to be scrubbed every now and then, or else the works clog."

Scowling, J.B. opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. Doc was never going to upgrade to a decent blaster, and that was the end of the matter.

"Well, dinner is done," Mildred announced, turning down the heat and draining the excess water from the rice. A kitchen this big and no measuring cups? She poured it into a huge ceramic bowl, steam rising from the crumbling mound. "Start serving, Professor Tanner."

With a flourish, Doc slid his empty weapon back into its holster. Clean as a whistle, it was still much too warm to load. That would have to wait till later. "My pleasure, madam."

"I'll call the others," J.B. said, tying off the laces and going to the intercom on the wall. "Dean and Jak are still in the garage patching the Hummer together?"

"Last I heard," Mildred replied, lounging in a chair. Her part of the meal was over. Doc would serve and J.B wash up.

"So Ryan and Krysty are..."

She smiled. "Where else?"

Taking another seat, Doc barked a laugh, and then apologized for the rude behavior.

Smiling himself, J.B. glanced at the digital clock on the wall. "Well, okay, then. We'll give them another couple of minutes."

THE UNDERGROUND REDOUBT was designed to support a hundred soldiers and command staff, so there were plenty of private showers for the officers and s.p.a.cious group showers for the troops. Ryan and Krysty had investigated the commander's private bathroom, but the stall was too small for a couple, so they moved to one of the main showers in the barracks. Exactly as J.B. and Mildred had done earlier.

Clean warm water cascaded steadily from the sixteen showerheads onto the naked couple as Ryan soaped Krysty's back in long steady motions. The suds trickled down, covering her perfect b.u.t.tocks like the finest lace.

"Feels wonderful," Krysty purred as his hands moved over her shoulders, more ma.s.saging than scrubbing, then swept lightly forward to brush the outside of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

The redhead glanced backward and smiled. "You better be serious," she said deep in her throat.

"Always," Ryan replied, stepping closer to slide his hands over her slippery form to cup her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

He could feel her nipples instantly harden, and the woman arched her back, thrusting her b.u.t.tocks firmly against him. He stiffened in response, but didn't move, and for a brief period of time, they stayed that way, allowing the warm water to flow freely over them, easing away the rigors of the past week, savoring the moment of privacy and peace.

"Dinner will be ready soon," Ryan finally said, hating to break the mood. Krysty turned and kissed him full on the mouth. "Then shut up," she whispered, running her hands down his muscular torso.

Breathing deeply, Ryan crushed Krysty to his chest, her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s spreading a warmth across him that quickly spread to his groin. In spite of being damp from the water, her long red hair moved wildly about, forming a fiery corona around them as it responded to her excited emotional state.

They kissed again, deeply, tongues and hands traveling everywhere. As Ryan cupped her b.u.t.tocks and squeezed, Krysty wrapped one leg around his waist, and then the other. The man s.h.i.+fted position to accommodate her weight, as she hoisted herself upward and he slid deep inside her, the heat of their joining overwhelming the warmth of the shower. She cried out softly in pleasure, digging her nails into his muscles.

Vividly, Ryan remembered how he had wanted the voluptuous redhead the first moment he had seen her, and it seemed like the most logical thing in the world for them to have s.e.x. But both were surprised when the casual fornication changed along the way, and instead they found themselves making love that night.

No words were needed or spoken as they gently rocked back and forth, feeling the excitement build until neither could stand any more.

Holding her tight, Ryan carefully eased to his knees, then laid the woman on the Army blanket covering the tiled floor. He started to climb on top, but Krysty forced him over instead, her velvet thighs straddling his muscular waist, the fiery s.n.a.t.c.h rubbing deliciously over his hard p.e.n.i.s, rough and smooth at the same time.

Her magnificent b.r.e.a.s.t.s dangling in his face, Ryan licked a nipple and nipped the other. Raking her nails down his chest, Krysty moaned in pa.s.sion, and arched her pelvis. They both inhaled sharply as he slid deep into her once more.

She rose and fell in curving motions, the soft flesh engulfing him as her unique internal muscles caressed the man in ways no other living woman could.

