Crater Lake

by James Axler

  "It's old jack," the boy said disgustedly. "Seen lots around West Lowellton. Left around. In wallets and pockets and bags. Dollars. Isn't that right?"

  "Sure is, son," Doc Tanner said. "Must be a tidy nest egg there. Close on five thousand dollars. Cheating the tax department, I guess."

  "Not worth shit now," Finnegan said.

  "Wrong, Fats," Jak said, grinning. "Watch this." He took the handful of dry paper to the dying fire and poked it on, putting some of the broken wood of the old counter on top of it and adding a few of the smaller green branches. He was right. The pile of money burned wonderfully well.

  Chapter Eight

  RYAN WOKE DURING THE NIGHT and saw that the fire was dying. He rolled out from under his coat, tossed a couple more branches on the glowing ashes and watched as the dry wood began to burn. From out in the clutching darkness beyond the frail walls of the gas station came the keening wail of a hunting animal. Probably some sort of mountain lion was Ryan's guess. As he was sliding back to sleep, he heard a snuffling sound near the door, as if some large creature was moving there, having caught the scent of humans. Finnegan, who was on sentry watch, came in from the office area and saw that Ryan was awake. Moving to kneel beside him, he whispered, "Biggest fucking bear I ever seen out there. Must stand close to six feet at the shoulder. Only got to lean on us and this place's fold like a fucking pack of cards."

  "Want me to get up, Finn?"

  "No. I'll chill it if'n it starts to get too curious 'bout us." He stood up again. "Know what you call a three-thousand-pound mutie grizzly?"

  "No?"

  "Sir," he said, laughing quietly as he went back on watch.

  THEY WERE UP AT FIRST LIGHT, bundling themselves into their furs and huddling against the bitter cold that frosted the ground outside. Thick slate-gray ice covered the puddles of water lying in the rutted mud. There was a fresh dusting of snow on the upper slopes of the mountains around them.

  "Which way?" Doc Tanner asked, cupping his hands and blowing on them to try to get some warmth into his aged bones.

  "North. Where that radio message came from. You never know what it could lead to," Ryan said.

  The blacktop was cracked and showed signs of some major earth movements many years ago. Weeds peeked through the cracks and gaps, and the shoulders crumbled away into the earth around them. Every now and again they found places where mountain streams came rushing over sections of the two-lane highway, washing them out, and carrying debris toward the river at the bottom of the valley.

  The road twisted and turned, gradually descending and revealing more and more of the long, wide lake to the right. They passed a sign, leaning drunkenly, pointing back the way they'd come. Klamath Falls 17, it read.

  "Nice to know where we've been, lover," Krysty said to Ryan. "All we need to know now is where we're going."

  Lori was leading them, striding at a moderate pace, her silver spurs tinkling brightly in the cool morning air. The chem-storms of the previous evening had disappeared, and the sky was again the unusual blue that Ryan remembered from the pictures in old magazines. At a hairpin curve to the left, Lori paused and stared intently into the valley.

  "Ville there," she called out.

  The others joined her to see where she was pointing. A large collection of buildings was scattered around a central road, with three or four side roads branching off it. The town, which seemed to run down to the edge of the lake, contained around two to three hundred houses. Part of it was obscured by the edge of a bluff, protruding on their right.

  "One of the biggest villes I've seen for a while," J.B. said. "Can't recall seeing any big place on the old maps in these parts."

  "Could be a new place," Ryan said. "Some sprung up where the old villes got chilled by the nukes. Best step light and find out who the baron is down there. Make sure we get a friendly welcome."

  THEY ALL LOOKED at the sign: Ginnsburg Falls. Population 8,407. Alt. 4,950.

  Printed neatly beneath that, in dark blue and gold paint in an elegant sans-serif type, were the words: Walk the Line and You'll Be Fine.

  "Stout right-wing statement," Doc Tanner said, leaning on his sword stick. "Sets well with happiness being a warm gun and telling folks to either shape up or ship on out."

  "That's a big population," Krysty said.

  "Yeah. From higher up we couldn't see the whole ville. There's hundreds more houses on that strip development to the west, across from the lake. Laid out like a square grid."

