by James Axler
“The screams of that thing are going to attract every other mutie in the mountains,” Krysty stated, still aiming the M-16 at the flapping mutie. “Anything we can do about that?”
“If we had a laser...” Ricky began, then stopped with a pronounced frown.
Ever louder, the screamwing battered the plastic, its frustration obviously increasing.
“Chill easy with this,” Jak asked, both hands firm on an M-16. “But how reach?”
Steadily, the cries of the enraged screamwing escalated in volume and pitch. The companions could almost hear the noise inside the dam, but they knew the sounds had to be echoing across the mountain range for countless miles.
“I hate to say it,” Mildred said slowly, “but maybe we should consider leaving. If any of these things arrive and cluster at the exit, we would have a major fight getting out.”
Ricky frowned. “But the storm—”
“No, Mildred’s right,” Ryan agreed. “Best to leave while we still can. Get the horses.”
Without a word, Ricky pulled a knife from his belt sheath, cut a finger and smeared a wide arc of blood across the plastic.
“Why did you do that?” J.B. demanded, slapping his soggy fedora against a leg.
At the sight of the blood, the screamwing went berserk and violently threw itself forward. It hit the plastic hard enough to shake the entire window...and just stayed there, smashed across the resilient material, pale golden blood dribbling from its mouth.
Then it slowly slid down the window, leaving behind a trail of sticky residue. Reaching the sill, it dropped off to tumble lifelessly away until finally dropping from view.
“Nuke me.” Jak laughed. “Chilled self!”
“Well done, lad!” Doc boomed, smacking the boy on the back. “A classic example of brains over brawn.”
“If you can’t outgun them, outwit them,” Ricky said, sounding eerily like J.B.
Just then three more screamwings appeared from opposite sides of the window. All of the companions took out their weapons again. But as the mutants came near, they paused, then abruptly turned to fly away.
“Must smell deader,” Jak stated, watching them hastily depart. “Nothing like stink of own kind chilled.”
“Damn straight,” J.B. said. “Okay, let’s find a fire ax and start busting up doors!”
An ax was located conveniently near an emergency exit, and soon several of the office doors were reduced to a heaping pile of kindle, along with some folding wooden chairs, reams of paper and a large piece of ornamental driftwood found at the bottom of a dusty aquarium lined with pink gravel and tiny skeletons.
Carefully building a campfire in the middle of a curved bank of raised control panels, using the aluminum sheets to reflect the heat, the companions soon had an area that was wonderfully warm, bordering on downright comfortable. Then there came a brief deluge of icicles from the overhead cables as they thawed from the rising column of heat.
“Should have seen that coming,” Ryan said, brushing out his hair. “All right, who’s got the frying pan?”
Soon, delicious smells filled the control room and the companions spread out a layer of carpeting from the offices on the terrazzo floor to help stave off the chill.
“Need any help, Ryan?” J.B. asked, contentedly sitting cross-legged.
“No, almost done,” Ryan replied, crumbling some fried bacon into the simmering beans.
“Add shot?” Jak asked, offering a pint bottle of murky home brew.
“Rather have some taters,” Ryan said, accepting the bottle and adding a splash. “But thanks all the same.”
“Beans taste better with shine,” Jak added, tucking the bottle away again. “And garlic. Everything need garlic.”
“Louisiana cooking,” Mildred said, removing her soaked boots.
Jak smiled. “The best!”
“Ah...sheerest ambrosia,” Doc stated, ambling closer. He set a tin bucket of snow near the cheery blaze, and it immediately started to melt into water. “You are a most excellent chef, my dear Ryan.”
“Man’s gotta know how to take care of himself,” Ryan replied with a shrug. “Krysty is the better cook, but it’s my turn.”
“You got that right, lover.” She smiled, massaging her hair as it fanned outward from the growing warmth.
“Unfortunately the next turn is mine.” Doc sighed, resting his back against a control panel. “And while the good Lord gifted me with many valuable talents, the culinary arts weren’t among them.”
