"Give them to me!" she snapped.
The sec man looked disappointed but handed over the clothes.
"Wait outside!" she said, pointing to the door.
Reluctantly, the sec man left the room.
THEY CLEARED their food trays and sat back down in their seats in anticipation for the entertainment portion of the evening. The lights in the cafeteria were turned down low, while the lights on the stage at one end of the room were turned up bright.
A middle-aged woman dressed in a black shift walked onstage, and the room slowly grew quiet. "We're in for a special treat tonight. Instead of our usual show, Baron Fox himself has a special surprise for us."
Everyone stopped what they were doing and directed their focus onto the stage.
"And now, here he is, the giver of all good things, Baron Fox."
A round of applause.
The baron walked out onstage with Krysty in tow.
"Krysty!" Ryan exclaimed.
"You know her?" Brody asked.
"That's his mate," Mildred answered. "She was captured with us, but the baron seemed to take a shine to her."
Ryan turned to Mildred. "What is she wearing?"
"I believe that's lingerie, and she makes it look good."
Krysty was wearing a lacy black chemise and panties, and a pair of black mules with three-inch heels.
"Greetings," the baron said. "Today we were very fortunate to come upon new breeding stock."
A smattering of applause.
"As you can see, this one is absolutely exquisite. I believe she is the finest female we've had on the farm for some time." He walked around Krysty admiring her form. "But rather than have her placed in gen pop and rutted by any who chose to or for me to choose an exclusive stud, I believe she deserves only the best. For that reason, I've decided to hold a little contest, a gladiatorial contest in which the victor will be the only one allowed to rut with the red until she is heavy and an offspring is birthed."
A wave of excitement seemed to course through the assembled slaves, and the cafeteria was filled with the drone of voices.
"The contest will take place tomorrow afternoon in the courtyard between the main building and the front gate," the baron proclaimed. "Work will end early so that all may watch."
That brought a cheer.
When the room quieted, the baron continued. "Fighters will be able to leave the arena by one of two ways. Chilled, or by their own will. The last one left will claim the prize." He paused to admire Krysty one last time. "Those interested can give their name to Norman Bauer."
Norman Bauer was standing off to the side of the stage. There was a rush of men heading toward him.
"Survival of the fittest," Mildred said. "Evolution in action."
"What do you mean?" Ryan asked.
"Charles Darwin was a scientist during Doc's time who proposed the modern theory of evolution," Mildred explained. "His principle of natural selection basically said that the strongest survive, and that a species continues to evolve through natural and sexual selection."
"Meaning what?" Ryan asked.
"Meaning this contest will determine who among the men here is the strongest and it's only natural that the strongest male mates with the strongest female so that the species produces the best possible offspring."
Ryan nodded, then got up from the table.
Brody stood, as well.
"Where are you going?" Ryan asked.
Brody put a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "There'll be at least a dozen men in that ring and every one of them is going to want to chill you. If you're going to break out of here in the next couple of days, you'll need to be alive to do it. And to stay alive in the arena, you're going to need someone watching your back, and that's me."
"Thanks, Brody," Ryan said, grateful to have the help. "You're a good man."
"You're a good man, too, Ryan," Brody responded. "Let's just hope that for the sake of your woman, you're also the best."
Chapter Twenty
Sec chief Ganley was first off the boat as they came aground on the south shore of Erie Lake. The beach stretched some twenty feet back from the water, and beyond that was a tangle of deadwood and choked forest.
The sun was just beginning to set, and they would have to hurry to set up camp. Ganley posted a pair of guards at opposite ends of the campsite where the beach met the forest, and then led the expedition to find firewood for the night.
Deadwood proved easy to find, and thirty minutes later they had a roaring fire burning on the sand and a rack of sturgeon steaks cooking on a spit.
"What are you hoping to find when we get there?" Ganley asked as the group huddled around the fire waiting for the fish to cook. "What kind of mates do you all want?"
"My woman's got to have all her teeth!" one of the group called out.
"Mine should have breeding hips," another said.
"My man's gotta be strong," Rhonda said. "Stronger than me."
"Not many of those around," someone quipped.
Ganley agreed. "Seeing you in action, Rhonda, makes me think that there is no such man on the planet."
"No, he's out there somewhere," she said, turning to look over the surface of the water. "And I'm going to find him."
After a moment's silence, punctuated by the crackling of the fire, Rhonda looked at Ganley and said, "What about you, Chief? What are you looking for on this trip?"
The sec chief smiled. His only intention was to lead the mission and return as many people safely to the village as he could. The thought that he might take a mate back with him had never even occurred to him. "I'm just looking to get you all back to Reichel ville alive."
"Come on, Chief, you must have a preference."
"Well, she would have to be healthy, but that's obvious." He paused a moment further to consider the question. "I've always liked red hair…"
"See, I told you. Everyone has things they like."
"And dark skin. One or the other."
"Well," Rhonda said, getting up to check on the fish. "We'll see if we can find one or the other for you. Or maybe even both."
