Chapter Twenty

 

"Let's go," Ryan said, standing. Working the bolt on the Steyr SSG-70, he opened the breech to remove the spent clip and slid in a fresh magazine.

"Did you get him?" Dean asked, shading his eyes with a hand. Sirens started to howl, something was on fire, sending black smoke wafting into the sky, and sec men seemed to be rushing about madly. The electric lights in the guard towers flickered, died away completely, then came back on again.

"Silas is dead," Ryan replied, easing the bolt home and starting up the slope.

"Can't get much more dead," Krysty agreed, walking alongside him. "He's gone forever."

"I am only sorry I did not get to pull the trigger," Doc replied, staring backward at the busy ville.

"Put a few rounds into the transformer, too. But I missed the chief sec man," Ryan said, stopping at the ridge and cupping his hands. "Bastard moved fast."

Krysty stepped into his grip, and he boosted her up onto the higher ground. Then she grabbed his arms and helped him climb the steep embankment.

Uzi at the ready, J.B. watched the hillside as the rest of the companions assisted one another, then Ryan covered him as the wiry Armorer scrambled up on his own.

"Any chance they can know the shots came from this direction?" Mildred asked worriedly, as they started quickly for the trees. She would feel a lot safer once they gained some cover.

"No way," Ryan replied, striding along. "I could have taken that shot from anywhere in the valley."

Just then, J.B. sneezed in warning and the companions went flat, shifting for cover in the stubby grass. A few seconds later, a sec man in a blue shirt walked out of the pine trees with an AK-47 cradled in his arms. The man gasped at the sight of the armed companions and swung the barrel of his blaster toward them. But there was a low cough, the blue shirt fell to the ground, shook and went still.

A wisp of smoke still clinging to the muzzled of the silenced 9 mm SIG-Sauer, Ryan crossed to the corpse and shot it again to make sure the man was dead. Eagerly, Dean claimed the Kalashnikov and the spare ammo. Krysty took the radio.

"We can monitor their communications with this," she said, inspecting the device. "Help us avoid any more patrols." The radio was turned on so the sentry could receive reports or instructions. She adjusted the volume to its lowest setting, so as to not give away their position. Ryan glanced at the walkie-talkie. "Air Force model," he stated. "Very short range, these days even shorter. Probably reduced to line of sight."

"Unless they use that big antenna," Doc suggested, entering the woods. Immediately, he felt better with some protective cover around them.

Shifting her med kit, Mildred shook her head, her beaded locks bouncing wildly. "The dish antenna would have to be pointed in the correct direction. Think of it as a radio cannon. It's got to be pointed right at whom they want to talk with."

"Useless," Jak grunted, stepping over a fallen willow tree.

Ducking under a bristly pine branch, Dean asked, "We heading for the redoubt?"

"First we cross the river," his father answered. "For once those land mines will work for us. No APC or Hummer can follow."

"Sounds good," Krysty said. Just then, the speaker of the walkie-talkie crackled loudly. "Sentry Twenty-four, any sign of the intruders?" a male voice asked.

The companions paused as Krysty pulled the device into view and the radio blared, "What is your status, Twenty-four? Are you in trouble?"

"Gaia, he means us," Krysty stated, turning off the radio with a click. "Ryan, J.B., did either of you see any female sec men?"

"Hell, no," Ryan growled.

She shoved the radio into his hands. "Then you answer quick, or else they'll know where we are."

He chewed a lip for a moment, then turned the radio back on. There came a burst of static. "—entry Twenty-four, where are you?"

Coughing raggedly, Ryan fumbling with the volume. "Raiders…" he gasped weakly into the transmitter. "Gut shot…hurts bad!" Ryan knew there was nothing more painful than a gunshot wound in the belly. He once saw a coldheart stab himself to stop the agony. Any differences in his voice and that of the younger sec man would be attributed to the terrible pain.

Biting his tongue not to speak, J.B. started rummaging inside his munitions bag.

"Where are you, man?" the radio asked urgently. "What's your location?"

Holding up the map from Georgia, J.B. pointed at the scrawl at the bottom.

Nodding in comprehension, Ryan panted heavily, "Q-quarry…"

A crackle of static. "Shit-fire! Was it muties? Tanner?"

Doc arched an eyebrow, but held his peace.

Coughing some more, Ryan whispered, "Fifty… coming…your way…"

"How fucking many?" the sec man yelled, distorting the words.

Exhaling as if dying, Ryan released the transmit button and tossed the radio back to Krysty. She made sure it was turned off and tucked the device into a pocket of her bearskin coat.