  "Got to be one of the biggest villes I've ever seen," Ryan said, agreeing with J.B. "But it doesn't look like it's military. No lec-fences. Nothing like that."

  "Mebbe it's just left behind. Kind of shut away after the long winters and running all along on its fucking ownsome. You figure?" Finnegan suggested.

  "Let's go find out," Ryan answered.

  "THIS BLACKTOP'S been swept clean," J.B. said, pausing when they were still a good half mile from the nearest building.

  Krysty smiled uncertainly. "Yeah, it has. There's dried leaves lying all around, but the road's virtually clear of 'em. I never heard of a ville that's as clean as that."

  "Neither have I," Ryan agreed. "Most villes…you can smell 'em before you see 'em."

  "I hear something coming," Krysty warned. "Small wagon, gas power. Like one of the swamp bugs. Lighter sound to the engine."

  The wind was blowing toward the ville, making it hard to hear anything from that direction. But within seconds they all heard the whining sound of a small, powerful engine approaching quickly. Each of them saw it at the same moment, breasting a rise in the road, a couple of hundred yards ahead. It was a small open wag, like a jeep, painted light blue. Four men were seated in it, all holding blasters.

  "Easy," Ryan warned. "Nothing hasty or foolish. Could bring the whole ville down on us. Just keep ready."

  "Winchester carbines," J.B. breathed. "Selective fire, M-2 models, thirty caliber. Look't the polish on them."

  The guns glittered with a parade-ground patina, reflecting the dazzling sun. The jeep stopped in a squeal of brakes about fifty yards away. Three of the men leaped out, forming a skirmishing line across the center of the road. The driver moved to the back, swinging around a mounted machine gun. Ryan recognized the blaster. It was a M60E2. The 7.62 model.

  The Trader had sometimes considered working on the principle that every stranger you encountered was an enemy and should be chilled before he had a chance to chill you. Nonetheless, it was equally true that most folks living throughout the Deathlands were reasonably honest and didn't have blood in their eyes and murder on their minds. So, you just stepped careful.

  Ryan, too, was wondering whether they should have sent the newcomers off to buy the farm as soon as they had stopped their jeep. That way they wouldn't be in this standoff situation.

  The men had the unmistakable look of a sec unit: Dark blue pants and thick jackets; cross-belts with brass buckles on them; knee-high leather boots; caps with shiny plastic peaks; dark glasses that hid the eyes.

  "Fucking sec men, Ryan," Finnegan hissed nervously, fingering the butt of his HK54A2.

  "Easy, Finn, easy," Ryan warned again.

  The center man of the trio called out to them, voice neither harsh nor friendly. "You outworlders?"

  It didn't sound like that difficult a question. But Ryan knew from previous experience that it was the sort of query that might have a lot behind it, the sort of question where the wrong answer could bring down a hail of lead to sweep a man away.

  "Outworlders?"

  "You have to ask, then that has to be the answer. You don't come from around here?"

  "No."

  "Where from?"

  "Different places."

  The man gestured with the muzzle of his carbine. "Got a lot of blasters. You mercies, or guns for one of the traders?"

  "Neither. Just friends. Passing along."

  "Where?"

  "Where we want to go."

  "You want to come into the ville of Gi
nnsburg Falls? That the idea?"

  "Mebbe. How's that set with you?" The constant questions were beginning to grate with Ryan. He could feel a pulse beating at his temple, a sure sign, he knew, that there was a risk of his temper slipping out of control.

  "You come in with us. Walk ahead."

  "We got a choice?" J.B. asked.

  "Sure." The man almost smiled. "Walk ahead or we chill you. All of you."

  "Some fucking choice," Finnegan whispered.

  Chapter Nine

  THE JEEP GROWLED along after them, keeping in low gear. One of the sec men kept position on the machine gun in the rear, covering the seven of them.

  "Sure is a big ville," J.B. said.

  Doc Tanner shook his head. "There is something about it that puts me unconscionably in mind of a trim little town in the Bible Belt before the war."

  "In vids, you mean, Doc?" Finnegan asked.

  "Yes, of course."

  The leader of the patrol called out to them as they neared a barrier across the road: a single striped pole beside a small stone hut. Two sec men, carrying brightly polished carbines, marched briskly to and fro in front of the barrier. Ryan was struck again by the neatness and cleanliness of the whole operation.

