Sunchild

by James Axler

  "Okay, plan is this," Harvey called over the crowd. "The boys here haul the nuke out first, followed by Cyclops and his people, who get the pleasure of carrying that bastard—" with which he spit at the bound Sunchild, still tied to the stake. "—and then the rest of us follow. Firing party take torches, start the burning at the back, then run like fuck to join us."

  There was a ripple of laughter at this touch of humor, and the crowd parted to allow the sec men pulling the makeshift platform with the nuke on it. Using scrap from the camp, they had rigged up a trolley and pulleys that enabled the missile to be rolled with a relative smoothness, and once they had breasted the gentle incline of the track it became a simple task to haul it.

  Ryan and J.B. followed, supporting the stake with the mutie baron so that it sat easily on their shoulders. They would take the first haul, followed by Jak and Doc, then Mildred and Krysty. They were none too happy at being volunteered for the task by Harvey, but had elected between them to say nothing and see how matters developed—especially in view of the manner in which the sec chief had assumed control of the situation, and the baron had said nothing.

  The main body of the war party followed, with the firing party at the rear. Composed of the fastest and most nimble members of the war party, they lit torches from the fires that still burned, then skipped among the corpses and oil trails in a macabre dance, firing the oil trails and corpses at the rear of the valley and the outer edges, then outrunning the spreading fire as it consumed the ville.

  The blaze was quick to take, and even in the dawning daylight the valley became an inferno of intense heat and light, the smell of charring flesh gagging and catching at the back of the throat as it drifted on the morning breeze.

  Looking back, Doc saw the fire take hold in the enclosed oven of the valley, flaring brighter than the rising sun, with an intense heat that flared more brightly. He wasn't the only one. As he turned, left behind by the war party, he saw that Alien was also watching the fires.

  There was an aura about the baron that suggested his power had been broken that night. An aura that snapped Doc out of his reverie and reminded him that, despite the holocaust behind them, their own fight was still far from over.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Why don't you speak, you poltroon? Don't you see that this continuing pretense is only going to lead to more pain?"

  "You old fool. I don't know who's crazier, you or that mutie bastard," Harvey muttered. "He's a half-crazed mutie fucker, so why should he be able to make any sense?"

  Doc smiled, his oddly perfect white teeth reflecting the lamplight that hung over the bound and secured mutie leader, casting a pool of light in the center of the room that left the edges in shadow. He leaned toward the sec chief to emphasize his point.

  "That, sir, truly does beg the question of why, if you believe that, you persist in torturing the poor soul."

  "Poor soul? This fucker is a poor soul?" Harvey's disbelieving voice rose into a screech. "After all he's done, you can say that?"

  Doc shrugged. "There is, sir, no feasible logic to your argument. Would torture bring back the dead and damned? No, sir, it would not. All that would do is make you feel better for a short while. And that, sir, is not the purpose of this charade."

  Harvey seethed. "Big words, you lanky fuck. But that's all. I say I should just ice the son of a bitch right now."

  Jak stepped forward from the shadow. "Not what Alien want. Not what say. Anyway, Doc use big words but sometimes make sense. Why think talk sense anyway?" the albino added, looking to Doc.

  Along with Harvey, Jak and Doc in the interrogation room were Ryan, Blake and Downey from the sec force. The purpose of the interrogation, as Alien had directed his sec chief, was to find out what had happened to Dean, and also to ascertain how much the mutie leader knew about the nuke that was now being safely stored in an outlying tunnel. The trip back had been swift, the makeshift transport for the nuke being more than adequate for the task. The men pulling the nuke had headed away from the ville entrance they had used to exit the underground lair, and had instead headed for the disguised entrance that led on from the subbasement of an underground garage in a ruined office building. The sec forces had camouflaged the debris that led into the garage so well that J.B. had assumed they were headed into a wall of foliage as he followed close behind with the staked Sunchild, sharing the load with Ryan.