"That bought us a few minutes," Ryan said. "They'll have to check the quarry before doing anything else, just in case this was a real report."

"More than enough time," J.B. agreed, heading into the bushes.

"Fifty," Jak said. "Smart. Send all troops."

Parting some bushes with the barrel of his longblaster, Ryan grunted in reply. "That was the idea."

The sun was starting to set as the companions moved out of the band of trees. Crouching, they looked for guards, but the river and bridge seemed to be clear. Running across the bridge in pairs, the companions took refuge in the forest on the other side and waited to see if there was any signs of pursuit. The forest and river were placid and calm.

"We're in the clear," Mildred stated confidently. "Come on, I'll feel better once we are inside the redoubt and have a few feet of steel between us and the blues."

"Wait," Krysty said, tilting her head toward the river. "Motorcycles are coming our way, six, mebbe seven."

"Can't be after us," J.B. stated. "Must be going toward that quarry."

"Mebbe," Ryan said, "but we'd better make sure. Everybody take positions behind the trees."

There was a roar of engines, and a group of sleek motorcycles rolled into view along the riverbank. The riders sat inside a roll cage, an array of steel bars forming a barrier around the men, affording them tremendous protection from being clubbed or having an enemy leap on the bikes. The bars were black, but the welds were shiny. Clearly the cages were a recent addition to the machines. All of the sec men were armed with squat Ingram M-10 machine pistols, instead of the usual Kalashnikovs. The boxy blasters would be easy to wield while inside the safety cage, unlike the long barreled AK-47. Bandoliers of ammo clips hung across their chests, and each had a radio strapped to the gas tank between their legs.

Slowing at the bridge, the pack split roughly in two, three continuing toward the quarry, four rolling across the bridge. The two-wheelers separated quickly, moving to the farthest edge of the bridge, staying as far away from the midspan as possible. As they entered the woods at a crawl, branches hit the cages and snapped off at the trunks as the machines proceeded along the dirt path.

Suddenly, leaves erupted from the ground as Ryan fired his silenced weapon. A blue shirt cried out and slumped onto the handlebars. Stepping out from behind a tree, Jak jerked his arm and another sec man clutched at the knife in his throat. Ryan fired again, just as the third biker drew his M-10. The SIG-Sauer won that contest, and the dead man slammed against the protective cage, making the riderless bike topple to the ground.

The fourth sec man cursed as he fought to free the strap of his subgun, which was tangled with the lock on the cage. Shouting in rage, he walked his bike around in a circle, and twisted the handlebar throttle, preparing to run when Doc circled around a nearby tree and deftly thrust his sword between the iron bars directly into the driver's left eye.

Releasing the sword, Doc watched as the sec man stayed frozen in position, his dying brain no longer able to relay commands. The bike rolled on for another few yards, then bumped into a bush and stopped moving, the engine softly rumbling, faint blue exhaust blowing from the chrome mufflers.

Going to the trapped motorcycle, Doc placed a boot on the cage and yanked his sword free. The corpse jerked upright at the action as if renewed with life, then it slumped over, releasing the handlebars, and the engine died in perfect harmony.

Rushing out of hiding, the rest of the companions converged on the fallen machines, turning off engines before the hot casings set the dry leaves on fire. Extracting the drivers proved to be no problem. The safety cages had curved doors that locked with a simple sliding bar from the inside. The companions placed the corpses in a pile, and J.B. slid a wad of C-4 and a pressure switch under the top corpse.

"Four bikes," Ryan said, checking over the M-10. The bolt was stiff from poor cleaning, but it seemed in operational condition. "We have to balance this carefully. Dean with Jak, Mildred with J.B., Doc with Krysty. I'll ride with the backpacks." The companions quickly piled their backpacks onto Ryan's machine, then joined their partners. Setting the ignition switch, Mildred waited until J.B. was in position before kicking the big Harley into life. The 1450 cc engine purred with barely restrained power. Twisting the handlebar throttle, the woman gunned the engine a few times to clear the carbs, and rolled over to the others.

Krysty turned on the radio attached to her bike and heard only the hiss and crackle of static. "Odd," she muttered, checking the radio in her pocket. It was also silent. "They should be talking about the quarry by now."

"Mebbe they already figure it was a trick," Dean suggested, one arm around Jak's waist, the other holding an M-10 machine pistol. The boy knew it was a crappy blaster. The stubby two-inch barrel gave no real accuracy over any distance. However, the yard-long AK-47 was impossible to use while inside the cage, especially riding behind another person, and the subgun could shoot faster than his Browning Hi-Power.