  "Hold it there."

  They stopped. Ryan turned to face the jeep. "This going to take long? We're real tired and we could do with some food."

  "You don't have any passes. Don't have any Ginnsburg Falls creds. No food slips. And you haven't seen Mayor Sissy."

  "Who?" Ryan asked incredulously.

  "Mayor Sissy. And I surely hope that isn't a smile I see on anyone's face. Best learn first off that rule number one isn't to find names funny. Believe me, an outworlder can get chilled faster than a fish down a fall. You'll meet Mayor Theodore Sissy before you reach your quarters. First, we got to get your names. Corp!"

  The taller of the two guards on the barrier came smartly forward, giving a salute that involved patting his left shoulder with his gauntleted right fist. "Yes, Sec Commander?"

  "Note of names."

  "Sir."

  The man in charge of the jeep came closer. "You're the leader here," he said, addressing Ryan Cawdor. "Watch your people and walk the line. You'll enjoy your time with us in Ginnsburg Falls. You'll do fine."

  "Have a nice day," Doc Tanner said, making the sec commander turn and look at him suspiciously, as though he suspected the old man was sending him up.

  "You," the tall guard said, pointing at Ryan. "Name. Place."

  "You mean, where have I come from?"

  "Yes. Place of habitation."

  "Name's Ryan Cawdor. I came from—" he hesitated, wondering just where he did come from "—Front Royal out in the Shens."

  "Don't know it. That's outworld here."

  The Armorer answered next. "Name's J. B. Dix."

  The guard wrote it down on a large pad. "Another outworlder. What are the letters for?"

  "What letters?"

  "Your name? Your first name?"

  Ryan's jaw dropped. He'd known the little Armorer for something approaching ten years, and he realized now that he'd never even known what the initials stood for. It had always been J.B., nothing else.

  "First name's John."

  "What's the B for?"

  "Barrymore, you double-stupe bastard! John Barrymore Dix. You got it?"

  "Don't let anger lead you into dangerous pathways, my outworlder friend," the sec guard replied, calmly writing the name down.

  "John Barrymore!" Ryan repeated unbelievingly. "No wonder you kept that closely guarded."

  "Your mother must have had thespian interests," Doc Tanner said.

  "She was as fucking norm as me, so watch that flapping lip of yours, Doc," J.B. warned, bristling like an enraged bantam cockerel.

  "No, my dear friend. A thespian. A lover of the theatrical arts. There was a famous actor called John Barrymore many years ago."

  "Oh," he said, slightly mollified. "I never knowed any of that, Doc."

  "Oh, yes, indeed. A famous man. A wonderful, wonderful actor."

  "Your name, old man?" the guard demanded.

  "Dr. Theophilus Tanner, master of arts, doctor of philosophy and a citizen of the free world."

  "Outworlder?"

  "Yes."

  "Thomas O'Flaherty Fingal Finnegan, born somewheres around the Windy City," Finn butted in.

  "Where were you born, old man?" the sec guard asked, ignoring the fat man's exaggerated bow.

  "South Strafford, a tiny hamlet close by White River Junction in the beautiful state of Vermont. In the year of Our Lord—" Suddenly he stopped, as if someone had jammed his tongue in a closing door. He coughed, glancing sideways, but only Ryan had been listening to him; the sec man wasn't interested in anyone's age.

  "You, boy? By the crucified Savior! Your hair? And your eyes and skin. Are you the spawn of Beelzebub?"

  "No, I'm Jak Lauren from West Lowellton."

  The guard swallowed hard, then scribbled the name down.

  J.B. raised a hand. "You never asked where I came from."

  "Where?"

  "Cripple Creek, in the Rockies."

  It was all dutifully entered on the pad. The jeep still waited behind them, engine ticking over. Ryan watched the sec men and saw how sharp they seemed, constantly alert, never taking their eyes off the newcomers.

  Particularly, he noticed, they were fascinated by the bizarre appearance of Jak Lauren, seeming almost frightened by the fourteen-year-old boy with the colorless skin.

  "That's all," the sec commander said. "Head on in and we'll tell—"

  "What about us?" Krysty Wroth interrupted.

  "How's that?"

