Salvation Road

by James Axler

  Ryan nodded. "That's worth bearing in mind." And he indicated that Crow should lead them on.

  Considering the differences they had seen between the other villes and their sectors of the camp, the differences between the last three sectors were remarkable for their lack: the huts, shacks and tents were constructed in a similar manner, and the materials used betrayed a home ville that was scraping around for trade and salvageable merchandise. The people seemed to be from the same stock, and the way in which they dressed and colored their environment with their clothes and the decorations in their camp sector was almost exactly the same. As was their attitude of sullen and mute hostility to the companions and Crow. The burble of conversation and activity died to silence as they passed, and they were watched closely, even though no one spoke directly to them.

  It was an uncomfortable ride, the focus of hostility seeming to be Crow and Mildred.

  "That was fun," Mildred said sardonically when they emerged from the camp and made their way back to the sec camp.

  "Wasn't it," Crow replied. "So what do you reckon?"

  "Mebbe this isn't going to be as easy as Baron Silas hopes," Ryan said.

  Crow shook his head. "He won't want to hear that."

  "I don't give a shit what he wants to hear," Ryan answered. "The fact is that the camp covers a lot of ground, and so does the work site. There's only a dozen sec, and only seven of us. And a shit load of possible trouble. We may be able to stop attacks, but I figure it'd be better to get to the root of it. And we've got a lot of options to cover with no time to do it."

  "So?" Crow said softly.

  "So Baron Silas has to decide whether he wants us to get to the bottom of this or just blast everyone. I know which I'd rather do, and which is better for us," the one-eyed man stated, dismounting his steed. "And it's not acting like a triple stupe and blasting your workforce out of existence. So tell Baron Silas he may get results, but not necessarily the ones he wants."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Trouble came looking for the companions with a rapidity that surprised them all.

  After Crow bade them farewell and returned to Salvation, they rested for a short while, ate and waited for Myall to return from his patrol out at the work site.

  "Figure we'd better get some kind of routine established, and triple fast," Ryan said to the others. "The women and kids have seen us, and the workers saw us when we arrived. So now we need—"

  "To let them know we're here and here to stay," Mildred interjected.

  "Exactly. And the only way to do that is to keep visible."

  "Yeah, that's okay," J.B. said thoughtfully, "but I really think we should concentrate on the well and refinery next. That's the root of the trouble."

  Ryan gave his friend a sideways glance. "There something you're not saying, J.B.? Because you sound like you've got a few ideas. Mebbe you should share them."

  "Sure." The Armorer nodded. And he outlined his theory that perhaps a force outside the camp was responsible before explaining that he didn't want his notion to get back to Baron Silas via Crow. "So I figure that our best shot is to hit the well and refinery tonight, see what happens. Besides, it'll be good to recce it in the dark and get used to it."

  That was something with which they could all agree, and when Myall returned from patrol Ryan was able to agree on a patrol roster. They would take the first watch at the work site and would travel to it via a roundabout route through the camp.

  "I STILL DON'T GET why we have to go this way," Dean whispered as the procession of horses made its way through the Haigh section of the camp and cut across to go past the Mandrake section.

  "Because, my dear boy, it is a show of strength, a display, if you will, of our presence," Doc returned in a low voice. He was riding directly in front of Dean, with Mildred and J.B. at the rear behind the younger Cawdor, and Jak and Krysty in front of Doc, with Ryan in the lead.

  "But they know we're here, especially in this place," Dean added, taking in the glares they were receiving from the men and women of Mandrake, accompanied by low muttering.

  "Yes, but they also have to know that we are— right now—on our way out to the work site. Word will spread, and then we will see if they have the nerve to attack. Or, indeed, if it is anyone from here."

  "Guess you're right," Dean said uneasily, "but I can see us getting into a firefight here and leaving the work site unprotected."

  "A first-night risk," Doc returned. "I suspect Ryan has weighed the odds."

