Axler, James - Deathlands 61 - Skydark Spawn

by Skydark Spawn [lit]

  Again the sec chief looked at Ryan strangely, not understanding the meaning of his words.

  "Sec chief Grundwold!" the baron called out. "Is everything ready?"

  Grundwold's body snapped straight, as if it had just been whipped across the back. "Yes, Baron."

  "Then let's get on with it."

  The sec chief stared hard into Ryan's eye. "To the victor go the spoils."

  "Absolutely," Ryan said.

  "And losers like you get fed to the muties."

  Ryan ignored the comment and turned to retrieve his panga. When he was upright again, the sec chief was gone, climbing back onto the stage. "Are you ready?" he asked the men in the circle.

  "Yes!" roared the crowd.

  "Fight!"

  Ryan and Brody moved forward.

  Foghat charged at Ryan, while Dorfman, Billingsley and Mog surrounded Brody.

  Their intention was clear. The sword-wielding Foghat had separated Ryan from Brody so the other three could easily do away with Brody. But instead of trying to chill Ryan, Foghat was just keeping Ryan away from the others.

  It was the man's first and only mistake.

  Ryan circled the outside of the ring until he came upon the extra weapons that had been left on the ground by the combatants. There was a rusty sword, a length of chain and a short-bladed knife. Ryan picked up the knife and, doing his best to remember Jak Lauren's instructions, threw it in Foghat's direction.

  The knife was unbalanced and fluttered through the air instead of flying true. It also missed the target by more than a foot, but no matter. Foghat leaned far to the right to avoid the flying knife, and Ryan used the opportunity to swing his panga at his off-balance opponent. He caught Foghat on the arm, cutting cleanly through the flesh and tendons of the elbow, exposing the polished white bone beneath.

  Foghat let out a cry of pain and grabbed at his arm to keep it in one piece. He was able to hold his arm together but couldn't staunch the flow of blood.

  Ryan, feeling sorry for the man, kicked him from behind. He stumbled forward, tripped over the chain outlining the circle, and hit the ground hard with his shoulder.

  Foghat screamed again, this time silencing the crowd.

  Ryan turned into the circle and hurried to Brody's side.

  "How are you doing?"

  "I could use some help," Brody said breathlessly.

  "At least the odds are in our favor now," Ryan said.

  "But there's three of them."

  "Exactly," Ryan said.

  "Are you gonna talk or fight, One-eye?" Mog said in his booming deep bass voice.

  "In a hurry to get chilled, Monster?"

  "That's Mog," Mog said, his whole upper body quivering with anger.

  Billingsley moved forward with his pike, tangling as he had before with Brody. But instead of their confrontation stalling into a stalemate, Mog came lumbering forward, swinging his chain wildly in front of him.

  Brody pulled back, as did Ryan. They took several awkward steps backward until they came upon the chain ringing the circle, almost tripping over it.

  They were in a dangerous spot with their backs against the chain. Mog and his two men could easily pin them down, tire them out, then chill them at their leisure. Ryan knew he had to level the field of battle.

  The next time Billingsley charged forward with his pike, Ryan swung his panga across the shaft, cutting the hard wooden pole neatly in two. Billingsley suddenly found himself holding little more than a mop handle. Brody took advantage of the moment, lunging forward with his pike and piercing Billingsley's belly.

  Billingsley let out a bloodcurdling scream of agony and clutched Brody's pike, but Brody didn't relent. He began to swing the pike from side to side as if he were waving a flag on the end of it. The hole in Billingsley's gut grew bigger, spilling more blood and entrails into the circle.

  Mog grabbed the pike and pulled on it before Brody had a chance to let go, drawing him forward.

  Dorfman, the one who'd chosen a knife similar to Ryan's panga, moved forward in an attempt to chill Brody, but Ryan headed him off, throwing a shoulder into the man's chest, which knocked the wind from his lungs with a whoosh and threw him onto his back.

  Meanwhile, Brody had stumbled and had fallen face first into the dirt.

