Child of Slaughter

by James Axler

  “And please.” Ryan glared at them over his shoulder. “Don’t antagonize this dick.”

  “You just did,” shouted Hammersmith, who’d heard every word. “And furthermore, fuck off, all of you!”

  Ryan grinned at Jak and Ricky. “Let me take care of the antagonizing for you,” he said.

  “Good enough,” Jak agreed. “Always enjoy watching master work.”

  “Now saddle up, people!” Ryan shouted. “We’ve got a bastard load of ground to cover!”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “We are almost at the core, are we not?” Doc asked, though he didn’t say how he knew. He didn’t tell Ankh that the fizzing feeling in his head had become more or less constant at that point.

  “That’s right,” Ankh told him. “It’s less than a mile away now.”

  “Good, good,” Doc said matter-of-factly as he trudged along through the high late-morning heat. The temperature had forced him to take his frock coat off and carry it over his shoulder from a hooked finger. The clothes he’d been wearing underneath were soaked with sweat anyway; he found himself wishing he could take some of those off, too.

  Just then, Ankh cleared his throat. “What we talked about earlier.” He spoke in a low voice, though he didn’t need to. Doc was moving so slowly, he was keeping the two of them well back from the squad of shifters, out of earshot. “Are you clear on your part in the plan?”

  “It could not be clearer.” Doc nodded. “Though I feel compelled to remind you that I am not any kind of expert on whatever equipment my predecessor might have developed.”

  “Just follow my lead and keep a clear head, and you’ll do fine.”

  “Good,” Doc said, though his head was anything but clear at that moment. Was the rising intensity of the fizzing due to the core’s proximity, or another landscape change waiting to happen?

  “Remember, once the action starts, things will happen fast,” Ankh stated. “But I’ve got plenty of friends among the troops as well as the core station guards. Exo and his people are outnumbered, and our victory is assured.”

  Doc thought of saying something about how quickly an assured victory could become the opposite, but then he decided to keep that one to himself. “That is most excellent news, Ankh,” he said instead. “Your plan seems to me quite sound indeed.”

  Suddenly, Doc felt the ground shudder underfoot. Exo, at the front of the ranks, shot a hand in the air, and all the shifter troops immediately stopped in their tracks.

  Was another transformation in the making? Was that the source of the fizzing in Doc’s head? All he knew for sure was that the earth was shaking, and the shifters were very much on alert.

  “What’s happening?” Doc asked. “Another change in the Shift?”

  “Yes and no,” Ankh replied. “You’ll see.”

  Just then, fifty feet away between two big hills, the sandy ground lifted up, revealing a pitch-black gap underneath it.

  “What spontaneously generated landform will this be, I wonder?” Doc asked as he watched the slab of ground continue to crank backward.

  Ankh looked at him as if he was stupid. “It’s not spontaneously generated. It’s a hidden door, is what it is.”

  “Ah. I see.” Doc nodded as the slab reached a forty-five-degree angle and stopped. Its underside was mounted with machinery—giant gears and levers that stopped turning and left the great weight propped above its socket in the ground.

  “This is it, Doc,” Ankh said. “Congratulations on returning to the core after too long away.”

  Doc was distracted by the entryway before him. He’d never been there before, but it looked very familiar to him nonetheless.

  “Don’t worry.” Ankh elbowed him in the side. “It’s a lot more impressive once you get through the door.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “Just remember,” Ankh whispered urgently, “Hammersmith has been here many times before, so don’t act as if this is your first time seeing the place.”

  “Understood,” Doc replied.

  Up ahead, Exo started toward the entrance, signaling with a wave for the other shifters to follow. Ankh and Doc fell in step, moving as quickly toward the opening as the rest of the troops.

  “This is a massive complex,” Ankh whispered. “Hammersmith was brilliant, creating it as his base and staging ground.”

  “So it would seem.” Doc peered into the gaping dark cavity up ahead, wrestling with the nagging feeling that it was somehow familiar to him. “I take it you’ve spent a good deal of time here yourself, Ankh?”

