Child of Slaughter

by James Axler

  So was Doc’s surprise and delight at what he’d done. As the reality of it sank in, he relished the thought that he’d acted so decisively and saved someone’s life without help or guidance. He’d done it all on his own, with no prodding, and it made him feel good.

  He liked being the rescuer much better than being the one being rescued.

  * * *

  “CONGRATULATIONS,” ANKH TOLD him later. “You’ve made quite an impression on the people of Struggle.”

  Doc was working on a young patient in the middle of the street, setting a broken bone in her arm with a makeshift splint. “I assure you, such was not my intention.”

  “The result is all that matters,” Ankh said. “And the result is that you are a hero to them.”

  Doc snorted as he wrapped cloth tightly around the splint. “A hero is something I have never been, nor will I ever be.”

  “Good, good.” Ankh smiled. “If there’s one thing the people like more than a hero, it’s a reluctant hero.”

  Doc looked up at him, thought about arguing further, then decided against it. Perhaps his apparent heroism fit into some plan of Ankh’s that would mean freedom for them both.

  “You did something wonderful,” Ankh told him. “You, an outlander, risked your life to save the lives of a shifter mother and child. I don’t think you realize how profound a statement that is.”

  “Any decent person would have done the same thing.” Doc finished winding the cloth around the splint and clipped the end with a safety pin he’d been carrying.

  “But you’re not just any person, are you, Dr. Hammersmith?” Ankh winked.

  Just then, Exo’s high-pitched voice interrupted. “No, he is not.”

  Ankh raised his eyebrows and stepped back. Whatever his plans were, he deferred to the leader as always.

  “Ah, William.” Exo stormed over with a pink-and-blue candy stick in his mouth. “We are in your debt, as always. We can never repay you.”

  Doc helped up the girl whose broken arm he’d set and nodded for her to leave, thinking that Exo could repay him by letting him go.

  “Thank you.” Looking nervous, she quietly uttered the words and hurried away, skirting heaps of wreckage piled in the street by cleanup crews.

  When the girl left, Exo threw his arm around Doc’s shoulders. “We do have a reward that I think you’ll appreciate, though.”

  “What might that be?” Doc asked.

  “Final revenge against your abductors.” Exo grinned. “The people of Struggle were so moved by your heroism, they have volunteered to send an army to wipe out the scoundrels who kidnapped you.”

  It took an effort for Doc not to show his alarm. Exo had just announced that an army was going to wipe out his companions all because of Doc and his heroism.

  “What do you think of that?” Exo squeezed Doc’s shoulder so hard, he made Doc wince. “Isn’t it a noble sacrifice?”

  Doc clenched his teeth against the words he really wanted to say. Looking askance, he caught sight of Ankh, who was nodding forcefully and staring intently in his direction.

  “Yes,” Doc said finally. “A noble sacrifice indeed.”

  “This quake has galvanized them against the outlanders,” Exo said.

  “But the outlanders didn’t cause it, did they?” Doc asked.

  “Who can say?” Exo shrugged. “Their presence alone might be enough to disrupt the delicate balance of the Shift and spur such disasters.

  “But don’t worry.” Exo swung his arm from around Doc’s shoulder and punched him in the biceps. “You won’t have to face them, my friend. You’ll be far from that battlefront.”

  Doc frowned. “How far?”

  “Dozens of miles in the opposite direction,” Exo said. “While the kidnappers are getting their just deserts, you’ll be heading straight for the core to finish your work.”

  Doc cleared his throat. “Maybe I would rather see my kidnappers suffer first. Clear the air, so to speak.”

  “Can’t be helped.” Exo shook his head. “We need you to work your magic in the core, or this empire of ours will never get off the ground.” With that, he smacked Doc in the middle of the back, hitting the exact spot where his injury hurt the most. “How does it feel to be in demand?”

  Doc sucked in his breath at the wild shot of pain. “It feels…good.” His eyes watered, but he didn’t let himself cry out or show the extent of his discomfort. He was too afraid of what Exo’s twisted reaction might be.