  Mog raised his massive right arm, holding the chain high above his head for a moment, readying to bring it crashing down on his opponent's prone body.

  Brody rolled right, trying to get away, but wasn't quick enough. The chain came down on his right leg, slicing through flesh and shattering the bone just below the knee.

  Now it was Brody's turn to scream.

  But instead of striking again and going in for the kill, Mog stood over the writhing Brody, as if he were admiring his handiwork.

  Ryan took the moment to go after Dorfman, who was still gasping to catch his breath. Ryan stood over the downed man, the bloody panga clenched tightly in his right hand. He raised it over his head to cut the man in two, but as quickly as a mutie ant, Dorfman crawled on all fours to the edge of the circle and under the chain.

  Ryan turned to see Brody doing his best to keep Mog at bay with his pike, but it was a losing battle. The giant of a man was toying with Brody, kicking at his right foot, just to hear the wounded man scream.

  "The next kick will be your last," Ryan said.

  Mog stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Ryan. "So it's down to you and me, One-eye."

  Brody tried to stand then, using the pike as a sort of crutch, but the added pain of his ruined leg was too much for him to bear. He let out another agonized scream, then fell back to the ground, this time lying still and motionless.

  A few seconds passed as sec chief Grundwold waited to see if Mog would try to chill Brody. When he didn't, the sec chief rang the bell, signaling another break.

  Sec men moved in to pull Brody from the circle.

  "You be careful with him," Ryan said, turning to look for Mildred. He found her at the edge of the circle closest to the main building. "Fix him up," he told her.

  Mildred just nodded in Ryan's direction, too busy directing the sec men carrying Foghat to answer him.

  Knowing Brody would be in good hands, Ryan looked over at the mountain of a man named Mog. He knew he wouldn't take him up on it, but Ryan thought he should give the man the chance. "If you step out of the circle now, Mog, you might live to see another day."

  Mog laughed, and the ground seemed to shake beneath him. "You're good, One-eye, but not good enough. I'm going to enjoy chilling you."

  Ryan shook his head. "No, the pleasure's gonna be all mine."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  "This way," Mildred said, leading the way for the sec men carrying the badly bleeding Foghat.

  The slave groaned in pain with each step the sec men took. His cries were growing weaker and weaker as the man's lifeblood dribbled out of the huge rent in his arm.

  Mildred opened the door to the nursery. "Put him on that table in the middle of the room!" Foghat needed her immediate attention. When Brody arrived, he could be given a painkiller from the generous medical stores and be made to wait until she'd finished with Foghat. "And when the other one is brought in here, put him on the table by the wall."

  The sec men carried Foghat across the room and eased him onto what was normally a delivery table. There were all sorts of medical instruments and supplies in the nursery, more than was generally necessary for the delivery of babies.

  Mildred hoped it would be enough to save the man's life.

  She began by checking the man's pulse. It was weak, but he still had one. She'd managed to staunch the flow of blood from his arm with a tight tourniquet, but didn't want to cut off the arm's blood supply for too long.

  "Can I help you, dear?" the old woman who usually worked in the nursery said.

  "Get his shirt off and clean up his arm," Mildred ordered, rifling through the medicine cabinet, hoping to find a vial of morphine. Luckily there was some.

&n
bsp; One of the sec chiefs lieutenants had followed the men carrying Foghat into the nursery and was now watching Mildred with a look of disbelief on his face. "What are you doing?" he asked.

  "Trying to save this man's life."

  "Why?"

  "For old times' sake."

  "What?"

  Mildred paused for the briefest of moments. "Let's just say I'm doing this because I can."

  "You're wasting time, and using up medicine on a slave. Just amputate the arm and send him on his way."

  "No!" Mildred said forcefully.

  "But he's just a slave."

  Mildred paused again, looking at the problem as the sec man would. "How much good to the baron is a one-armed slave? What do one-armed slaves go for at auction these days?"

  The sec man fell silent.

  "You don't tell me how to do my job, and I won't tell you how to do yours. All right?"

  The sec man took several steps backward.