"Could be," Ryan agreed, tapping the fuel gauge. Half-full, more than enough. "If so, they're going to come after us in force. Night will be here soon, so we'll stay in the trees until it's dark, then make a run for the redoubt across the grasslands."

"I'll take rearguard," J.B. said, the Uzi in one hand, the M-10 in the other. He was sitting reversed on the seat with his back to Mildred, legs braced against the lower bars of the cage, the buddy-bar snug between his thighs.

Dean changed position to copy the older man. The chrome steel of the buddy-bar rose to his chest and was very uncomfortable, but the stance gave him a good purchase to fight from. That was good enough.

"Mehi loricatus oportet occulte!" Doc stated in Latin, holstering the LeMat and tying down the flap. His hands clumsily worked the arming bolt on the subgun, and he eased off the safety.

"No headlights," Mildred translated. "Bastards can't hit what they can't find."

Starting forward into the growing darkness, Ryan zigzagged the big bike past the lush growths of pine and willow. "Just shoot anybody you see," he added grimly, bent low over the handlebars. "They won't be trying to take us prisoners anymore."

IN THE LAB, Sheffield was awkwardly typing commands on the computer keyboard. Impatiently, he watched the vector graphic grow and change on the softly glowing screen. Checking the assignment integers, the man cursed in frustration when he realized that the numbers were wrong. It was aimed much too close to risk a shot. Now he would have to start all over again!

"Good news, sir!" said a voice from the intercom on the desk. "We got a report that the outlanders are at the quarry."

"The quarry?" he repeated slowly. "Who told you this?"

"A sentry reported in just before he died. We're sending most of the troops there."

"Recall them immediately," the officer commanded. "It's a trick to divert us. Send everybody to the south. That's where they really are."

Pursing his lips, Sheffield then continued, "The troops have a maximum of forty minutes to find the assassins of Dr. Jamaisvous, then recall them immediately."

"Sir?" the intercom asked puzzled.

"Just do as you're ordered, trooper."

"Yes, sir! Hail the New America!"

Cutting off the intercom, Sheffield returned to his work. Starting the programming cycle again, he typed much more carefully, and a slow smile grew as the flashing numbers on the computer screen began to take on the desired configuration.

THE QUARTET OF BIKES raced across the open fields of Tennessee bluegrass. Headlights off, it was difficult to see anything in the way, and Ryan often found himself jerking the handlebars at the very last moment to avoid hitting a large rock or some other obstacle. However, it was a good half hour since they stole the motorcycles, and they were more than halfway to the redoubt.

"How close are we?" Krysty shouted, her hair streaming in the wind.

"Just a few more miles!" J.B. yelled in reply.

"Great!"

"My dear Krysty, can you do something about your hair, please?" Doc asked. "I can barely see!"

Grabbing handfuls, she stuffed the living tendrils gently into her shirt collar and did the top button. "Better?" she shouted over a shoulder.

"Infinitely so. My thanks!"

"No prob!"

Suddenly, bright lights illuminated the field in bouncing cones of stark white light, and there came the slow chattering of subguns. A copper-jacketed round zinged off the safety cage around Doc and Krysty, another bullet slamming directly into the backpacks behind Ryan.

"It's other bikes!" he shouted, and slapped a switch, turning on his own headlights. Now able to see clearly, the man pressed the big motorcycle on to much greater speeds. The ground flashed below the wheels in a constant blur. With Ryan cutting the way, the others also increased their speed and pulled away from the oncoming motorcycles.

"Ace the leader!" J.B. shouted, cutting loose with the Uzi and subgun. Targeting the closest headlight, he put a long burst from the blasters just above the jiggling light source. There was a crash of glass, and the Harley veered off abruptly, then hit something and flipped over. Tumbling out of control, the bike rolled over and over, the screaming sec man trapped inside the cage bouncing about like a boneless rag doll.

Doc and Dean did the same, and another bike fell. Instantly, the other two drivers turned off their halogen headlights, and soon the noise of their engines could no longer be heard.

"Easy as pie," Dean said triumphantly. "Keep going!" Ryan shouted over the roar of the Harley. "That was too easy. It's a trick to make us slow down!"

"Trap ahead?" Krysty yelled.

"Could be! Everybody, stay sharp!"

The noise started soft and low, a distant beating of drums. But it quickly increased in tempo and volume until a steady whomping sound was heard, and the companions craned their necks about to find the source. Unexpectedly, a dark shape swooped by overhead, silhouetted by the lightning flashes in the rumbling storm clouds.