  “Excellent!” Exo pulled the candy stick from his mouth and waved it in Doc’s face. “You’re going to change the world, my dear Dr. Hammersmith! In a thousand years, they’ll still be singing songs about you and how you made my empire possible!”

  Doc smiled and gave him a thumbs-up gesture while choking back his reaction to the still-throbbing back injury. “Wonderful.” He hoped Exo didn’t pick up on the strain in his voice, the sign of weakness that might invite his vicious scrutiny.

  “They’ll sing about how you saved that woman and her child,” Exo said. “And they’ll sing about how the shifters repaid you with the blood of your abductors.”

  “Lovely,” Doc grunted.

  “Now go get ready to see off the army,” Exo ordered. “They march within the hour. And make no mistake, they will bring you that blood you seek. The shifters of Struggle are the most elite shock troops in all of the Shift. They cannot be stopped, especially on a vengeance quest like this one.”

  Doc looked at Ankh, who nodded firmly. Apparently, the Struggle troops lived up to their billing from Exo.

  “They will bring you plenty of blood,” Exo promised. “And whatever you want from the corpses of those outlander scum. Though, I have to say—” he chuckled “—I cannot personally guarantee what condition they’ll be in when they get to you.” He laughed, finding the thought of it hilarious.

  Then he rushed off down the street, still laughing uproariously.

  When Exo was out of earshot, Doc spoke to Ankh. “He should not send those troops. It is a mistake.”

  “How so?” Ankh asked. “Don’t let this ramshackle ville of theirs fool you. They are every bit as deadly as he says.”

  “My friends…” Doc shook his head slowly. “They will blow them to kingdom come.”

  “Save your idle threats,” Ankh said, and then he shrugged. “Though, if your people are that dangerous… Oh, well.”

  Doc stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  Ankh shrugged again. “If this army was out of the picture, it wouldn’t be a bad thing for either of us. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Doc frowned as the implications became clear. Taking the army of Struggle off the board was something Ankh desired, however permanent their absence from the game might turn out to be.

  It was a cold-blooded strategy, but the Deathlands was a cold-blooded place.

  And bloodshed, all too often, was the only way to survive its brutal climes.

  “Don’t be so gloomy, Doc.” Ankh grinned and reached over to pat Doc’s shoulder. “Thanks to you inspiring the people of Struggle with your heroism, their troops—which are intensely loyal to Exo—will be miles away from the core when it most matters.”

  Doc raised his eyebrows. “And when will it most matter, exactly?”

  “When we are there,” Ankh said. “And the future is ours for the taking.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “I can’t believe she’s not dead.” Mildred leaned back from Krysty, who was lying on the ground, and wiped sweat from her own forehead with the back of her arm. “She shouldn’t be alive after all those stings. Her system is flooded with poison.”

  Ryan was kneeling at the other side of Krysty’s body, gently holding her hand. It was one part of her that hadn’t been stung by the vicious bugs. “The Gaia power…”

  “It doesn’t make her poison-proof,” Mildred said. “Unless maybe this place has changed the way she processes the power, or altered her physiology somehow.”

  “Shift har
d on her,” Jak said. “Mebbe forced her adapt.”

  “Whatever’s keeping her alive, she’s not out of the woods yet,” Mildred told them. “She’s in some kind of comatose state. Her pulse is so low, it’s almost nonexistent.”

  “She needs medical care.” Ryan said it without looking up from Krysty’s face.

  “More than I can give under these conditions.” Mildred’s stomach tightened. So many lives had slipped through her fingers since her arrival in the Deathlands, but Krysty’s death would haunt her forever.

  Krysty was a true friend as well as a teammate; as the only two women in the group, they had bonded on a deep level, supporting each other through the Deathlands’ endless challenges and celebrating the few and far between good times, as well. They had become like sisters to each other.

  “Okay, then.” Ricky turned to Union, who was hovering, as usual, at the fringe of the group. “So where’s the nearest place of healing in these parts?”