  But what about the odds on stumbling onto an interville fight? The one-eyed man had expected an attack on themselves, but what happened next hadn't occurred to him.

  As they left the Mandrake sector and were about to cross into the Salvation sector, all hell broke loose.

  At the crossroads that marked the clear delineation between the villes, a bunch of men were standing on the Salvation side. They were drunk on home brew, and Jak's keen night vision could detect that their eyes, in the flickering lamplight of the camp, were dark with the effects of jolt. They watched the seven horses cross, and also the posse of Mandrake workers that had followed at a distance, a tactic that had failed to spook the companions or their mounts, but set up the Mandrake men for what followed.

  "Hey, assholes," yelled one of the Salvation men, "I hear your women got beaten by the new sec women." When there was no answer from the sullen Mandrake men, he continued, "I guess the women could take you as well, right? You are a bunch of shit, right?"

  As one, the companions stopped their horses, Ryan wheeling his around to face his people. He didn't have to speak. One look at them told him that they could all sniff the danger in the air and the trouble that was about to break.

  Behind them, the Mandrake men were muttering among themselves. They weren't replying to the taunts of the Salvation drunk, but were obviously contemplating a response.

  And in the middle were the seven horses and their riders, waiting for the storm to break. It didn't take more than a second.

  "Yeah, bunch of shit." The Salvation man laughed, turning to his friends. It was as he turned away that the knife skimmed past his ear, nicking the skin enough for blood to flow like a stream down his neck, before embedding itself in the arm of a man behind him. Caught unawares, with the sharp blade embedding itself in the muscle and sinew of his biceps as he stood there, the shock and pain made the man scream in a frantic, high-pitched tone.

  "Fireblast! Get them," Ryan yelled, swinging himself off his mount.

  With a chorus of yells and whoops, the Mandrake men charged across the space between themselves and the startled and temporarily wrong-footed Salvation men. In the middle were the companions, who were prepared to make this a fight without blasters unless necessary. Mildred, Krysty and Dean would have to fight unarmed, while Jak palmed a leaf-bladed knife into each hand. Doc's silver lion's-head stick revealed the blade of finely honed Toledo steel that was hidden within. J.B. and Ryan, at each end of the line, were prepared with their blades, J.B. his Tekna and Ryan his trusty panga. Each of the companions picked a direction in which to face the oncoming mob, knowing that the adjacent companion covered his or her back.

  Recovering from the shock that had temporarily frozen them, the Salvation men rushed forward to meet the Mandrake men. It wouldn't be a fight of skill and savagery, but rather a drunken brawl where those who get hurt usually end up being hurt by accident.

  A Salvation worker threw himself past Doc and landed on an oncoming Mandrake man, throwing him backward onto the dirt where they wrestled aimlessly, neither able to get a satisfactory grip. Doc earmarked them for attention in a moment. His more immediate problem was being sandwiched between two more men, both of whom had blades in hand.

  As one dived, Doc sidestepped and brought up the swordstick, the upward thrust catching the diving man's blade and diverting it skyward. Doc followed through in an arc and brought the sword down, slicing at the wrist of the opposing fighter, drawing blood and making him drop his knife. From there, it
was simple for Doc—who wasn't befuddled by spirit or jolt—to take the LeMat from his belt and use the heavy butt to render one of his opponents unconscious while kicking the other in the groin and making him collapse. From there, he turned elegantly to deliver another kick that separated the two wrestlers. The hand of one snaked toward his blaster, but a sudden slice from Doc's sword split open the flesh of his arm and caused him to cease, and his opponent to scuttle away in the dirt.