  “You might say that. I know the place like the back of my hand.”

  Exo was the first one over the threshold. As soon as he set foot on the ramp leading down from the edge of the entryway, lights flashed to life on the underside of the slab above him.

  “Motion sensors,” Doc said. Technology like that wasn’t common in postdark times; he’d rarely seen it outside caches of predark equipment that had survived the apocalypse for one reason or another.

  “Wait till you see what else is in this place,” Ankh said. “Exo chose it as the base of his new empire for a reason, you know.”

  Doc followed him down the ramp on the heels of the troops. The slab lowered back into place behind them, automatically closing the door when the last of the visitors had gone inside.

  When Doc descended to the first level with the shifters, he saw there was a wide, short hallway ahead, well lit and ending in a pair of giant blast doors. The layout suggested a shelter of some kind, designed to keep out the extreme force of a nuclear explosion and its aftermath.

  Exo walked to an intercom panel set into the wall near the doors. He used the silver lion’s head of Doc’s swordstick to tag the button that would connect him to whoever was on the other side.

  “I have returned!” Exo shouted into the panel. “And I’ve brought back our runaway whitecoat and hope for the future.”

  As soon as he said it, the shifter forces cheered. Every one of them roared with approval, which made Doc wonder how much support Ankh really had. He claimed to have Exo and his people outnumbered, so victory was assured, but those pro-Exo cheers sounded pretty genuine.

  “Open the doors!” Exo ordered. “Let’s not waste another second in setting my glorious empire in motion!”

  Again, every shifter soldier cheered. Blasters were raised and shaken overhead in martial jubilation.

  Exo turned from the intercom and faced the crowd. “We shall rule all the Shift and then the lands outside the Shift, as well! A new era is about to begin!”

  The troops chanted his name over and over. The sound of all those voices raised to the ceiling filled the corridor with a deafening roar. Doc put his hands over his ears to take the edge off, but it didn’t do much good.

  It was then that a siren howled, overriding the cheers, and lights along the gray metal walls began to flash. With a boom of separation, the big blast doors began to slide apart.

  “This is it.” Ankh rubbed his hands together eagerly. “We’re going in. How does it feel to be on the cusp of destiny, my friend?”

  Doc didn’t answer. He was too busy gazing at what lay behind the opening doors.

  His breath caught in his throat as the doors moved farther apart. The hairs on the back of his neck sprang up, but the reaction had nothing to do with what Exo had claimed was history in the making.

  At that moment, Doc was much more focused on the past.

  “By the Three Kennedys!” he whispered to himself. “This place…”

  When the blast doors had parted most of the way, he saw the view beyond them with clarity. He saw crimson-skinned muties gathered in the extension of the hallway, cheering as the doors parted before them.

  But Doc wasn’t nearly as interested in the new batch of muties as he was in the layout of the place…the walls, the tunnel.

  “Ah, yes.” Ankh was grinning at him. “I see you are awestruck already, and this is but the entrance to our magnificent complex.” />
  “Awestruck, yes.” Doc nodded slowly. Up ahead, the shifter muties from both sides of the blast doors were rushing together, hugging and laughing as they reunited at the threshold. Someone on the other side was playing a musical instrument that sounded like a cross between a guitar and a dying cow, and the happy muties were dancing to the music.

  But all Doc could focus on was the blast doors. They meant something to him, something unexpected, something that cast this place in an entirely new light.

  “This is where it will all happen,” Ankh said. “A new beginning, though not quite the one that Exo expects.”

  Doc did not reply. His mind was too busy racing, processing the new information about the core and the Shift, considering what it meant to him and his friends. The implications were staggering.

  If the core of the Shift was a redoubt, and the shifter muties were in control of it, as they appeared to be, Doc’s life had just gotten a good deal more complicated.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Where did you say you got this wag again?” asked Ryan, who was sitting in the passenger’s seat of the APC across from Hammersmith, the driver.