  “What’re you smokin’, kid?” From the way Union snapped out the words—and the auburn color of her braid—it was clear that Rhonda was in the driver’s seat at that moment. “We’re in the middle of the Devil’s Slaughterhouse! There’s nothing here!”

  “What about some kind of shelter, at least?” J.B. asked. “Some place to hole up?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Union spread her arms wide to take in her surroundings. “This place is constantly changing.”

  “Choice clear.” Jak crouched at Krysty’s feet. “Need carry her back way came. Retreat to last redoubt.”

  “Redoubt?” Union frowned.

  Jak ignored her. “I take first shift. Move now. Running out daylight.”

  “It’s a long way back,” J.B. said. “And we’ll be in deep shit if the terrain starts changing again.”

  “What alternative?” Jak snapped. “Let die?”

  “That isn’t going to happen,” Ryan said darkly.

  “And what about Doc?” J.B. asked. “If we hump back out of here, we’re giving up on him, plain and simple.”

  “We’ll split up,” Ryan told them. “Just like we talked about before, when we were going to get Krysty away from the source of the seizures.”

  “Worth a try.” J.B. nodded. “And we were talking about backing out of the Devil’s Slaughterhouse anyway, so we don’t have to split up yet.”

  “We can talk about who goes where on the way to the split,” Ryan said. “Good thing we’ve got an extra body along.”

  He looked at Union, and so did the others. She just kept staring into space with an icy gaze, as if the black braid at her temple wasn’t proof enough that Taryn was in charge.

  The team made preparations to leave, and Mildred checked Krysty’s pulse one more time. It was so faint, she almost couldn’t find it.

  “Come on, honey,” Mildred said softly, pitching her voice so only Krysty could hear it. “You’ve got to keep it together. We’re all doing our best here, but you have to keep fighting, too.”

  Just then, Ryan returned from prepping his gear and crouched alongside Krysty. “Is she good to go?”

  Mildred nodded. “Ready to roll.”

  “I guess it goes without saying, but you’re not leaving her side, Mildred.”

  “The only way I leave this patient is if I’m dead.” Mildred met his eyes with grim determination. “We can’t lose her, Ryan. We can’t let it happen.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Ryan slid one hand under the middle of Krysty back and the other hand under her knees. “Nobody and nothing’s taking her away from us.” With a grunt, he lifted her off the ground and stood. “That’s just how it is.”

  Suddenly, Mildred heard a strange sound in the distance—a thunderous pounding of the ground. Seconds later, she felt a pummeling tremor reach deep inside her, shaking her from within.

  “What the hell now?” Whipping around toward the sound, she saw its source: a herd of black, horned animals stampeding in a vast mass over the horizon.

  “Buffalo!” The nearest sandhill was at least fifty yards away, and Ryan hurried straight for it. Protecting Krysty was his top priority.

  As for Mildred, she drew her .38 ZKR and joined the others, who were forming a line facing the buffalo.

  “Let’s see if we can knock enough down that it’ll turn the herd.” The hoofbeats were so loud by now that J.B. had to holler to be heard. “On my mark! Ready!”

  Everyone along the line flicked off safeties and chambered rounds.

  But as the animals got closer, Mildred wondered if the team’s arsenal would be enough. Like every other creature they’d encountered so far in the Devil’s Slaughterhouse, these buffalo had been changed in an unnatural way.

  Specifically, they all had an extra horn in the middle of their heads, a bone-white spike sparking with electrical current. The closer they got, the more clearly Mildred could see that all the horns were connected by dancing streamers of force, linked in a crackling golden network.

  “Aim!” J.B. shouted.

  “Aim?” Jak laughed. “Hard to miss.”

  Still, the wall of electrified buffalo rumbled closer. They were less than a hundred yards away now.

  Mildred swallowed hard. If she and her teammates couldn’t turn the herd aside, they would surely be trampled to death. The air she was inhaling could very well be the last she ever breathed before her body shut down forever.

  Her finger tightened on the trigger. Electrical bolts zapped the ground ahead of the herd, coming perilously close.

  Then, suddenly, she heard an unexpected sound over the thunder and crackle. A shrill whistle pierced the air, punching through the interference and instantly getting her attention.