The travelers smiled and laughed.
"Fish is ready," Rhonda said.
"Eat up, everyone, then get some rest. We've got a long day tomorrow, and it starts with the sun."
Chapter Twenty-One
Ryan spent the night in a cabin with Mildred. After he'd signed up for the contest, several women not yet matched up for the night came around asking Ryan if he'd been spoken for.
"He's with me," Mildred said, changing her story from earlier in the day.
"Besides," Ryan said, "I need my strength for tomorrow and you look like you'd tire me out."
That sent the women away with smiles on their faces.
Both Mildred and Ryan enjoyed a good night's sleep, but when the sun came up they were roused out of bed by sec men banging on the side of the cabin.
"We're burning daylight, people," the sec man shouted. "If you want to watch the contest today, you've got to start work that much earlier."
The two friends went to the cafeteria for breakfast, and afterward Mildred was led to the nursery and Ryan joined Brody and the rest of his crew out in the orchards.
"Have you ever seen one of these contests before?" Ryan asked Brody as they began pulling weeds.
"A couple times."
"What are they like?"
"The first one I saw had only two men in it. This couple had been kidnapped on their way south and the woman was put up for battle. Her man signed up, but so did Purvis. This guy put up a good fight, but wouldn't give up and in the end Purvis had to chill him to make him stop fighting. Thing of it was, I don't even think Purvis wanted the woman, since she was already a little on the old side."
"And the other time?"
"This young girl, beautiful in just about every way. More than a dozen signed up for it, but most backed out early when they saw that Mog had entered."
"Who's Mog?"
"Big man,"
Brody answered. "Stands six-five, six-six, weighs near three hundred pounds. He's the farm's alpha male and pretty mean, too, meaner even than Purvis."
"He's signed up for this contest?"
"Oh, yeah," Brody nodded. "He has to if he wants to maintain his position."
"And how many others?"
"I checked this morning before getting on the wag. Eighteen so far. Might be more, might be less by the end of the day."
Ryan nodded. "What about weapons?"
"No blasters, of course. But when the contest begins, an assortment of hand weapons will be thrown into the arena, everything from sharp sticks and clubs to chains and maces."
"So why haven't the others joined together to get rid of this Mog?"
"There are those loyal to him. They watch his back, and he rewards them with breeders they might not have otherwise."
"How many loyals does he have?"
"Many, but only three are signed up so far."
"So that makes four altogether, Mog and his loyals."
"Yes," Brody said.
Ryan nodded. "Then our chances are good."
GANLEY GOT THE BOATS back on the water shortly after the sun came up on Erie Lake.
"With any luck," he said, "tonight will be the first of many we spend with our new mates."
A cheer erupted from the two boats, but then quickly died down as the sec chief settled into the regular rhythm of, "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" that would have them on the north shore by midafternoon and then on to their destination by nightfall.
THEY USED the Rainbow Bridge to cross the river below the falls, but if they had a wag with them on the way back they would have to try a different route. The Rainbow had been twisted and broken by movement caused by the skydark nukes on either side of the river. The bridge could handle people on foot, but anything heavier, especially a wag, and the whole bridge could collapse into the gorge below.
The Whirlpool Rapids Bridge farther downstream was a possibility, but J.B. didn't like the creaking sound the steel girders made whenever the wind blew with any strength.
"So even if we find a wag, we might not be able to get back with it," J.B. stated.
"No, there's another bridge farther south," Clarissa reported. "It's stable and strong. It's the one Baron Fox takes on his way to the eastern villes all the time."
J.B. was satisfied.
After crossing over onto the American side, they found the ruins of Niagara Falls Boulevard and took the road east, followed by an ever present gang of muties.
The ville on the American side had sustained more damage than its Canadian counterpart. The houses, all made of wood, had burned to the ground in a firestorm, and the few remaining buildings were scorched black. A fine dust covered the ground and anything that had remained on the street.
They crossed a highway and saw on their left the remains of an airport. They were mostly small planes with single engines, none of them with any weapons. J.B. had often wondered if he could get such a vehicle running, and perhaps even take it into the skies one day, but he knew that such thoughts were best suited for another time, perhaps when the companions were done roaming the Deathlands and he had the time and the patience for such tinkering.
"The museum's just on the right," Clarissa said.
J.B. adjusted his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. "Looks like a big gaudy house."
"It might have been at one time," Clarissa agreed. "If 'mall' is another word for 'gaudy house.'"
Doc cleared his throat. "In my day a mall was a large area, usually lined with shade trees and shrubbery and used as a public walk or promenade. But I believe in later years it was used to describe a large retail facility containing a variety of stores, restaurants and business establishments, often housed under a single roof."
"They had stores for wags and blasters in predark times?" Dean asked.
"No," Clarissa answered, "but they had lots of space inside for a museum."
"Why no one else find?" Jak asked.
"The museum is cleaned out, but not by people looking for wags. It's all in storage below ground."
J.B. nodded. "If the people who ran the museum knew skydark was coming, they might have moved the museum pieces to protect them from damage."