  “A hidden garage in my bunker.” Hammersmith had to shout to make himself heard over the wag’s big engine. “Where’d you think I had it stowed? Up my ass?”

  “Before the bunker. Where did you get it originally?” As he spoke, Ryan kept his eyes on the hilly landscape hurtling toward them. Hammersmith drove like a maniac, jolting the big vehicle through a wild pattern of hard rights and harder lefts. The insane driving would get them to their destination fast, though whether they’d all be alive when they got there remained an open question.

  “Bought it from a little old lady in Texarkana.” Hammersmith said it with a Southern accent. “She only drove it to church on Sundays and bingo on Friday nights.”

  Ryan didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. But it was clear to him and the rest of the companions that Hammersmith was a freezie.

  The predark wag was in such pristine shape, someone who didn’t know any better might have thought skydark had happened only a few weeks earlier. But, as usual, getting information out of Hammersmith was about as easy as prying it out of Union.

  Nevertheless, Ryan kept trying. “Did you use this wag to escape the core?”

  “Fuck no.” Hammersmith fished a joint out of the pocket of his lab coat. “I faked my own death, remember? Kind of hard to do if you’re riding into the sunset in a big war wag.”

  “Then, how did it end up stowed away in the middle of the Devil’s Slaughterhouse?” Ryan asked.

  Hammersmith stuck the joint into a corner of his mouth, then produced his butane lighter from another pocket of his coat. “Brought it here a long time ago, before I got involved with those shifters. Thought I might need it someday, and, whoa, what do ya know? I do!”

  Ryan held on to the door handle as the wag swooped around a hill and burst onto a broad plain, right behind a galloping herd of large ratlike creatures.

  As the wag charged through the middle of the herd, Ryan second-guessed his decision to let Hammersmith choose a route through the middle of the Devil’s Slaughterhouse. They were saving a ton of time going that way, he couldn’t deny it, but if something went wrong and some freak-of-nature beast got in the way, things could go off the rails fast.

  “Be prepared, that’s my motto.” Hammersmith lit the joint and inhaled deeply. Then he blew out the smoke and coughed. “What’s your motto? Make it up as we go along?”

  “Pretty much,” Ryan said. “That, plus ‘Smart-asses get shot first.’”

  “Funny stuff there!” Hammersmith had another toke, then released the smoke from his lungs. “You ought to be on a TV sitcom. Oh, wait! There are no sitcoms! And there’s no TV, either! Guess you’re out of luck.”

  “How much longer till we get to the core?” Ryan asked.

  “Just after sundown, I’m thinking,” Hammersmith said. “Though, this is good shit I’m smoking, so that estimate might be a little off.”

  “Mind if I have a hit?” Ryan reached across the cabin.

  Hammersmith hesitated, then gingerly handed him the joint. “Totally primo, guaranteed.”

  Ryan promptly opened the window and tossed out the joint.

  “Hey!” Hammersmith snapped. “That was a real douche bag move!”

  “You’re stoned enough already,” Ryan told him. “Now pay attention to your driving, or you’re going out the window next.”

  * * *

  BACK IN THE main body of the wag, the rest of the team sat in seats along the walls, bracing themselves against the jarring ride through the bumpy Slaughterhouse.

  While the others talked about the next stage of their mission to save Doc, Jak and Union sat silently beside each other in the rearmost seats on the driver’s side.

  Jak had tried several times to get her talking, with no success. He’d pretty much given up when she finally leaned in close to him and whispered, “I want to kiss you again, but she won’t let me.”

  Jak was surprised to hear from her. “She who?” He wondered which personality he was talking to, but he couldn’t tell. Since Union was sitting closest to the door, he couldn’t see the color of the braid on her left temple.

  “She.” Still Union’s voice remained a whisper. “I’m not even supposed to be talking to you.”

  “What I do?” Jak kept his voice to a whisper, as well. “Thought was perfect gentleman.”

  “Shh.” Union put a finger up to her lips. “You need to trust me. I want to save you.”

  “Save? Who from?”

  She shook her head. Her eyes were wide; she looked frightened. “When I give the signal, you must do as I say.”