  "You haven't taken our names down. My name's—"

  "Shut it."

  The command was flat and dismissive. Ryan felt Krysty stiffen in anger, and he put a cautious hand on her arm. But she shook him off and stepped up to face the man, staring into his hooded eyes.

  "Don't talk to me like that."

  Ignoring her, the sec officer said, "Outworlder Cawdor, tell her that in Ginnsburg Falls, it's only men that count."

  "Don't understand," Ryan said.

  The sec commander continued, speaking more slowly and distinctly, as if he were addressing a backward child. "Others don't function."

  "What the…?" Krysty began, stopping when Ryan turned and glared at her.

  "Unpersons here. Non-men. Just home-keep and breed. Or whores. Them two whores?" he asked, interested in both Krysty's striking red hair and Lori's long blond tresses.

  "No. They're both… home-keeps. Can we go now?"

  "Sure. Registration'll follow later. Go to corner of Fourth an' Sissy—that's the main street in the ville. Red building called Outworlders' Dorm. Don't leave there till you're told."

  NO OTHER OUTWORLDERS were in town just then, so they had the spotlessly clean building with eating hall and dormitories to themselves. Doc and Lori went into a small room with three beds, as did Ryan and Krysty. The others shared a room with six beds, overlooking Sissy Street.

  An old man, apparently the janitor, seemed delighted to have seven visitors all at once. He wore a smart uniform of dark green, with silver piping around the lapels and down the sides of his pants. His gray hair was neatly combed, and he was clean-shaven.

  "Lucky to be here in Ginnsburg Falls, folks," he said, speaking to the men but treating the two women as though they were invisible. "There's to be a stoning at dusk. Haven't had one o' them in weeks."

  "What's a stoning?"

  "Stoning, Mr. Cawdor, is what the name suggests. Those that crosses the laws here in the ville has to pay the price. Walk the line and you'll be fine."

  "Stoned to death? Who by? What for?" Krysty Wroth asked.

  The janitor ignored her. "Couple been caught in adultery tonight. Down the quarry. Follow Seventh to the edge of the lake and walk up the lane to the left. Mercy me! Why tell you that? Just follow the whole town and you'll see it for yourself." He hesitated. "
Being outworlders, you won't know all the lines to walk, Mr. Cawdor. But home-keeps aren't allowed. Be trouble if they left here."

  "Thank you," Ryan said. "We'll all take care to walk the line."

  "Registers'll be here soon. Give you the cards and passes you'll need while here. Give you work allocations an' all."

  "DOUBLE FUCKING WEIRD," Finnegan exploded after the old man brought them bowls of vegetable soup and fresh-baked cornbread. The old man paused for a moment when he saw Lori and Krysty sitting down with the men. Muttering something about stupe outies, he stamped off, leaving them alone with their meal.

  "Yeah," J.B. agreed. "Never saw a ville the like of this one."

  Doc Tanner spooned his soup, pausing and looking across at Ryan. "You know that this place is rife with evil, do you not, Mr. Cawdor?"

  "How's that again, Doc?"

  "Ginnsburg Falls. Mayor Sissy. A stoning. Nonpersons. Breeding. But not a speck of dirt to be seen. Neat guards with polished weapons. It appears to me to be a mutated and idealized version of some Midwestern fascist dream."

  "Don't like this walk-line shit," Jak Lauren said quietly. The boy had been subdued ever since they'd been brought into the ville.

  "See that sign at the entrance?" Krysty asked. "By the old man's cubicle? It said that any dropping of litter or dirtying meant a minimum of twenty hours ville labor. Never met such a tight hole. When do we go?"

  Ryan sniffed. "Soon as we can. But I agree with Doc. We have to step careful. Walk the line, like they say. They got rules on top of rules. We make a mistake, and it could cost us. You two—" looking at Lori and Krysty "—have to be most careful. Women come way second in Ginnsburg Falls. Don't talk back, please. For all our sakes."

  THE LIGHT WAS BEGINNING to fade when a pair of sec guards entered the building and motioned for the men to join them. "Outworlders come to the stoning," the one with two silver stripes on his sleeve said.

  "Is that a request or an order?" Ryan asked, getting only a blank look for a reply. "Guess it's a little of both."