“You can burn water,” Mildred stated jovially, “that’s sure enough.”
“Sad, but true. However, I do possess the acumen to gather more wood.”
Stirring the beans with a wooden spoon, Ryan gave a nod. “Much appreciated.”
“Consider me Damon to your Pythias,” Doc announced with a flourish, gathering the ax to head for a large mahogany conference table.
“Mildred, do you know what he’s talking about?” Ryan asked, shaking his head.
“Most of the time,” she said, massaging the circulation back into her toes. “But only because my father was a big fan of the classic literature and made me read a lot.”
She turned to Krysty. “How’s your hair?”
“Still hurts, but I heal fast,” Krysty told her, a hand starting to reach upward, then she stopped. “Besides, I’d rather that miniball took some hair than plowed a hole through my skull.”
“You can load that into a blaster,” Ryan stated, setting the rolls near the flames to defrost them a little.
“If you want, I have an aspirin, singular, but also some willowbark tea in my medical bag,” Mildred said, pulling the patched canvas bag closer.
“Mebbe later,” Krysty said, then turned. “Any shine left in that bottle?”
“Lots,” Jak said, passing it over.
Removing the cork, Krysty drank, then passed the bottle back.
Dinner was simple, but there was plenty of it, from well-buttered beans and acorn muffins, to smoked fish. Locked safely inside the power plant, the companions ate their fill.
“What I wouldn’t give for a cup of real coffee,” J.B. said, standing to dump his greasy tin plate into a bucket of warm water.
“Now, I had a different kind of dessert in mind, John,” Mildred said, taking his arm.
Glancing sideways, J.B. asked a silent question, and she responded with a nudge of the hip. “There’s lots of little offices nearby, and some of the doors even lock,” she said with a smile. The couple stood and retired for the evening.
Chapter Twelve
In the morning, breakfast was warmed-up beans, bacon broth and smoked fish. Doc attempted to make a sandwich of the fish and beans, the result of which was a lot of beans spilled on the floor.
Checking outside the frosted window, the companions were pleased to see that the blizzard had finally ended. The sky was the usual orange and purple clouds, lightning flashing between the roiling clouds of toxic chemicals and radioactive vapors.
However, outside the door, the companions discovered that the snow was now almost a yard deep. Wearing every item of clothing they possessed, the companions cut up their ponchos to wrap the exposed legs of the horses with several layers of blankets to help protect them from frostbite. Then they climbed into the saddle and rode off toward the north once more.
As the long miles slowly passed, there was no sign of screamwings, hellflowers, stickies, or any other mutant. In the hushed still of the early dawn, it felt like the companions were the last humans alive on the planet, and they began to enjoy the cold ride across the vast wintry landscape.
“Currier and Ives, eat your heart out!” Mildred laughed.
Confused, Doc raised a silvery eyebrow. “The chocolatiers? What in the world do they have to do with winter, madam?”
&
nbsp; Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Mildred started to reply when J.B. suddenly raised a clenched fist.
Instantly everybody stopped talking and pulled a weapon.
For a few minutes the companions stayed in their saddles, straining to hear anything unusual. But there was only the gentle murmur of the breeze through the trees and the sound of distant thunder.
Eventually J.B. frowned, “Sorry, I could have sworn that—” He was interrupted by the baying of dogs, lots of them, and the noise steadily got louder.
“Sounds like pack,” Jak stated, clicking off the safety on his assault pistol. “Twenty, mebbe more.”
“That’s a bastard hunting party,” Ryan growled, wrapping the strap of the Steyr around his forearm to help steady his aim.
Squinting through the telescopic sight, Ryan scanned the horizon for any signs of pursuit. A scant moment later, there was a movement in the bushes and a pack of huge animals charged into sight.
“Fireblast, those aren’t dogs, but mutie wolves!” Ryan snarled, lowering the weapon to yank a silencer out of his backpack.
“Wild wolves?” Ricky asked, squinting in that direction.
