"Take your time," J.B. said. "Don't want to drop it in the shit."
The effort of lobbing it up above his head, with the muck up to his armpits, was intensely difficult. And Ryan knew that his old friend was right. If he screwed up on it and the rifle fell back, it could easily sink beyond his reach.
He gripped the middle of the muzzle in both hands and readied himself, then threw it butt-first as hard as he could.
J.B. was crouching, with Krysty at his side in case he fumbled. But the throw was good and the catch effortless.
"I'll knot the strap to the one off the scattergun," he said. "Should give us enough length to reach you."
"Sure," Ryan replied, though he didn't have the confidence he tried to fake. He was sunk so deep that it would take an enormous effort to heave him out.
It took the agile fingers of the Armorer a couple of minutes to securely knot the straps together. "Get it around your wrists," he shouted down.
Ryan moved his feet experimentally, hoping that he might have sunk as far as the bottom. But there was still nothing below him but the thick ooze.
The strap came down slowly and he reached up and took it, looping it around his right wrist, folding the end tightly into his palm.
"Ready."
He had no worries that the strap would prove strong enough, but there wasn't all that much spare length at the top for them to use efficiently. No possibility of anchoring it around anything, or of them all getting a good grip.
J.B. was crouched down, with Krysty immediately behind him. Mildred was ready to pull at the Armorer's shoulders, and Dean was at the back, hanging on to Krysty to give what help he could.
"Here we go," J.B. said, as calmly as if he were setting off on a sunny walk through the countryside.
Ryan straightened his legs to make the pull as easy as possible, bracing himself as the strap tightened.
He felt the strain through his shoulders and back, but there was no upward progress.
After several seconds of intense pressure, the strap loosened. "Relax awhile," J.B. called. "You feel any movement down there, Ryan?"
"No." He thought for a moment. " 'Least I'm not going down any farther."
"Best I use the power," Krysty called.
"No! Not yet, lover."
The Earth Mother power that Krysty had been taught by her mother back in Harmony ville gave her, for a brief few moments, almost supernatural strength. Ryan had seen her use it only a limited number of times, and it was a truly fearsome sight. The downside was that it devastated the woman, sending her unconscious immediately after its use, gravely weakening her for up to a couple of days.
"Might be the only way," J.B. warned. "This isn't the easiest way of doing a lift."
"I know it. If we have to use Krysty's power, then we will. Not until it's the only option. Try again. This time brace the strap and I'll try and haul myself against it."
"We'll pull as well," Mildred said. "Give more chance."
"Yeah." Dean's worried face appeared above Ryan. "All go for it, Dad."
"You got it, son."
The strap became as taut as steel. Ryan drew on all of his strength, gaining additional force from his free left hand. Muscles creaked in his shoulders and across his broad back. With a convulsive effort he kicked both feet together, feeling the suction break for a heartbeat.
"Pull," he gasped through gritted teeth. "Coming."
He heard groaning from above him as the four friends gave it everything.
"More!" Ryan panted out the syllable, aware that the mud was reluctantly relaxing its hold on him.
"Moving," J.B. yelled triumphantly. "One more good one'll do it, Ryan."
Now he was free to his belt, the middle of his thighs.
"Hold it there." J.B. called down. "Can you hang on a second while we reorganize it up here? Angle's wrong now. Just hold on."
"Sure. Not much farther."
As they changed positions above him, there was a heart-stopping moment when the straps loosened and he slipped down a few inches. But they managed to hold the grip and started the upward haul again.
There was a sullen plopping sound as his combat boots broke free of the sticky mud.
From then on it was easy, pulling him free until he could reach the jagged edge of the broken flooring and roll himself up and over to safety.
All five of them lay back, panting with the effort. Dean was beating the dirt with his fist, whooping breathlessly. "Hot pipe, we did it!"
"Thanks, friends," Ryan said, shaking his head in relief. "Close call. Best try and find myself some fresh water and get cleaned up."
"Strip that SIG-Sauer, as well," J.B. warned.
As Ryan sat up, a thought occurred to him. "Hey, where're the others? Doc, Jak and the woman?"
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It took only a few minutes to be sure that Jak, Doc and Emma had vanished from the suburb as totally as if the tornado had sucked them up and spread their atoms into the dark sky.
"Could the whirlwind have snatched them?" Dean asked. "The ghoulies are all gone."
"More likely the ghoulies took them," Ryan said. "Probably got a maze of their tunnels dug under the ville. Often the way they play the game."
"We going after them?" Mildred asked.
Ryan nodded. "Sure. One thing first. No, two things. Got to clean myself up."
"I'll do the blaster," J.B. said. "Save time."
"Sure. Then we take a good look for some sign of where they've gone."
THE STORM HAD LEFT PLENTY of fresh water around the devastated suburb of Washington Hole, though a lot of it had simply raised the levels of the quagmire that underlaid the place.