His hands gripped her waist hard as the gentle tempo became quicker, more urgent. She met his fervor, and thoughts of foreplay ceased, the sounds of slapping flesh masked by the falling waters of the military shower.

Softly in the background, the intercom chimed and J.B.'s voice announced dinner was ready, but neither noticed or cared. And for a few precious seconds, the two lovers enjoyed their private celebration of life and love, giving no thoughts at all to combat or death.

THE WINGED MUTIE watched the opening of the cave from the air above, waiting impatiently for the food to reemerge. Her belly crawled with hunger as her metabolism raced to heal the holes in her wings caused by the barking sticks of the two-legs. Fury welled within at the remembrance, and she cut loose a scream of rage at the meat escaping so easily.

However, the mutie knew better than to try for them in the terrible light, the most fleeting glance making her blind and helpless as if she were prey. Soon the sky fire would return, forcing her into hiding once more, and the prey would be safe to leave and travel away from the hunting ground. The thought was intolerable. There were young to feed! Then instincts flared and the rage slowly calmed. Eventually, themeat would be forced to come out, and she would gather them in the coming night before they could reach the terrible beams of light. Darkness was her mantle of safety.

Fluttering her great wings, the mutie took flight and circled above the cave one last time before turning her attention to the smaller creatures of the desert. Lizard eggs would do for now, but she could already taste the fresh blood and imagined it running down her fangs and chest. Soon enough, she would return and feast upon their living flesh.

Chapter Five.

The black clouds slowly became tinted with hints of orange and gray with the coming of dawn as Harold darted from the shadows and moved to the outer wall of the ville. The hunchback looked both ways for the sec men on patrol, but his timing was good. They were beyond the curve of the circular wall, and the buildings blocked their view of this area. But only for a moment. The second team would be here in a few moments.

Taking a battered bra.s.s key from a pocket of his dirty clothes, Harold unlocked the smashed trunk of a big luxury car and stepped inside. Crouching low, he closed the lid tight, pulling until hearing the click that told him the lock was engaged. After waiting a few minutes to become adjusted to the darkness, Harold pushed down the back seat, wiggled into the front, clambered over the dashboard and out the gap where the winds.h.i.+eld used to be. Crumpled cars and wags surrounded him on every side, tireless wheels jutting out, sprinklings of greenish gla.s.s squares everywhere, and seat belts dangling from above. From outside, the wall appeared to be impenetrable, a solidly compacted ma.s.s of smashed metal, but the hunchback knew that was false. The old baron had designed this area himself, and after the workers were finished, Harold had done something to them that made his head hurt to remember. And sometimes he woke from fevered nightmares of screaming men begging for life.

Able to see somewhat better now, Harold wiggled forward between an array of tires and tailpipes, ducking under a transmission and into an explosion hole in the side of a military APC. Climbing up the sloped interior, he left by the escape hatch in the roof, slid across the armor and climbed down the undercarriage of a slanted school bus.

A rat scurried from the wreckage and Harold stomped it flat, then moved on. Nasty things. Folks got sick and sometimes died when they got bitten. The old baron and the new both had a reward on the rats-kill a hundred and get a day off from work. Nowadays, it was getting hard to find a hundred. The rats wouldn't come into the ville anymore, which made Harold sad. The first gift he had ever given Laura was a box of a hundred dead rats. That was the first day she kissed him, and he knew they were in love.

Carefully sliding through the split top of an armored bank truck, Harold maneuvered up the wall shelves and into the front seats. Unlocking the pa.s.senger side door, he swung out and dropped the full yard to the concrete ap.r.o.n outside the ville.

Directly before him was the dead river, the stink of sulfur hurting his nose and eyes. On the other side of the stained concrete banks were the ruins of the predark city that he had been named after. Holding his breath, Harold listened for any movement on the wall above. But the world was still asleep; not even the sting-wings or the lizards were up and moving yet.

However, the clouds seemed more yellowish than normal, and panic seized the man as he wondered if the deadly acid rain was coming early this year. But in spite of his proximity to the polluted river, the smell in the morning air was wrong, not strong enough. He gratefully relaxed his powerful shoulders. No storm was forthcoming, and it would be safe for him to leave the ville and do what had to be done to save hispoor wife.