"That's a bastard helicopter!" Ryan growled, buffeted by the wind of its passage. The chopper was the first flying machine the Deathlands warrior had ever seen. Silas had to have found the mother lode of all redoubts to loot. Maybe even a Deep Storage locker!

The Trader told stories around the campfires about predark vaults full of dry nitrogen gas, the temperature lowered to below freezing. Designed to keep ammo and food fresh for hundreds of years, Deep Storage lockers were supposed to be fully stocked with everything. Not the occasional box of ammo or handful of MRE packs, but literally tons of food, tanks, missiles and enough ammo and blasters for the predark Army. Silas with a Deep Storage locker—that would explain a lot.

The helicopter passed by again, lower this time.

"Why isn't it shooting?" Dean demanded, tracking its passage, but withholding fire. The boy hated to admit it, but he was terrified. Machines that flew—it was unnatural!

"He's getting our range!" J.B. shouted, firing some rounds into the sky.

"That's a Bell bubble chopper," Ryan stated. "It has no armor, and no blasters."

"Gives us a fighting chance to live," J.B. said. Dark night! A helicopter. What else did the blues have in their arsenal?

"The vehicle is unarmed?" Doc demanded. "Then it is merely here to frighten us, or track our location for others?"

"Hell, no!"

A powerful explosion ripped about the night, the ground shaking as a column of boiling flame reached into the sky.

"That's dynamite or TNT," J.B. said, sticking both weapons through the bars of the safety cage and firing, the winking muzzle-flashes illuminating the man in the darkness. "The pilot is tossing out sticks like bombs!"

Another column of strident fire blossomed directly ahead of the companions. The concussion slapped them hard, and they fought to keep the bikes upright as they narrowly skirted the steaming blast crater, clumps of hard soil under their wheels making the bikes shake madly. A fall now meant sure death.

"Figure eight for sixty!" Ryan shouted, leading the others sharply to the left, then to the right in evasion tactics. "We go on the next blast!"

Another blast roared, and Ryan killed the headlights. The companions spread wildly across the field, only to meet again farther away.

"Volley fire," Ryan shouted. "Go!"

Doc, Dean and J.B. cut loose with their blasters, filling the sky with a hail of bullets. As a clip was emptied, they tossed it away, slapped in a fresh one and continued shooting. Speed and luck were their only chances now. A single stick landing in the middle of the bikes, and they would never hit the ground alive.

"Forest ahead!" Ryan shouted, dodging a primitive plow. A ville had to be close by. He only hoped they weren't friendly with the blues.

The subgun finally empty, Doc dropped the useless weapon and triggered the LeMat. In the darkness, the muzzle-flash reached out for more than a foot, the detonation sounding like a peal of thunder.

In throbbing majesty, the helicopter angled away and moved fast into the night until it was gone. Tense minutes passed as they waited for its thundering return on another bombing run, and then the companions broached the forest and were riding under its canopy of branches. Slowing, Ryan listened carefully for the pre-dark machine, but only the hushed silence of the woods could be heard.

"Why did it leave?" Krysty asked suspiciously.

"Mayhap I hit the infernal contraption," Doc rumbled, studying the sky dubiously.

Sliding the last spare clip into the subgun, J.B. scowled at the clouds above. "Seems unlikely," the Armorer said. "But it's possible, and those damn .44 mini-balls would punch right through a civilian copter."

Smiling with his oddly perfect teeth, Doc fondly patted the huge handcannon. "Which is why I still retain her, sir! Very few enemies, indeed, need to be shot twice with this."

"Well, the Bell would have to leave if the old coot hit the rotor," Mildred added. "A helicopter can't fly straight without its tail rotor."

"At least the thing is gone," Dean said gratefully, yanking on the bolt of the subgun, trying to free a jammed round. The misfire was caught in the breech tight and wouldn't come loose. He might have to disassemble the blaster before it would fire again.

Suddenly, the boy could see the blaster a lot clearer as a wealth of moonlight flooded into the forest, the silvery light illuminating the trees in a cool glow.

"Clouds broke," Krysty said, the hair on her head coiling tightly. "Haven't seen that happen in quite awhile."