  Once inside, Alien had directed his sec chief to the interrogation, and had accompanied his men to where he planned to store the nuke. He had asked the Armorer to accompany them, and J.B. had taken that as a compliment to his abilities that he was being asked to help mothball a nuke. His rad counter had earlier verified that no radiation was leaking from the missile.

  The rest of the force had dispersed to their units to recover, Mildred and Krysty accompanying the wounded to the small sick bay. There were few casualties, but more than the ville's small medical team would usually deal with, and they were grateful for the assistance.

  And now Sunchild sat in the middle of the room, bleeding from a number of minor cuts and lesions about the face and upper body, heavily bruised from the repeated punches and slaps of the sec chief. Harvey had made a show of holding back, but it was obvious from the condition of Sunchild's earlier blaster wound, and the gangrenous smell emanating from the area around the pus-dribbling wound, that the mutie baron's stamina had been severely depleted, and it wouldn't take much to chill him once and for all.

  Not once had he made any sounds that could be taken as words, but there was something about Doc's conviction that the mutie could speak, and perhaps tell them something, that made the one-eyed warrior stiffen in the shadows.

  "Yeah, Doc, why do you think that?" he asked softly, echoing Jak's question.

  "Our friend here is holding out on us, I fear," Doc said, bending toward the mutie baron so that his face was almost level with that of the bound man. The smell from the mutie's gangrenous wound made him gag, but he paused, waiting until Sunchild made eye contact. "You see, I feel sure that he is following every word we say. The body language of the man suggests that he is braced against the big chill, but that he has his pride, and will take his secrets to the grave with him. To protect part of himself, keep it close. By not giving in, he feels that ultimately he will win. Don't you?"

  "Shit, bastard and fuck. Can you believe this complete bullshit?" Harvey raved, turning imploringly to Blake and Downey. "What the fuck kind of jolt is this old shithead on?"

  The two sec men exchanged puzzled glances. If their chief was right, and Doc was wrong, then why the hell were they there anyway? And if the old man was right, then why was Harvey getting so worked up?

  Ryan stepped forward into the light. He fixed Sunchild with his icy blue eye. "Do you know anything about my son?" he asked quietly.

  Sunchild returned the stare. Doc stepped back so that there was nothing between the one-eyed warrior and the mutie baron except the charged and empty air. Despite the wounds, the blood and the ugliness of his mutated features, the mutie leader assumed a sudden dignity that took all but Doc and Ryan by surprise.

  "I know nothing of your son, One-eye. Are you the one of legend? The one who searches for the north?"

  "I may be," Ryan replied in a hushed voice. "What do you know of me?"

  "Men we have sacrificed to the gods have spoken of you before dying. Yes, we know your tongue. My fathers and myself long ago learned that we would need it to communicate and learn from those who would join the gods. You and your people are legend to some. I tell you this—if I had your son, he would have been chilled and consumed as a sacrifice, and a noble one…one of much power. I would have welcomed that, and it would have been a fine chill for him, to meet the gods as a chosen one. But we have not done this."

  "I believe you," Ryan said quietly.

  Time seemed to stand still, and there was no one else in the room besides the two of them. All else faded in the eerie calm of Sunchild's voice. Ryan had only heard him bellowing the
strange dialect and chant of his people. To hear him speak a normal tongue, and so quietly, was bizarre. He spoke it as though it were a foreign language, haltingly but with a measured precision to every word.

  "You have taken our totem. The means of destruction, the coming of the purifying fire."

  "Yeah. The last thing we wanted was another nukecaust around these parts," Ryan replied. "If the positions were reversed…" Despite himself, he found that he held a degree of respect for the mutie baron, who seemed to carry with him the dignity of an inherited line.

  "Our view would be different. Naturally, as you do not believe. For many generations, we have coexisted here, allowing your heresy in this ville. But things are worsening. I can feel her power growing."

  Doc stepped forward. "Her?"

  "Mutie fucker's talking shit again," Harvey interrupted.

  "Shut up, Harv," Blake hissed. "Let him have his say."

  The sec chief shot the wizened deputy a glance of pure venom but said nothing.