Clarissa picked up her pace. "This way."
They started down a ramp that led to a large roll-up door. A sign on the right read Deliveries Only.
J.B. pointed to the sign. "I guess we're just going to have to break the rules."
Doc shook his head. "On the contrary, John Barrymore. Whatever we find down there will help us deliver Ryan, Krysty and Mildred from a life of slavery."
J.B. gave Doc a thin smile.
Clarissa lifted the large roll-up door until there was a foot-and-a-half gap between the bottom of the door and the pavement. "That's all I can open from the outside."
"More than enough," Jak said, rolling into the garage.
Dean crawled through on all fours.
J.B. slid under the door on his back, not wanting to roll over his blasters.
Doc got to the ground more slowly than the others, the joints of his knees crackling and popping in protest the closer he got to the ground. "I do hope that you intend to provide us with a more dignified way of getting out of this place."
Clarissa said nothing, following Doc inside and rolling down the door behind her.
There was a long line of loading docks where goods would have been loaded and unloaded from transport wags almost every day of the year. But now it was vacant for the most part, except for the far corner of the garage.
"That's the stuff down there," Clarissa said.
"Dark night!"
"What?" Jak asked.
But the Armorer didn't answer. He was already running toward the small cache of ancient items stored in the far corner of what was basically a concrete bunker.
The others followed.
There wasn't a LAV among the collection, but there was a decent-sized wag—the one Clarissa had stolen from Baron Fox—that would suit their needs with a little bit of work.
"That's a P-39," J.B. said, standing in front of the green World War II fighter airplane.
Dean came up behind J.B. "What's a P-39?"
J.B. pointed to the winged relic. "That is a Bell P-39 Airacobra. It was made in this part of the country and used by the air force for ground attack in World War II."
Doc tapped the aircraft's wings with his swordstick. "Don't tell me it's almost as old as I am."
"Not quite, Doc," J.B. answered. "Just about 150 years old."
Jak looked at the old machine skeptically. "Not know how to fly."
J.B. shook his head. "Not interested in flying. If I was, I'd use that helicopter over there to land right inside the compound. No, the P-39 just happens to be armed with four .50-caliber machine blasters and a 37 mm cannon."
"Hot pipe!" Dean exclaimed.
"Hot pipe, indeed," Doc echoed.
"If we can find some ammunition for those blasters in these stores and secure the blasters onto the transport wag Clarissa stole—" he pointed to the wag "—we'll be able to rescue Ryan, Krysty and Mildred in style."
"Easy say," Jak said with a bit of a smile. "Harder do."
Clarissa piped up then, agreeing with Jak. "That's right. You're talking about all of this as if it's as easy as changing a round in a blaster."
J.B. was about to say something to the woman, but was cut off by a wave of Doc's hand.
"My dear lady, I believe our albino friend is merely teasing his friend. The fact that what John is proposing is extremely difficult is only more of a reason why he will succeed. I have seen this man do some astounding things with blasters and wags, and I have learned never to doubt his word. I've also seen that look in his eye. This metal bird's big blaster will not only provide the means for him to rescue his friends, but it will also provide him with no small amount of pleasure. There is a light in his eyes, and he is eager to find out what a round from a 37 mm cannon can do. And,
quite frankly, I am rather curious about that myself. So you see, our weapons expert will not fail. He will succeed and he will do so gloriously. There is simply no other way."
J.B. had stood back while Doc spoke, and now that he was done, J.B. nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right."
"So, instead of telling the weapons master why something will not work, I suggest you begin opening crates over there and help out in the search for tools and ammunition."
"All right, I believe," she said. "Where should I begin?"
"Open all the crates. Any tools you find, bring them to me."
"All right, let's do it," she said.
They began opening the crates and lockers piled on the loading docks, first with their bare hands, and then with hammers and crowbars after Dean found a few of the tools stored in a locker.
"This looks like it might be something," Dean later called out from a corner of the underground garage.
J.B. stopped his work on freeing the P-39's cannon and walked over to where the boy was hunched over a wooden crate marked with a symbol that looked like an exploding rock. He looked down into the crate over Dean's shoulder, and even though he could only see the base of the shells, he knew exactly what he was looking at.
"Those are the 37 mm cannon shells," J.B. stated. "Take them out and line them up on the concrete."
Dean began to lift the heavy munitions out of the crate and set them down on the loading dock. Each shell weighed more than a pound, was an inch and a half in diameter and over four inches long. When Dean was done, there were sixteen shells lined up in a row and with the shells gone, the belt that fed them into the cannon was discovered in the bottom of the crate.
The Armorer picked up a few of the shells, examining their seals and general condition. "They're in good shape. If half of them fire, it'll be more than enough."
"John Barrymore, come here," Doc shouted.
J.B. hurried to Doc's side. He was sitting on a pile of smaller crates that had the same stencil mark on them as Dean's crate. "What is it?"
Axler, James - Deathlands 61 - Skydark Spawn Page 13