  Looking over her left shoulder, she saw Ryan standing in front of the hill where he’d taken Krysty…only Krysty was no longer in his arms. Instead of carrying her, he was waving his arms over his head, gesturing emphatically for her to join him. J.B. was about to order the firing line to open up on the herd when Mildred started shouting.

  “It’s Ryan!” she yelled. “Look, over there!”

  Everyone looked at once. Over by the hill, Ryan stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled again, then waved some more.

  “Let’s go!” Mildred said. “He’s calling us over!”

  “But what about target practice?” Jak shouted. “Like shooting buffalo in barrel!”

  Just then, an electrical blast scorched the ground at his feet, and Jak jumped back.

  “Stun guns on the hoof, is more like it!” hollered Ricky.

  “Come on!” Mildred didn’t wait for a group vote. Whirling, she broke into a full-tilt run, sprinting as fast as she could for the hill.

  Were the other three behind her? She was certain they were. J.B., especially, would never let his girlfriend get away from him in the heat of danger.

  Trying not to think about the buffalo stampede, though it made the ground under her feet quake with each running step, she charged toward the hill. Yard after yard flicked past as she hurtled over the wet sand, crossing the midpoint and gathering her strength for a hardcore kick to the finish.

  Mildred got a stitch in her side and pushed past it. Ryan was waving with increasing urgency; this was no time to give in to pain.

  As she closed the gap to twenty yards, then ten, she felt as if the buffalo were right on top of her. Reaching deep, she found her last reserves of energy and tapped them, powering a final furious dash.

  When she got to Ryan, he caught her, spinning around with the force of her momentum. “Get inside!” he shouted. “Go around!” Letting go, he pushed her by the shoulders, shoving her around the curve of the hill.

  Without thinking, she followed his orders. She looped around the bend of the hill, looking for some kind of access point, and spotted an open hatch that was low to the ground and half her height.

  The thunderous hoofbeats pounded closer. Mildred needed no further incentive to duck into the hatch and out of the path of the electrified herd.

/>   Chapter Twenty-Four

  Jak was the last one through the hatch, following on Ryan’s heels. By then, the front rank of the buffalo herd was hammering past, sending teeth-rattling tremors surging up from the quaking earth.

  Jak slammed the hatch door shut behind him, then straightened and looked around. Until that moment, he hadn’t given much thought to what awaited him inside the hill; if it was good enough for Ryan to summon him, it had to be safe enough for Jak and the others to enter.

  What Jak saw when he scanned his surroundings didn’t give him a lot of answers, though. He was standing at the edge of a laboratory, purpose unknown. Stainless-steel counters and equipment gleamed in the white light from fluorescent tubes mounted on the ceiling. Computer screens danced with video, electronic waveforms and columns of numbers. Glass beakers and racks of test tubes crowded counters and shelves, tinkling from the percussion of the buffalo herd’s hooves.

  But what interested him the most was the examination table in the middle of the room. Krysty lay on that silver surface, still unconscious, as a man in a dirty white lab coat leaned over her, injecting her arm with something from a syringe.

  Ryan stood a few feet back from that table, watching the proceedings with intense interest. Jak stepped up, touched his shoulder and asked a question in a quiet voice. “Who?”

  “Duh. A doctor, obviously.” The man snapped out the words in the gravelly voice of a longtime smoker. “But you can call me, ‘Thank you, sir, for saving my life.’”

  Jak wasn’t sure if he should be more pissed off or amused, but the doctor was working on Krysty, so he went with amused.

  “Funny guy.” Jak chuckled. “No manners, but funny.”

  Suddenly, the doctor swung up the syringe and brandished it like a weapon. “Do not underestimate me!”

  Jak smirked. “If say so.”

  The doctor was squat—no taller than five-three—and not visibly muscular. He had a face that resembled a chimpanzee’s, with close-set eyes, a broad, flat nose and a muzzle like half a grapefruit. His ears stuck out of the sides of his head like cup handles, and his hair was a thinning black decal, glistening with oil and split down the middle.