  "Come on, dear," the old woman said, taking hold of the sec man's sleeve and moving him away from Mildred. "We'll be a while in here, and it won't be pretty. We'll let you know when we're done."

  Reluctantly the sec man left the room, standing out in the hall on the other side of the open doorway.

  Mildred got to work on the wounded slave.

  Foghat was falling asleep from the morphine, but before he went unconscious, he managed to look up at her, smiled and said, "Thanks."

  "Don't thank me yet."

  "I know you'll save my arm," he said before the morphine finally put him under.

  Mildred sighed. "I wish I was as confident as he is."

  JAK GRABBED the barrel of the .50 caliber and helped J.B. lift it into place on the back of the transport wag they would be using to free Ryan, Krysty and Mildred.

  The Armorer had fit two of the P-39's blasters with makeshift pivots and was mounting them on the front-left and rear-right positions of the wag's open cargo area.

  The two eased the blaster into position, and J.B. locked it in place with a single horizontal bolt and a cotter pin.

  "Short bursts," Jak said. "Two, three seconds, not more."

  "That's right. Anything longer and you're wasting ammo." J.B. took hold of the blaster handles he'd made from a bale of heavy gauge steel wire he'd found on one of the loading docks and tested the movement of the gun. To his delight, it swung easily in both directions. "Should give a good range of fire. Pretty much a complete circle."

  "Test in morning?" Jak asked.

  J.B. nodded. "I'm sure the .50 calibers will fire without a glitch, but I'm not so sure about the cannon."

  "Although I'm more than two centuries old, I never thought I would live long enough to see the day when John Barrymore Dix was unsure about anything to do with weaponry." Doc had wandered up to the wag and was standing by the rear wheels, looking up at J.B. and Jak with a delightful grin on his face.

  "Mebbe Mildred right," Jak said.

  "About what?" J.B. asked.

  "Your dream."

  J.B. was silent. Being reminded about his dream sent a chill down his spine. The .50-caliber design had been tried and tested for years. The cannon was another matter entirely, since it had probably had a few reliability problems during its lifetime, even when it was new. He'd done everything he could to make sure it was working properly, but there was still a chance it could fail when they needed it most.

  But while the Armorer had some reservations about the cannon, Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner had none whatsoever.

  "Of course the cannon will fire, John Barrymore. Not only will it fire, but it will fire magnificently… stupendously. It will cut a swath of destruction through the farm, unleashing a little bit of hellfire from its angry maw with each deadly round."

  Doc had his swordstick raised in the air and although they were underground, he seemed to be standing in the path of some strange breeze that blew back his white hair and made him look like a wild-eyed doomsayer atop a mountain.

  "Thunder will roll, the earth will shake and barons and sec men will cower in fear at the mere sight of this infernal blaster." There was a strange shine in Doc's eyes, and his body was beginning to shake and tremble uncontrollably.

  Jak signaled to Clarissa to come to Doc's aid. She came running, and when she reached Doc's side, she took his arm and led him to a nearby pile of crates where he could sit and rest, while whatever it was that was affecting him ran its course.

  "He'll be all right," J.B. said.

  "Not worried Doc," Jak replied. "Worried Ryan and others."

  "If I know Ryan Cawdor, he's probably sitting back and enjoying his time on that farm. Who knows, after we break in, he might not even want to leave."

  The two men laughed.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ryan moved into the middle of the circle.

  Mog stood facing him, his body somewhat grimy, but not nearly as bloody as Ryan's. "Just you and me, One-eye! Just like I figured."

  Ryan had suspected it might come down to the two of them, but he wasn't about to give the mountain of a man any compliments. "Really. I thought you'd be chilled a long time ago."

  "Mog always wins. And I'm going to feel good between Red's legs."

  Ryan looked up at Krysty.

  She was leaning to the side, trying to distance herself from the baron, who was now fully occupied with the woman servicing him. Her head continued to move up and down between his legs, but he now had firm hold of her hair, forcefully guiding her head in the movement and rhythms he wanted. The girl looked limp and lifeless now, as if she were either unconscious or dead.