Closely following the rusted wrecks composing the wall, Harold watched the searchlights crisscross the brightening sky. Dawn was when the night crew went home to sleep, and the day crew turned off the colossal lights and did maintenance on the alcohol-driven generators, transformers and jennies.

s.h.i.+vering slightly from a damp chill in the air, Harold waited until the beams winked out. Moving fast, he dashed forward a dozen yards and dropped to the rough ground. Prying off the grate of a storm drain with his bare hands, Harold scrambled inside and eased the hundred pounds of rusty iron gently back into place.

He was halfway there.

WITH A SMOOTH hydraulic hiss, the black metal door to the redoubt moved aside and the sputtering Hummer rolled through the opening, bluish smoke coughing from the m.u.f.fler. At the steering wheel, Ryan gave it some gas and worked the choke until the engine smoothed somewhat.

"You sure the timing is right?" he asked gruffly, studying the gauges on the dashboard. Plenty of fuel, and the battery was charged, oil pressure and water temp at acceptable levels.

"Sounds like bad piston rings," J.B. told him, standing in the cargo area, an arm resting on the long M-60 machine rifle attached to an upright gimbal, a linked belt of ammo traveling from its breech to a big box attached to the stand.

There was another sputtering cough, and a small explosion of blue smoke.

"Is this going to make it to the ruins?" Krysty asked from the front pa.s.senger seat, the Steyr SSG-70 cradled in her arms. With Ryan doing the driving, she was the point guard for the journey. "Be a long walk back."

"Especially, sir, conveying the rest of us on your back," Doc added from his perch on top of a stack of weapons crates. The Hummer was much larger than a military-style jeep, but not quite of sufficient size to comfortably hold seven people and a load of supplies. Doc had lost the coin toss, and so was resigned to the cargo area with the water barrel and bazookas. A folded towel offered his bony hindquarters some comfort, but not much.

"Be okay, just old," Jak said from the back seat, jammed between Dean and Mildred, with boxes of supplies at their feet.

"The engine is just burning off the excess oil buildup. We flushed it twice, but there's always a bit left over," Dean explained as the engine suddenly smoothed into a powerful hum. "See? Told you."

"Better," Ryan agreed, gunning the gas a few times to check the response. The big Detroit engine obeyed promptly, so the Deathlands warrior put the Hummer into gear and started following the tunnel to the exit.

Krysty bobbed her head about to see where they were going. The d.a.m.n snorkel for the power plant was next to her window, partially blocking her view, but they hadn't been able to get the thing to retract, so she was stuck. At least it was only the air intake and wasn't blowing exhaust into the wag. The snorkel was designed to automatically cut in if the vehicle went into water deeper than a few feet. Jeeps were faster, and APCs offered serious protection, but for general work, Krysty thought the Hummer wasd.a.m.n near perfect. It did everything well, even if the only armor it had was in the floorboards to protect the crew from land mines. The doors were only stretched canvas and wouldn't stop a newborn sting-wing.

A faint grayish light was emanating from the distant opening to the outside world, giving enough illumination for driving, but Ryan hit the headlights just the same. The brilliant halogen bulbs flashed on, filling the tunnel with blinding white light, almost painful to see.

"That should blind the mutie, if it returned in the night," Mildred said, blocking her face with a raised hand. "d.a.m.n near blinds me, as it is."

Jak, an albino, said nothing, and simply slid on a pair of old cracked sungla.s.ses.

"Well, if it did come back, this will chew it to bits," J.B. boasted, jacking the big arming bolt on the M-60. "But watch for the bra.s.s. She spits them fast and far."

"Too bad that .50 cal from storage wouldn't fit," Dean said wistfully. "That'd chill any mutie."

J.B. ducked under a roof support beam. "And most war wags."

"And flip over the vehicle," Ryan commented, both hands on the wheel. "Not even a Hummer can support a .50 cal in full fire."

"Thirty fine," Jak stated. "Not need nukes chill ants."

"John, be sure to aim for the center," Mildred said, sitting uncomfortably on top of a field-surgery kit.

"The wings are only membrane with no real circulatory system."

"Like shooting fish in a barrel," Dean stated confidently.

"No, son. Only a fool aims for the fish," his father said, concentrating on driving. "You shoot the barrel.