  Three Mandrake men, incensed by the earlier incident and forgetting their Salvation opponents, headed directly for Ryan, who took out one with a backhand slash of the panga, and attended to another with a kick from his heavy combat boots that caught the man in the chest, making him collapse. That left one man, and Ryan was left partially vulnerable. Although he left no area of attack open, he was still distracted enough by the two opponents to be unable to fully counter a full-on attack by the third man, who flung himself at the one-eyed man. There were no vulnerable areas that he could attack, but the force of his onslaught did drive Ryan onto the ground. But experience taught him to go with the fall, letting his body go limp so that the impact and any possible damage were lessened. His opponent hit him hard, but rolled off the one-eyed man with the force of his impact, enabling Ryan to turn swiftly so that he was on top of him. One swing with the handle of the panga caught the man under the jaw, snapping him instantly into unconsciousness.

  All around, the companions laid waste to their foes. Jak was a whirling blur of white hair and flashing knives, the cuts slashing at the faces and hands of his opponents, rendering them useless through pain and defenseless as their own weapons dropped. Dean, Mildred and Krysty had more than held their own without blades, while the Armorer had found it unnecessary to use his as a few maneuvers in unarmed combat rendered his opponents defeated.

  Within a few minutes, the area was a scene of carnage, as blood soaked into the earth and dyed it dark beneath the semiconscious and unconscious bodies that lay around, with only the companions still standing. An audience of women and other men had gathered on each side of the divide, but neither showed any willingness to come forward and either collect their wounded or carry on the fight.

  At a signal from Ryan, they mounted their steeds and made ready to head off to the work site. But before they left, Ryan paused and spoke out.

  "They're alive because Baron Silas needs them to work. But I warn you all now—anyone else tries to attack us, or any of the sec patrols like this, then we'll chill the bastards."

  "Weren't attacking you, were attacking the others," came a voice from the Mandrake side.

  Ryan turned to face it, unable in the dim lamplight to single out who had spoken.

  "Doesn't matter. This shit stops the work being done, and that's what we're here to see. You do that, then that's attacking us. Understood?"

  And before anyone had a chance to answer, he charged his horse and led the line out of the area of the fight, and through the rest of the camp toward the expanse of desert that separated the work site from the workers' dwellings.

  No one spoke as they traversed the sandy earth, each lost in his or her own thoughts, until Ryan spoke up, spotting the incoming four-man sec patrol and hailing them when they were a few hundred yards from the storage tanks.

  "Hey, how's it going?" asked the leader of the sec patrol as they came within recognizable distance under the light of the crescent moon. The returning patrol was lit by the lamps they carried and was led by McVie. "Hell, you look like you've been in a fight," he added when he could see the companions more clearly. And when Ryan explained what had happened, he whistled low. "Shit, that's gonna make a few people drop their load. And that kind of shit will flush out any troublemakers triple fast, 'cause they're gonna be way pissed with you."

  "That is partly the idea." Ryan grinned. "If we're going to fight, then I want to know who."

  McVie acknowledged this with an inclination of his head. "Fair point, big guy. So you're covering the site now?" And when Ryan assented, he continued. "Well, it was all clear up to half hour past. Trouble is with only four of us, by the time we've covered one sector, then anything could be happening back where we started. And you ain't got any lamps, either," he added.

  J.B. answered, "Don't want them. With more of us we can cover more ground and mebbe catch anyone unawares. So having no lamps would be a real bonus."

  "Fair point," McVie conceded. "You take it easy out there. It's quiet so far, so mebbe you've had all your action for one night."

  "Let's hope so," Ryan said. Although it crossed his mind that at least a sabotage attempt may give them some clues as to the perpetrators.

  WHEN THEY REACHED the work site, it was deathly quiet, but Jak seemed to be concerned about something.

  "Ryan, something happening," he whispered as they brought their horses to a halt by the storage tanks. The one-eyed man had intended to split them into three groups at this point, and cover the whole site in a staggered, circular route so that anyone trying to avoid one part of the patrol was likely to be picked up by the following group. His plans were stayed by the sudden reaction of the albino hunter.

  "No noise, but smell," Jak continued. "Not sure…like gas."

  "We're at an oil well. I'd be surprised if you couldn't smell fuel of some kind," Dean uttered, perplexed.