Ryan found a shopping plaza where the central fountain now overflowed with clean rainwater, stripping off and scrubbing away as much of the filth as he could. By the time he'd finished, J.B. returned the SIG-Sauer to him, looking in immaculate showroom condition.
"Greased and ready to kick ass," Mildred announced.
"Now let's take a look for the others," Ryan said, using his sleeve to wipe a few drops of water from the puckered socket of his left eye.
It was less than half an hour since the attack of the ghoulies and the appearance of the tornado.
Even to experienced trackers like Ryan and J.B. the recent cataclysmic storm had destroyed any marks that might have been left by their friends.
After three-quarters of an hour of careful scouting, Ryan called the others together. "Wasting time," he said. "No chance of seeing where they've been taken."
Dean coughed into his hand, gently attracting his father's attention.
"What is it, son?"
"All the basements are flooded, like the one where you nearly drowned."
"Yeah?" Ryan's mouth dropped open. "Right, Dean! Ghoulies can't have taken them under the ground."
J.B. banged himself on the forehead, nearly dislodging his fedora. "Stupe! Well done, Dean." The boy turned pink with pleasure at the rare praise from the Armorer. "Means we got to look farther afield for tracks. They'll have moved after the rain eased, so if we spread out we can find the trail quicker."
Krysty had looked away, turning toward the direction that they'd come in from. "Unless." she said.
"Unless what?" Ryan followed her eyes. "Joaquin and his sec men?"
"Haven't seen them since the tornado."
"And it probably wouldn't have reached them, the way it veered around on itself."
Krysty nodded. "They'd have gotten wet, but that's all. And we all know the warnings about the baron."
Dean spit in the mud. "That double-sick bastard was interested in Emma because he thought she might've been a doomie, one that he could pluck and put in his zoo."
Ryan sighed. "Joaquin obviously saw the tornado. Ace on the line that Emma had predicted. Blew her cover in a big way. Yeah, it fits together like a knife and sheath. They came in behind the storm. Caught them hiding somewhere close by here. Lifted them and away while I was being rescued. Easy as
taking sugared candy from a sleeping baby."
"Wind covered any shouting," J.B. said.
"Let's go check for tracks on the road back toward the ville," Ryan said. "But fifty gets you one that we know what we'll find out there." As he looked around, the arrow wound tweaked at the small of his back, exacerbated by the strain of heaving himself out of the basement.
EMMA HAD FAINTED.
The roaring of the tornado had drowned out all the senses. Jak had picked up the young woman in his arms, intending to carry her to safety out of the creaking building, when Doc had stumbled in, looking for all the world like a demented scarecrow, hair blowing, eyes open wide, waving his arms in the air, shouting something inaudible. He was holding the sword stick in his right hand, the massive Le Mat in the other.
When Doc was close, Jak could just hear his screamed words. "Coming back! Tornado's coming back."
A chunk of the roof whirled loose, scattering its shingles around the empty staircase, some of them flying down to the first floor, narrowly missing Jak.
"Out back!" the albino yelled. "Shelter there!"
He'd spotted that the roof was slightly more solid at the rear of the building, and he staggered the few steps along the hallway, nearly falling over the piled masonry, heels crunching through piles of broken glass.
The next half minute was blinding madness for all three of them.
As the tornado finally raged away, Doc was first on his feet, brushing dirt and mud from his frock coat, running his fingers through his silvery hair to try to restore it to some sort of order.
"By the Three Kennedys!" he exclaimed, aware that there was still too much noise from the storm and the pounding rain outside for the others to hear him properly. "An old friend once told me that all experience is good experience, but I think I might pass if that one came around again."
Jak blinked open his ruby eyes, finding that he was still holding Emma in his arms. When he looked up he saw that the gable wall of the house where they were sheltering had been damaged, supporting beams snapped like straws. It would only take a small blow of wind to bring the whole wall down, fetching the entire roof with it.
"Out back," he shouted, clutching at the tails of the old man's coat to draw his attention, pointing at the roof.
"Oh, my goodness! Yes! May I offer my assistance with the young lady?"
But the teenager was on his feet, using all of his wiry strength to lift Emma, stumbling out through what had been the kitchen into the overgrown, muddy rear garden.
Doc was at his heels, pushing aside an overgrown currant bush that held globular fruit, the size of tennis balls, but colored a leprous yellowy white.
All three of them were soaked, and Jak laid Emma down again, her golden eyes flicking open, looking around her in bewilderment and horror. "Where?" she muttered.
"Safe," Jak replied.
"Upon my sempiternal soul!" Doc exclaimed. "But your prediction came as true as true can be, my dear. A tornado. But it has not whirled us away from Kansas, on the run from the wicked baron of the west, and the yellow brick road is somewhat beslobbered with mud, I fear."