“They’re wearing collars,” Ryan stated, quickly screwing the silencer into the barrel.
“The question is, do they belong to Rushmore or Angstrom?” J.B. said, pulling a gren from his munitions bag.
“Let’s find out,” Ryan suggested, working the arming bolt. Taking aim, he fired.
The discharge was no louder than a hard cough, but the lead wolf flipped over backward from the arrival of the 7.62 mm hollowpoint round. Blood sprayed high as the dying animal pumped out a geyser of life.
The rest of the wolves paid their fallen companion no heed, and raced over the trembling body in their grim pursuit of the companions. Then there came the sound of rumbling gasoline engines, and a large group of armed men and women wearing orange vests came into view riding motorcycles.
“Rushmore!” Ryan announced, firing twice more.
A sec woman grabbed a shoulder and tumbled into the bushes, her bike continuing on for a few yards before hitting an icy patch and also falling over. It slid across the ice to slam into a wolf, knocking the animal down, but doing no permanent harm.
Adjusting for the breeze, Ryan fired again, punching out the eye of the new lead wolf, the back of its head exploding across several of the bike riders.
Furious, the sec men brandished fists and screamed insults. Only the small man in the rear didn’t, and Ryan marked him as Baron Rushmore.
Now all of the companions opened fire, sending out a sweeping maelstrom of lead. The snow on the ground danced from the incoming rounds, two more wolves died, and several of the sec men sprayed red from minor flesh wounds. Then the two packs retreated into the forest, disappearing from view.
“They’re trying to outflank us,” Ryan snarled, shoving the Steyr into the gunboot. “We have to run for it!”
The companions urged their horses into a full gallop.
Softly, in the distance, there came the occasional yelp of a wolf, or the sputter of a motorcycle engine. But the breeze was blowing against them and carried the sounds away.
“Wolves got scent,” Jak called, jumping over a fallen tree. “Bikes fast, bad combo!”
“Let’s see what we can do about that,” Doc replied, reining his horse to a cantor. Yanking open a canvas pouch on his gunbelt, the man poured a line of black powder across the snow, then raced to rejoin the others.
“That didn’t take long,” J.B. stated, glancing sideways.
“There was only a pound remaining,” Doc replied, bent low over the neck of his horse. “I have little use for black powder anymore, aside from discouraging dogs!”
“Mildred, got any pepper?” Ryan asked, not bothering to look backward.
“If there was, I would have added it to the black powder!” Mildred told him, clutching her medical kit.
“I have a gren,” Ricky offered, patting a lumpy pocket.
“Save it!” Krysty commanded, her hair tightly coiling almost to her scalp.
Crossing an open field, Ryan waited until they were across to stop. Aiming the Steyr for the opposite side, he scanned for any glimpse of the sec men or wolves. But there was only the deep silence of the forest, the rustling of the tall pine trees and the soft clatter of some bamboo.
Then a sharp two-tone whistle made Ryan turn around fast and race back. Everybody else was gone aside from J.B. The man jerked his head toward a circular opening in a tall thicket of thorny bushes, then rode his horse inside.
A bear tunnel? Ryan thought, following his friend. Whatever had made the tunnel was exceptionally large, much bigger than any grizzly bear he had ever encountered.
“Big griz,” Jak muttered, the reins tight in his one hand, the M-16 in his other.
“We can handle a bear,” Ricky said, the strap of the DeLisle carbine wrapped around his arm to keep it from falling.
“Mebbe, mebbe not,” J.B. said, slowing. “But I got something that should ace those wolves.”
“Do it!” Ryan commanded, listening to the howls and engines get steadily closer.
“Jak, give me an anchor!” J.B. snapped, slowing his horses
Twisting in the saddle, Jak produced a knife and threw. The blade slammed deep into an exposed root, slightly quivering.