  Baron Fox either hadn't noticed or didn't care.

  Ryan looked back over at Mog.

  Mog flashed Ryan a gap-toothed smile. "If she's used to having you, One-eye, then she'll be thrilled to have a real man for a change." Mog reached down between his legs and scooped up his genitals in his hand. Ryan had paid little attention before, but now that the man was making a point of putting them on display, he couldn't help but notice how big they were. Like the parts of the rest of his body, Mog's penis and testicles were enormous, and it was no wonder he enjoyed the status of the farm's alpha male.

  But while such equipment made for an impressive sight, it did nothing to give him an advantage within the circle. If anything, he was at a bit of a disadvantage having his equipment swinging freely, and vulnerable to attack. Ryan was seriously considering exploiting this advantage, since his panga was the right weapon for the job.

  "She'd never have you, stupe," Ryan said. "I either chill you in the circle, or she'll chill you the moment you two are alone."

  Mog looked up at Krysty, considering Ryan's words.

  At that moment Grundwold entered the circle and approached the two combatants. "If one of you wants to leave the circle now, you can do it, no shame. It's been a good show."

  "Nobody's walking out of the circle, Grundwold," Mog said. "Let's get it going."

  "My thoughts exactly," Ryan agreed.

  Grundwold nodded and left the circle, climbing onto the stage and calling out, "Fight!"

  Ryan was caught momentarily off guard by Mog, who threw a pike at Ryan as if it were a spear, the second after the sec chief gave the call to fight. The long weapon glanced off Ryan's body, but not before the pointed tip broke the flesh on his right shoulder and blood began to flow freely down his arm.

  Ryan countered by picking up the pike and throwing it out of the circle.

  The crowd cheered.

  Then Ryan gathered the rest of the weapons in the circle and threw them all out, as well.

  The crowd roared in delight.

  Now all that was left was Ryan's panga, which he picked up and moved just outside the circle, as well, next to the pile of his clothes.

  "You think you can chill me with your bare hands, One-eye?" Mog laughed.

  "No," Ryan said, running toward Mog and leaping into the air. He hit the giant in the chest with the balls of both feet. There was a loud whoosh as t
he air came out of Mog's chest.

  After delivering the kick, Ryan fell heavily to the ground, landing hard on his side.

  Mog stumbled backward a few steps, tripped over his own feet and landed heavily on his ass.

  There was laughter from the crowd.

  "Shut up!" he roared. "All of you."

  The laughter died down, but not completely.

  Ryan circled the big man, looking for another weakness. He was big and powerful, likely able to crush Ryan's ribs with a bear hug or able to suffocate him. Ryan had been lucky to knock him over by hitting him so high up and knew that the next blow would have to be different, since Mog would never fall victim to the same attack twice.

  "You move fast, One-eye. But is it fast enough?"

  Ryan didn't waste his breath answering.

  He had moved to the right, looking to take Mog down once more. He darted in close and tried to sweep his right leg around to take out one of the big man's giant tree-trunk legs. He struck him in the calf with his foot, but the leg didn't give way.

  Mog reached down and managed to catch Ryan's leg in his hands.

  Ryan desperately tried to scramble away out of his reach, but Mog was able to reel him in, and in seconds he had his huge arms around Ryan's body and was pulling him ever closer.

  The one-eyed man gasped for breath as Mog began to squeeze the life out of him. Ryan struggled to free himself, but his efforts only used up more air and tightened the grip the giant had on his body.

  Mog continued to squeeze.

  Something snapped in Ryan's torso, and a lance of pain shot through his chest. And then the world seemed to be getting dark around the edges.

  He thought of Krysty and Dean first, almost simultaneously, and after that came thoughts of J.B. and Doc and Jak, and then images of the chilling he'd done over the years. Trader came next, as if the man were waiting for him somewhere up the road. Lush green fields, a home that was his and a family…Krysty and Dean out on the porch of their home, looking for him. Looking, looking, looking.