  Sunchild continued. "The woman who would control. You think I have not been aware of her heresies? The sacrifices that have been corrupted by her hand?"

  "She is mutie like us. I can feel her near, feel the hate. Think what you like of us, One-eye, and you, old man," Sunchild said, turning to Doc. "We are as noble as you, but we have different views. You are not bad, just wrong. But she is bad. Her blood was tainted in the underworld, and that continues. She has white-coat fever, and will seek the final solution—"

  The shot that rang out in the air was deafening in the enclosed space of the locked room. Ryan's ears rang, and the smell of cordite filled his nostrils. The slug from Harvey's Colt Magnum Carry blaster was a .357, powerful despite the snubbed barrel. At such short range—and the sec chief was only a few yards from the mutie leader's head—the power and destruction of the shot was awesome. Sunchild's head seemed to explode like an overripe melon, his skull splintered by the explosive power that erupted as the bullet entered through his left eye and pulped his brain, the displacement at such velocity carrying an incredible motive power. The exit wound was so large as to take the back of his skull from off of his vertebrae, the gray tissue of his brain and the red of his blood forming a fine mist that sprayed out across the room, splattering Downey, Blake and Jak, who were behind and on either side of the seated mutie.

  One second it seemed to Ryan and Doc that Sunchild was looking at them, his eyes strangely clear and lucid, his mouth formed into a word, about to speak. The next his head was nothing more than a blur of bone, flesh and gore, spreading out like a geyser.

  "Fireblast! What the hell was that for, you triple-stupe son of a pox-ridden gaudy?" Ryan yelled, rounding on the sec chief.

  "Don't push it, Cyclops," Harvey answered in a calm voice betrayed by only the slightest tremble. "Damned fool was spreadin' shit, demoralizing my men. Can't have that. Right, boys?" He looked to Downey and Blake, who were wiping themselves off as best as possible.

  Like Ryan, Doc and Jak, they were only too well aware that Harvey was the man with the unholstered blaster. Nonetheless, they didn't sound too convinced.

  "Sure," Blake said hesitantly.

  "Whatever you say, Harv," Downey added, his face betraying a confusion at his chiefs action. There was a moment's awkward silence before Doc spoke.

  "Well, my dear sir. I shall be most interested to hear you repeat that explanation to your baron…"

  JENNA HAD BEEN standing, railing at Dean, when she went into convulsions.

  He craned his head as much as possible, straining against his bonds, and could see that she was frothing at the mouth, moaning softly with the whites of her eyes showing.

  Straining his muscles as much as possible, Dean was torn between hoping she was somehow dying, and hoping that she would recover. The latter because he would be trapped, with only Harvey knowing where he was. He didn't want to be left here defenseless with the sec chief, as Harvey had no reason— unlike Jenna—to keep him alive.

  He pulled at every restraint and one at his wrist loosened.

  As he worked to free his hand, Dean had to be careful. Jenna may come around at any moment, and he may have to cover his actions. There was a good chance that she wouldn't spot his deception unless she checked carefully, as the loosened restraint was on the opposite side of the bench to that on which she had fallen. Unfortunately for Dean, this just made it harder for him to loosen the leather restraint and also crane his head in the opposite direction and take in Jenna's condition.

  The tendons on his neck stood out, the sinews strained and popped, but the youngster kept his head toward the prone woman, watching for the barest movement that would suggest a return to consciousness. All the time, he worked his wrist, until the leather was loose enough for him to slip his wrist right out. Carefully, and with an infinite caution, he brought his free hand over to work at the restraint on the other wrist.

  Jenna moaned softly, the timbre of her voice changing as she slipped back into the everyday world.

  Dean's heart raced, rising to his mouth. He thought he might vomit, such was the rush of adrenalined surprise at her voice. Yet, acting on an instinct already honed in dangerous situations, he moved with an ease and grace that surprised himself. His arm moved back across his body to its former position, his hand slipping back into the restraint and assuming a pose of being tightly bound. His head snapped back on his neck so that he was looking up at the ceiling. To all intents and purposes, he seemed to have moved not a muscle since Jenna had had her fit.