  “Why? What going happen?”

  Again, she shook her head. “I can’t tell you anything else. I’ve already taken a terrible chance saying this much.”

  “Need know more.”

  Union grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. “Whatever you do, don’t say a word to anyone else. Especially anyone else in here.” She turned her head fully toward him and tapped the side of it.

  Only then did he see that her braid was white. He was dealing with Carrie, the basket case. Of all her personalities, this was the one who had chosen to save him.

  But then she let go of his hand and was gone. He saw the change as she leaned back in the seat, her stare turning icy and distant, her braid turning jet-black. Taryn was back.

  For a moment, Jak thought of trying to say something to her. But he changed his mind and instead sat back to ponder what Carrie had told him.

  If what she’d said was true, the team was in danger. But what was the nature of the danger, and when was it coming for them?

  And what did it say that she knew about the threat in advance?

  * * *

  TWO HOURS INTO the ride, Krysty’s head started pounding. She kept it to herself at first; the pain was bearable, nowhere near the brain-splitting agony she’d felt during transformations of the Shift.

  But Mildred, who was sitting across from her, soon picked up on it. “Krysty?” She leaned across the cabin with a look of deep concern on her face. “Honey, are you all right?”

  Krysty nearly denied it. She was sick of being a liability and didn’t want the mission scuttled or delayed because of her.

  But she couldn’t lie to Mildred. Shaking her head slightly, she leaned forward and spoke as quietly as she could without being drowned out by the noise of the wag. “I think it’s starting again. Just the leading edge of it so far.”

  Mildred nodded. “Okay.” She didn’t do as Krysty had feared and suggest they turn back. “So maybe we can manage it a little better this time.”

  “Manage it?”

  Mildred held up an index finger, then turned to the driver’s seat, which was on the other side of her. “Hey! Hey, Hammertime!”

  “What do you want?” he snapped from behind the wheel. “Can’t you see I’m trying to drive up here?”


  “Screw you!” Mildred looked back at Krysty and winked, then returned her attention to Hammersmith. “Got any more of that sweet leaf up there, buddy boy?”

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because Krysty’s in need of some pain management, and I’m thinking your special stash might just do the trick.”

  “The last time I shared, the One-Eyed Wonder threw my doobie out the mofo window.” Hammersmith glared at Ryan, who studiously ignored him. “Fat chance I’ll dip into what stash I’ve got left just to see you throw it out again!”

  “It won’t happen,” Mildred said. “Swear to God. Krysty feels a head-splitter coming on, and I’m guessing the pot might help her get through it.”

  Krysty frowned. “You think so? I really don’t want that stuff.”

  Mildred nodded firmly. “I’d bet money on it.” She thumped the back of Hammersmith’s seat with her fist. “Come on, Dr. H. Otherwise we might have to turn this bucket of bolts around and get her the hell out of here.”

  Hammersmith’s beady eyes jumped to the rearview mirror, sizing up Krysty. He jolted the wheel a few more times, wrenching the wag through an obstacle course of boulders and sinkholes, then pulled a plastic bag full of weed from the pocket of his lab coat. “All right, honeybunch. Just don’t waste it,” he said as he handed it over his shoulder. “That’s almost the last of my supply.”

  Mildred took the pot, then asked for papers and a lighter, which he also provided. “Where did your supply come from anyway?”

  “Got a grow set up in a secret cove not far from the core. You wouldn’t believe how much the Shift’s transformations enrich the soil around these parts. You get all kinds of wild varietals and effects!”

  “But this batch isn’t like that, I hope.” Mildred held up the bag.

  Hammersmith snicker-wheezed. “As if I’d ever share the good shit.” His shoulders hopped up and down as he laughed some more.

  Mildred put the bag and lighter in her lap, then slipped a rolling paper out of the little box. “Fine with me. Krysty just needs something to smooth out the rough spots.” As she said it, the wag hit a big bump, rocking the cabin hard and bouncing the lighter right out of her lap.