Squinting with his good eye, Ryan rubbed his unshaved chin, making a sound like sandpaper. "You don't suppose—"

But the Deathlands warrior was interrupted as something rustled in the trees, bouncing from limb to limb to land in the bushes. The same thing happened again, and then once more, this time the object landing in plain sight on the carpet of leaves. It was a blue jay, its feathers splayed and steam rising off its body. "What in hell…?" Ryan said. Everybody jumped and aimed their blasters as dozens more birds fell to the ground, robins, hawks and owls, the impact of their bodies sounding almost like hail. Then a scream-wing plummeted through the foliage to hit the safety cage around Ryan. The dead mutie was only a foot away from his face, and he stared at it hard. This was the closest he had ever been a scream-wing. Steam hissed from its mouth and rectum, the eyes had burst apart and its hide was bubbly as if the creature had been dipped in boiling oil.

"The copter?" Dean asked fearfully. The boy had no idea what was going on here. Cooked birds falling from the sky?

"Oh, my God," Mildred whispered, pointing behind them with a shaky hand.

Thousands of leaves and needles were falling from the trees in a heavy wave, the bare branches darkening, and some of the small growths bursting into flame. The bushes began to smolder, and the grass withered. It was as if the forest were dying before their very eyes. There was a sharp line of the approaching destruction, green plants on this side, withered death on the other.

"Sweet Jesus save us, it's a Kite!" Mildred fumbled twice in her haste to kick the motorcycle into life. "That's what the bastard Jamaisvous was talking to, a goddamn freaking Kite!"

"Silas ace plants?" Jak demanded.

"It kills everything!" the woman shouted, and twisted the throttle to the last stop. The wheels spun wildly in the loose leaves, spraying out debris, then contacted dirt and the Harley roared forward, almost crashing into a tree. The cage slammed into the trunk, ripping off bark and making J.B. drop the subgun.

"Hey!" he cried out, nursing a wrist. There was a sharp pain inside as if a bone had been broken.

"Fuck it!" the physician screamed, plowing through a bush. "Run, run for your lives! And for God's sake don't look up!"

Starting their bikes, the others took off after the woman, not exactly sure what was happening. Doc watched as the oncoming line of destruction approached to within only a few yards of the rolling motorcycle, when he began to twitch uncomfortably. It felt as if a million insects were crawling over his skin, and the grip of the LeMat started to grow warm.

"Faster, madam!" he shouted, almost throwing the blaster away. "We have to go faster!"

Ahead of them, the forest was cool and green, the thick foliage starkly lit by the full October moon. His left eye socket itching madly, Ryan fought to control the Harley as he drove full tilt through the woods, sometimes the trees so close he thought the safety cage would jam tight between the trees. But the bark scraped loose, giving scant inches, and the Harley roared onward.

Glancing behind, Krysty saw the crumbling forest was steadily gaining on the bikes. "It's gaining on us!" she yelled, tears flowing down her cheeks. It felt as if her hair were on fire, the pain almost beyond endurance. She had a hard time thinking clearly, and more than once the bike nearly toppled over from her clumsy driving. Silently, she prayed to Gaia for the strength to live.

Their bikes riding side by side, the companions crashed through a wall of thorny rosebushes, the safety cages holding most of the stems at bay, but still their clothes snagged and trickles of blood flowed from a dozen small cuts.

Ryan glanced into his rearview mirror. "We're not going to get away!" he shouted grimly.

"We have to!" Mildred answered, then shrugged and dropped her heavy med kit. "Heave the baggage! Lose everything!"

Stunned for a moment by the incredible act, Ryan resolutely reached behind himself, grabbed a backpack and stuffed it through the warm bars of his safety cage. When there was only one left, his speed noticeably increased. The man hesitated for a heartbeat, then also threw away that pack. Mildred knew her stuff, and whatever it was that was after them, he didn't want it to reach them for the sake of a few pounds.

Dropping the subgun, J.B. watched the weapon fireball as the crackling wave reached the blaster. The man hesitated for a tick, then tossed away his precious accumulation of explosives and primers.

"Brace yourselves!" he shouted just as the bag thunderously detonated, the blast toppling over the dying trees, bushes flying, shrapnel zinging through the air in every direction.

Struggling with one arm at a time, Krysty got out of her heavy bearskin coat and stuffed it through the cage. Dean dropped his canteen, then the newly acquired Kalashnikov and the ammo clips. The coat burst into flames, and the ammo exploded as the grass turned brown underneath the items.

The brown line in the soil streaked after them, coming closer by the second. Frantically, the companions emptied the pockets of MRE packs, spare knives, extra ammo and everything else they could find.

"Radios!" Jak shouted, ripping the transmitter free and casting it away.

With the motorcycles moving at top speed, the companions raced through the forest in a nightmare of dodging trees and crashing through bushes. Unstoppable, the death wave from the Kite swept onward, getting closer and closer with each passing moment.