  She pulled herself from the floor, still groggy from passing out. Shaking her head and muttering, she stumbled across the room to the workbench. She picked up the hypo loaded with chemicals, then turned and looked at Dean with a narrowed gaze.

  "No, I don't think so," she said slowly.

  Dean turned his head so that he met her gaze. He could feel her mind snaking out to his, probing him. He was alarmed, hoping that she wouldn't be able to see in him that he had partially freed himself.

  But she was looking for other things. "No, we didn't finish our little discussion, did we? No matter. But what happened to me? Yes…"

  Dean said nothing, trying to blank his mind completely.

  "Don't try and be clever, little boy," she snapped. "I only want to fill in some blanks. I remember standing beside you, then there was a sense of overwhelming danger, and this force that… Oh shit," she added in a whisper. "This can't be happening. That fuckwit idiot." She walked over to Dean, her mind still occupied. He hoped it would stay that way, and that she wouldn't check his bonds too closely.

  Leaning over, she put her face close to his. "You'll keep, little one. Next time I'll finish you off properly, yeah?" And he felt her hand on him, squeezing so hard that it made him wince in pleasure and pain.

  "Yeah, and your father, too," she said with a lustful gleam in her eye. "But first I've got trouble to settle. So you stay here and think about me. And remember this—if you give me an heir, then you live. If not, well…"

  She let the answer hang in the air as she turned to leave him.

  Dean closed his eyes, breathing heavily, heart thumping. He heard her leave the room, securing the door. The metal was thick enough that he couldn't hear her footsteps down the corridor, so he counted to twenty to himself instead, then slipped his freed hand from the loosened restraint.

  Now he had some time—although he couldn't be sure how long—to free himself, find his clothes and try to get the hell out. He began to move, frustratingly aware of how his muscles had ached and cramped from being held in the same position for so long. But he had to ignore the cramps and move before Jenna returned.

  BLAKE CLOSED the rough wooden door on the scene of Sunchild's slaughter. He secured the simple lock on the outside of the door that was designed to keep captives inside. Not that the chilled mutie baron was going anywhere. It was just habit.

  "Well, Harv, you've got some explaining to do to Alien," Downey said simply, looking at his sec chief.

>   "Why?" the sec chief replied. He looked on edge, and there was the faintest hint of a facial tic as he spoke.

  "Shit, Harv, he didn't want Sunchild chilled. He just wanted him interrogated," Blake exploded in exasperation. "I just dunno what was going on there, but if it's something we don't know about—"

  "Why would it be that?" Harvey snapped. "Why the fuck would you say that?" He grabbed the smaller sec man by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the wall.

  Jak was the first to react. He snaked between them, his arm flashing as he chopped up, breaking the grip. In one fluid movement, he followed through and pushed Harvey back against the far wall, where Ryan's tightly muscled arms secured the sec chief.

  "Thanks, Jak," Blake muttered, shaking himself down and trying to keep calm. "Feel like this whole fuckin' place has gone crazy all of a sudden."

  "Mebbe crazy all time. You notice now," the albino replied.

  "You could have a point there, Whitey," Downey said slowly. "Listen, Harv. You just go and calm down some. I'll go and report to Alien, okay? It was an accident, agreed?"

  Jak and Ryan exchanged looks. Should they go along with this? Doc merely assented. "It is your ville, dear boy, and your place to make decisions."

  HARVEY STORMED away from the group, and they let him go. For Blake and Downey, it was important to smooth things over with Alien before they found out what the hell was wrong with their sec chief. For Ryan, Jak and Doc, it was important to link up with J.B., then with Mildred and Krysty. If any immediate action was to be taken to find Dean, then they should all know exactly what was going on while they were in the same ville, in order to avoid endangering one another.

  It crossed Ryan's mind that he should follow Harvey. He felt sure that the sec chief could lead him to his son. But now wasn't the right time.

  So Harvey was alone as he stalked the passages and tunnels of Raw. His mind raced. Time was suddenly running short on him, and he had to find Jenna.