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Ryan holstered the SIG-Sauer. "Seems to me that there could be a ville close
by.
Mebbe the Children of the Rock. We'll keep moving, on condition orange. Eyes
and ears open. Let's go."
Chapter Twelve
After a half hour, Ryan relaxed the conditions. Blasters were holstered, and
everyone walked with a lighter step. Krysty had closed her eyes and
concentrated her seeing powers, reporting that she couldn't feel anyone
nearby.
"Think we should have stopped the old man on the mule and asked him about the
Children of the Rock?" J.B. called from the rear of their rough skirmish line.
Ryan answered him over his shoulder. "Guess not. Could have set him off making
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a noise. No idea if there was anyone near. And he didn't look the kind of
person who'd take to answering questions." He paused, thinking about it for a
few more strides. "And there was something triple creepy about him."
Doc nodded his agreement. "I would second that thought, my dear Ryan. I have
seldom encountered a less savory individual in all of Deathlands."
Jak laughed. "Love way put things, Doc. Got way with words, ain't you?"
The old man grinned, showing his strong, perfect teeth. "Praise from you, my
winged Mercury, is praise indeed. Thought, word and deed. Yes, indeed. Valiant
deeds. Prince valiant deeds. Do-dah deeds!"
Mildred tapped him on the arm, making him jump. "Snap out of it, Doc," she
said curtly. "You got your mind to wandering off again."
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Axler, James - Deathlands 44 - Crucible of Time
"Ten thousand apologies, my dear sable madam. If only I had my trusty headgear
I could remove it to you in token of my deep regrets. But I don't, so I
won't."
Ryan slapped his right hand against his thigh. "Enough, people, enough. Let's
keep concentrating on where we are and where we're going."
"We going to get something to eat, lover?" Krysty looked down at the muddied
state of her chisel-toed boots. "Gaia, but this rain's played havoc with
these. Look at them."
Doc had a sudden coughing fit, doubling over, hawking to try to clear his
throat and spitting out a chunk of thick green phlegm. "I'm so sorry," he
spluttered. "I
fear that this damp has gotten onto my chest."
"Could do with somewhere warm for the night," Ryan said. "Place like this
should have some old shelters or huts or something like that."
"Most national parks did," the Armorer stated. "Visitor centers and motels and
chalets. All kinds of accommodation. Just keep going along this trail here and
we're bound to come across something."
THE SIGN WAS crudely painted, white lettering daubed with scant respect for
spelling, across a broken hunk of dark blue plastic, about four feet square:
Mom's
Fyness Jerkiee. Best In Weste. Just The Myle A Long This Trayle.
" 'Mom's finest jerky,' " Jak read slowly. "That what says?"
Ryan nodded. "Close enough. A mile along the trail. Hope the cooking's better
than the writing."
"We going to risk it?" J.B. pushed back his hat, glancing up at the lowering
sky.
"Got to be getting closer to the HQ of these mysterious Children of the Rock."
Ryan sniffed. "Step careful. Recce on the way in. We should have enough
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Axler, James - Deathlands 44 - Crucible of Time firepower to take on most
hostiles."
"A mile on." Mildred looked over at Doc, who was blowing his nose vigorously
into his blue swallow's-eye kerchief. "You all right?"
He turned bleary eyes toward her. "I would be the first to admit that my
health has deteriorated a little within the last few minutes, Dr. Wyeth. A
closeness of the chest and tightness in the throat." He coughed again. "And a
pernicious trembling in the joints."
"You well enough to carry on a ways, Doc?" Ryan asked. "To this Mom's place?"
"I believe so. Let us put the issue to the testing place, shall we?"
Ryan grinned. As long as the old man could still talk like that, then he
couldn't be feeling too bad. "Fine. Let's move onto extended skirmish line,
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friends. Condition red."
A CLOUD OF DRIZZLE swept through the dripping pines, as cold as charity.
Ryan, leading the way, almost missed the second notice, tipped on one side
like a drunkard's dream, half-hidden among some long-thorned brambles: Mom
Jerkee.
Ahed On Ryte. Soon.
The rain had stopped almost as quickly as it had started, leaving the trail
dotted with silvery puddles among the wag-rutted mud.
The sky was like unpolished pewter, dismal and oppressive, casting deep
shadows beneath the trees that pressed up against the edges of the track. The
movement caught Ryan's eye. His hand dropped in a conditioned combat reflex
onto the chill butt of the SIG-Sauer as he half turned, crouching slightly,
perfectly balanced.
Behind him, everyone reacted fast everyone except Doc, who was busily involved
in blowing his nose again. Blasters were drawn, and everyone stopped, looking
around them.
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Axler, James - Deathlands 44 - Crucible of Time
In among the blackness, Ryan caught another flicker of deeper darkness, the
glint of golden eyes. Now his blaster was drawn and cocked. Doc muffled a
liquid cough, fumbling the massive Le Mat from its deep-cut holster.
"What is it, dear boy?" he whispered. Ryan gestured for silence, concentrating
on whatever it was that had snatched his attention. The creature was larger
than a beaver and smaller than a hunting dog, short legged with a long scaly
tail glistening wetly behind it. It moved slowly, parallel to the blacktop.
His very first thought had been a cougar, but it didn't seem to be making any
attempt to conceal itself from him. There was something in the way it moved
that put him in mind of a rat, but he'd never seen a rat that size, not even
in the mutie rad-cancered hot spots in the bleakest wilderness of Deathlands.
"Other side," J.B. whispered, pointing with the stubby muzzle of the Uzi.
Whatever the creature was, there were two more of them on the left side of the
trail.
Ryan stood still and waited.
"By the& " Doc's voice faded into silence, the words vanishing.
Ryan felt his finger tighten on the trigger of the blaster, the barrel of the
SIG-
Sauer swinging to cover the nearest of the creatures as it came lumbering out
from the dark fringe of the forest.
It was a rat.
At least, before the rad sickness burned its way into the genetic codes of its
ancestors, it had to once have been an ordinary domestic rat, the sort of
rodent that would have skulked in barns and outbuildings and moist cellars.
But several generations over the long winters and the subsequent century had
changed it into the monstrous apparition that fumbled its way onto the
blacktop, less than thirty yards from Ryan.
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It moved slowly, its overgrown claws ticking on the gravel. Its pelt was a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]