Emma tried to sit up, staring at the ruins all about her with eyes wide in horror. "My fault. All of this is. And there's worse to come."
Jak smiled at her, his voice close to her ear so that she would hear him above the sound of the storm. "No worse. What can be worse than this?"
The cold voice drifted down from above. "Plenty, Whitey, plenty."
The three friends looked up to find themselves covered at short range by Joaquin and his trio of sec men, each of them holding a cocked musket.
ONCE THE REALIZATION had dawned on Ryan and the others what might have happened to Jak, Doc and Emma, it didn't take long to find the tracks of the four horsemen from the ville.
"They waited for the heart of the tornado to pass," J.B. observed. "Knew we'd hide out. Came in around the back, along that alley. Rain makes it hard to see, but they probably picked them out of the garden of the house where the wall was falling down. Tied them and stuck them double-up on the horses. See how the hoof marks on three of the animals are markedly deeper heading out than they were riding in."
Krysty was distraught. "That sorry girl! Sharpe'll stick her in his bloody collection for the rest of her life, like a little toy. And probably butcher Jak and poor old Doc."
Ryan patted her on the arm, managing a smile. "Not if we stop him, lover. And we will."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
"Baron Sharpe is in need of getting himself chilled," J.B. stated.
"A man who breeds tigers shouldn't weep if his children are devoured," Mildred said.
Krysty nodded. "Right on, sister. Won't catch me shedding tears for him."
"Not the easiest ville in the world to break into." Ryan looked at the others. "Got a goodish sec force."
"Undergunned," the Armorer said.
"Agreed." Ryan dug his index finger into his ears, scraping out the residue of mud. "But well trained. And Sharpe looks like the sort of man who might expect us to try and stage some sort of a rescue of Jak, Doc and Emma."
"We got to try, Dad."
Ryan grinned at the worried expression on his son's face. "Sure we do."
JAK LAY on the single bed in the room where he, Doc and Emma had been taken by Joaquin and the sec men. Closely guarded, they had been searched and their weapons taken from them.
The woman hadn't been carrying any sort of blaster or blade.
Doc's Le Mat had been removed, but he had clung stubbornly to the sword stick, claiming that it was only an ebony cane to help him walk.
"Ligament trouble in the old days. Stealing second at the top of the fourth in a big college game," he said. "Unfortunately the damage proved to be inoperable and I am forced to rely on my trusty walking stick." He paused and favored Joaquin with a toothy smile. "The saddest thing of all was that the squint-eyed umpire called me out."
Jak's Colt Python was also taken from him, and one of the guards gave him a cursory pat-down, so cursory that it failed to find any of his hidden throwing knives.
The leader of the sec team had paused in the doorway. "Should be safe here. Men in the corridor and all around. Wait here until Sharpie decides that he wants to see you. Probably won't be until supper. Likes to do some of his thinking and talking over food, does the baron."
The heavy oak door had been firmly shut, and the three friends had heard the sound of heavy bolts being slid across and a key grating in the brass lock.
Now they were alone.
Emma sat down in a large brocaded armchair beneath the barred and shuttered window. She put her head in her hands and began to cry.
Jak stared across her, his ruby eyes drilling into her face. "Waste time weeping," he said. "Dish's broke. Can't be repaired. Crying doesn't do shit."
"My fault."
Doc laid a gnarled hand on the young woman's shoulder. "Jak's right, my dear," he said. "Once the milk is spilled, and the wine drunk and the cane raised back up when it's in the field. No, that's not quite what I had in mind to say. But the point is, assuming blame does none of us any good. Our sole intent now must be to seek a remedy. A remedy a day keeps the doctor away, I always say."
"But I couldn't help saying that I saw the tornado. Because I did!"
"And was right," Jak said.
"Not the point, Jak, dear."
"Point is, Doc's right. Escape is number one."
"I won't escape from here."
Her voice had gone flat and distant, making Doc look worriedly at her.
"The others will put their best feet forward, my dear lady. Ryan's shoulder to the wheel. John Barrymore Dix's chin out. Mildred with her fist clenched. They are not folk who would allow any harm to come to their companions. I know them a deal better than you do, Miss Emma."
"And I know what's going to happen, Doc."
"Ah, do you now? Do you, indeed?"
Emma stood, her golden eyes moving from the old man to the albino teenager.
"I know the most likely future for us all. See it clear as I see this room."
Jak swung his legs off the bed, uncoiling with the easy grace of a panther, laying his hands on her arms, shaking her gently. "Said not always right. Not always clear. Said that!"
She nodded, tears clustering in her eyes, trickling down her cheeks. "Times I think I know. Other times I know that I know. I see my death, Jak."
James Axler - Deathlands 27 - Ground Zero Page 21