Hopping off his horse, J.B. wrapped a length of fuse to the knife, then stretched it across the tunnel and wrapped it around the base of a dead rosebush. Producing a gren, he yanked out the pin, and carefully wrapped the end of the fuse around the arming lever. Tucking the primed gren into the fork of the rosebush, he hastily climbed back on his horse and raced away.
“Willy peter?” Ryan asked hopefully. The fireball produced by a white-phosphorous grenade would block the bear cave for ten minutes, giving the companions more than enough time to get far enough away.
“Plas-ex,” J.B. replied. “Not even shrapnel, but the blast will have those bikes eating sky!”
Ducking under a low-hanging branch, Doc muttered something in a foreign language.
“I don’t think Jesus will really help us murder people!” Mildred shot back, hugging the medical bag tight to her chest.
“Which is why I asked for help from the unforgiving universe,” Doc retorted smugly, “and not its divine maker.”
Crouching to avoid any branches, the companions sped through the tunnel in somber contemplation. Suddenly it ended in a wide field of bright yellow daisies gently bowing in the breeze.
Stopping by a large pile of fecal matter, Ryan leaned low in the saddle. “This is a week old,” he reported. “The griz hasn’t been here for quite a while!”
“Pity, I would love to have it meet our new friends,” Mildred commented, pulling out a gren.
“Is that your last?” Krysty asked, her assault pistol sweeping the trees for targets.
“Yep.”
“Then make it count.”
“That was the plan,” Mildred replied, easing out the pin, then tucking the military sphere inside the mound of bear shit. Patting it into place, she stood and pulled out a knife. Bracing herself, she cut a finger and let it dribble fresh blood onto the dirty mound.
“Hurry, here they come,” Krysty said, her head tilted against the wind.
Just then, there came a thunderous explosion from the direction of the bear tunnel, followed by several howls of pain from both humans and wolves. A bright fireball grew to illuminate the thicket in hellish intensity, followed by another blast, more cursing, then high-pitched screaming.
“Dark night, a bike blew up,” J.B. said in delight. “We must have aced two or three of the bastards.”
“In hockey, that’s called a hat trick,” Mildred said, getting back into the saddle.
“Why?” Ri
cky asked, turning his horse around.
“Because afterward everybody tossed their hat into the air in celebration,” Mildred said, kicking her horse hard with both heels. “Okay, that’s what I heard. I really have no idea.”
“Sounded good to me!” Doc said, checking the magazine in his assault weapon. “When I first met Lord Stanley—”
The sputtering roar of a motorcycle interrupted the man, and the companions separated quickly to not offer anybody a group target. Incredibly, there came the sustained chattering of a rapid-fire, closely followed by several more. The entire forest seemed to shake from the passage of hot lead, and Doc cried out as blood erupted from his leg.
“This Rushmore?” Jak asked, blindly spraying the trees behind them with his assault pistol. “Not think he had rapid-fires!”
“I guess he found some for us,” Ryan snarled, holstering the Steyr to take out the SIG-Sauer.
Firing with his free hand, the one-eyed man emptied an entire magazine of 9 mm rounds just to the side of where the last rapid-fire seemed to have been located. Only a fool would shoot and not shift position. If this was the baron and his best sec men, they would certainly not have any fools, and Ryan planned to use that against them if possible.
While slapping in a fresh magazine, Ryan was rewarded by an anguished scream. He waited a few moments, then fired at the same location, hoping to catch some would-be rescuers rushing to the aid of their fallen friend.
But this time, there was only silence.
“Not help friend, just after us,” Jak snarled. “Not good! We need plan. Got one?”
“Run fast, and do not die,” Doc told him, one hand holding the leather reins, the other clamped tightly on his bloody leg.
“Amen, and pass the ammunition,” Mildred replied, reloading her assault rifle.
Following the natural curve of the land as an aid to speed, the companions rode on in tense silence. The wolves continued to howl, and the sound of the big Harley engines kept fading in and out of the morning breeze.
Suddenly the land took on a pronounced downward slant, and spreading ahead of the companions was a gleaming white slope that extended into the far distance.