  Jak shook his head. "Not like this," he said shortly, indicating the tanks behind them. "Like gas used on a wag…like shit belching out behind."

  "You can smell wag exhaust?" J.B. asked. "But how come the last party missed it? Dark night, it wouldn't be like you couldn't hear a wag out here!"

  "Mebbe enough time between them leaving and us arriving to sneak in," Krysty answered, "especially if it was someone who was familiar with the patrol schedule."

  "Which makes your idea ever more likely, my dear John Barrymore," Doc mused. "An outside saboteur. Intriguing."

  "Mystifying more like," Mildred snapped. "Let's get the bastard and find out just what is going on here."

  Ryan nodded. "We need to move fast and silent. Leave the horses here and go on foot. Mildred, you and Dean take the pipeline with Doc. He's familiar with it. J.B., you and Jak cover the refinery buildings. Krysty and me'll take the wellhead. Jak, any idea where the smell comes from."

  The albino shook his head. "Not get direction. Just know here."

  "Okay. Let's go. Triple red, people," Ryan added before setting off for the wellhead.

  Mildred, Doc and Dean took the route along the pipeline, dividing into three in order to cover every inch thoroughly. In a hoarse whisper, Doc described the manner in which the pipes were laid out, and warned that there was little cover, both for any saboteur and also for themselves. The three companions took a different pipe route, knowing that they would all end up at the refinery buildings.

  Which was exactly where Jak and J.B. were headed, the albino and the Armorer moving across the desert floor at a run, crouched low lest they be seen against the horizon. They stayed silent, saving their breath for the run, and their concentration for any signs of activity ahead of them, ignoring what lay behind as that was in the capable hands of their companions.

  Krysty and Ryan headed toward the derrick, which stood out starkly against the night sky, illuminated even by the dim light of the crescent moon. It was obvious from the sight of it that any attempt to damage higher up the derrick would be seen, the scaffolding and gantry of the construction providing no cover.

  "Think they're here, lover?" Krysty asked. "Mebbe. What do you reckon?"

  "I can't feel it. I don't think it's here."

  "Okay, but we keep triple red in case," he replied. At the base of the derrick, there were enough piles of construction material, and a small brick blockhouse containing the derrick valves, to provide cover. The duo split up and covered each side of the derrick, finding it clear, until there was only the brick valve housing. It was a large enough building to hide someone, and blowing the valves would cause major damage to the wellhead.

  R
yan and Krysty exchanged glances. Without a word, the one-eyed man went to the door, crouching, while Krysty took a covering position. He opened the unlocked door and flung himself to one side of the wall. There was silence. Counting to three, he entered the blockhouse, ready to fire at the slightest sight or sound.

  There was nothing. It was then that the sound of a wag firing up, and blasterfire, distracted him.

  Mildred, Dean and Doc were also brought up short by the firing and the explosions of the wag engine. They cut short their search and headed toward the source of the sound—the refinery.

  Jak and J.B. had reached the refinery in triple-fast time, and each man knew the layout of one of the refinery buildings, as they had each searched one before. Using eye contact only to signal, they had opted to take the double building, joined by a covered walkway, as their first target. It had proved to be empty, and it was as they covered the ground to the second block that Jak suddenly stretched out a hand to stay the Armorer.

  In reply to J.B.'s quizzical look, Jak pointed to the open doorway of the block. A shadow darker than the others was moving out of the interior.

  J.B. swung his Uzi off his shoulder and clicked to rapid fire. He pointed to the block, indicating that Jak take the building while he followed the shadow.

  It was as he did this that the shot whistled over their heads, the shadow suddenly bolting for the rear of the building. J.B. didn't hesitate. He took off at a full run, knowing that he was too far away to waste ammo on blasting at his target. It also registered somewhere in his mind that the shot over their heads sounded to him like a fairly heavy caliber handblaster—a .44 or .45, but not a .357 Magnum like Jak's. That could be information worth storing for later.