It can't dodge."

"Just spend the bra.s.s, and save your a.s.s, because I don't want to have to use this," the physician said, affectionately patting the belted canvas lump between her boots. It was the find of her life, and one that she had been searching for since she awoke in the twenty-second century. A field-surgery kit. A real, honest to G.o.d, fully equipped, U.S. Army MASH medical kit. Mildred had found the incredible treasure in the first-aid station, which had the only locked room in the redoubt. Probably to keep the troops out of the brandy and drugs in the supply cabinet. And as Mildred wasn't registered with the redoubt's mainframe as the doctor on duty, the palm lock had refused her admittance, but a crowbar convinced the door to open for her anyway. Neatly jammed with surgical instruments specifically designed for soldiers in combat, the pack was as heavy as h.e.l.l, but the physician couldn't have been more pleased. Dr.

Mildred Wyeth was a trained doctor, but without instruments, there wasn't much she could do for serious injuries.

The external light got brighter, and the companions prepped their weapons. Ryan slowed the Hummer to a crawl, but as they rounded a turn they found the outside ledge completely empty, only a few of their spent bra.s.s from the previous night on the rocky ground.

Braking to a halt, Ryan killed the engine to save fuel. The companions disembarked, with J.B. staying at the machine gun to give them cover if necessary. Warily stepping outside, the friends found the tunnelended at the top of a gently sloping hillock that flowed downward into a vast expanse of sandy desert, low dunes rising and falling across the barren vista like waves on a calm sea. In the far distance, completely dominating the horizon, were the sprawling ruins of the huge pre-dark city.

"Spread out and look for the mutie. Five yards, one on one," Ryan directed, blaster in hand. A breeze wafted over them from the desert, carrying the smell of heat and dust. Instinctively, he checked the rad counter on his s.h.i.+rt collar and was relieved to see the background count was normal. This wasn't a hot area.

"Not circling above us," Dean said, squinting at the overcast sky. "But it sure looks like a storm is on the way."

"Those are the wrong type of formations for rain," Mildred commented, studying the overcast sky.

"They more resemble dust clouds."

"Nukes," Jak said, frowning, scratching his cheek with the muzzle of his .357 Magnum. The tinted lenses of the sungla.s.ses made the teenager seem even paler than usual.

"Or a chem storm."

"No spoor, or bones from a kill," Ryan said, kneeling on the ground and studying the soil for tracks or prints.

"Quite right. We seem to be alone, captain, O my captain," Doc said, holstering his huge blaster. "Our uninvited guest has sought lodgings elsewhere."

"Unless it has a nest on another ledge," Krysty suggested, moving away from the tunnel to check above them. The tunnel opened near the base of a large outcropping, a mesa actually, the main column of the granite mountain had shattered into splinters and boulders from some terrible geological event.

"But with all this light, I don't think the night feeder will be out and about to bother us much." Her voice faded away, then came back strong. "Mother Gaia protect us!"

Blasters at the ready, the others quickly joined the redhead and stared in wonderment. Where huge sections of the mesa were gone, smooth sections of a dull black material could be plainly seen in the shadowy light. The material wasn't marred or scratched in any way.

"That's the exterior of the redoubt," Ryan said, rubbing his freshly shaved chin. Then he glanced about.

"This whole area must have been underground before the war."

"Then it became desert, and the winds unearthed the redoubt," Mildred agreed.

"Now we know where that odd tunnel came from," Dean said grimly. "Somebody saw the base and was trying to gain access."

The elder Cawdor shook his head. "No, that was old tech that built the tunnel. Those beams were ferroconcrete. That can't be made anymore."

"Yes, sir." The boy nodded, but kept a grip on his blaster.

The sound of a starting engine shattered the early-morning quiet. The companions dropped into combatpositions, with Dean crouching to fire his new blaster from a kneeling position for greater stability. A moment later, their Hummer bounced into view with J.B. behind the wheel.

"Everything okay?" he asked suspiciously, one hand strategically out of sight. "You were taking too long... Dark night! The outside of the redoubt!"

"No other ledges or caves along this face of the mesa," Ryan said, then turned to stare into the distance.