About an hour into their hike, the sec chief heard it.
"What is it?" someone behind him called out.
The sec chief raised his right arm and clenched his hand in a fist. The raiders scattered, disappearing into the underbrush as if they'd never been there on the path.
Ganley could hear the rumble of an engine growing louder. Judging by the sound, it was running well and whoever was driving was in a hurry, with no worries about fuel. The sec chief crept forward, saw the road crossing his path up ahead and crawled through the weeds toward the strip of weedy pavement.
Carefully he looked down the road to the east.
A wag was approaching. It was manned by a large crew and was armed with a couple of machine blasters and a monstrous blaster up front.
Ganley quickly dived back under cover and remained still until the wag passed. He kept down for some time after, feeling safe enough to move only after the sound of the wag's motor had faded into the distance.
"What was it?" asked one of the raiders.
"Just a patrol."
"They have motorized patrols?"
"Were they armed?"
"I don't know if that was a patrol belonging to the farm we're planning to raid, or if it was just some baron's war wag passing through. Either way, we're in some bad country here and we might be getting into something we're not really prepared for."
Silence.
"Anybody who wants to turn around and go back to the boat, I won't stop you. And there will be no bad feelings when we return."
Ganley waited for someone to speak.
No one did.
"C'mon, Chief," Rhonda called from the back of the group. "We're losing daylight here."
"You all feel the same way?" There were mumbles and words said by everyone, but the general consensus was a resounding yes. "All right, then. Let's get moving."
Chapter Thirty-One
When Ryan awoke early the next morning, Krysty was still sleeping comfortably in his arms.
"What is it, lover?" she said.
"Time for work."
"But you won," Krysty said. "You don't have to work in the orchards for a week if you don't want to."
"Don't want to," Ryan said. "Have to."
"Why?"
"One of us has to be out in the orchards to look out for J.B. and the others. He's had time to get organized and come up with a plan. If he's got one, he might want to give us a message about when and where he's going to hit the farm. Someone needs to be out in the field to receive his message."
"What if you don't hear from him today?"
"Then we'll start making our own plans to get out of here."
"Good," Krysty said. "I'm starting to have some bad feelings about this place."
"Anything specific?"
"Not really. But I am worried about you, lover. You might be in danger somehow."
"I've been up to my knees in it since I got here."
"No, this is something else. Different."
"Thanks for the warning."
Krysty was silent a moment, then said, "What do you want me to do while you're out in the orchards?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and getting dressed.
"Talk to Mildred. Find out more about where our blasters are being stored and see if we can get them out without anyone noticing. See if you can talk to some of the slaves and let them know something might be happening soon and that they should be ready." He paused a moment, thinking. "And mebbe the two of you could come up with a plan for a diversion. We'll need one whether we break out of here ourselves or J.B. comes to get us."
"Anything else, lover?" Krysty asked, her hands on her hips and a smile on her face.
Ryan looked at her a moment, then crawled slowly back onto the bed, where he made love to her one more time before starting the day.
BARON FOX HAD HAD trouble sleeping all through the night. He'd called for a nonbreeder before getting into bed, but the usual sense of peace and tranquility he enjoyed after a good rutting had eluded him.
Even now, hours later, he was still too tense to rest and his mind was far from being at peace.
There was something on his mind.
It was the outlander with one eye.
He'd been magnificent in the circle, chilling his opponents with as much cunning as brute strength. He'd chilled Mog as easily as he might a dog. It had been a good show, but there was still something wrong about the one-eye, something not right.
Mog had been a monster, but he could always be easily controlled. A few breeders and he was happy, producing offspring that netted top jack. But this one, he was a rogue, a renegade, a rebel. He wasn't the type to be happy just working and rutting his life away on the farm.
He was wild.
Untamable.
And he was an outlander. Soon he'd be looking at the fence surrounding the farm as a prison wall, and he'd want out. Worse still was the possibility that he would spend his time on the farm convincing the other slaves to rebel. The slaves outnumbered the sec force ten to one, and any organized rebellion stood a good chance of succeeding.
And if that happened, Baron Fox knew he'd be chilled for sure, but only after a very long and painful torture session.
All it would take is the right man.
And that man was the one-eyed outlander. The baron was sure of it.
Earlier in the night, when the baron had first tried to get some rest, he'd drifted into a light sleep and dreamed of the door to his chambers bursting inward and the one-eyed outlander charging inside, blaster in hand, cutting him to ribbons with a burst of automatic fire.
That dream, a brief picture of his own hellish demise, had started the baron wondering about the outlander and whether it was wise to keep him on the farm, even if it was only long enough to ship him out and sell him at auction.
Each day would give him time to talk to the others and put thoughts of rebellion, escape and freedom into their little minds.
The baron shook his head. There was no doubt in his mind. He couldn't allow that to happen.
The one-eyed outlander had to be chilled.
The sooner the better.
"Number One!" the baron called out.
The door to the baron's chamber opened immediately, and Norman Bauer stood there in the doorway with the ledger in his hand, as if he'd been waiting on the other side to be summoned.
"The one-eyed outlander," the baron said.
"The champion of the circle?"
"Yeah, that's the one. I want him chilled."
"When?"
The baron considered it. "Immediately. Make an example of him."
Bauer seemed to hesitate, as if he didn't understand the nature of the baron's wishes.
"Problem?" the baron asked, noticing Bauer's unease.
"It's not my place to ask, Baron," Bauer said with a slight bow of his head. "But why?"
"You're right, it's not your place to ask," the baron said sternly. But then he shrugged. "I just have a bad feeling about him. That's all."
Bauer nodded. "I'll see that he's chilled."
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ryan tried to join the ranks of the slaves unnoticed, but his very presence attracted attention. The slaves either wanted to congratulate him on his victory over Mog, thank him for chilling the two sec men or else wanted to know if he was available for rutting that night.
Even the sec men seemed to be pointing at him and whispering among themselves.
Ryan didn't like the looks of that. Usually the sec men were uninterested in the daily comings and goings of the slaves, but now every eye seemed to be on him, watching his every move. The attention could be explained away by his victory in the circle, but they seemed to turn away every time he looked in a sec man's direction.
Strange behavior, even for sec men.
He could only hope that they had a sort of grudging respect for him, and not thoughts of revenge.
Ryan moved along the line, getting his breakfast. He'd had better morning meals,
but he'd also had worse. This morning's offering included a mound of tan mush that smelled like oatmeal, a bowl of fruit salad, slices of toast and a choice of juice-flavored water or coffee sub. Ryan took his tray and tried to find a spot in the corner where there wouldn't be so many eyes upon him.
But he couldn't hide from the crowd of slaves.
"Great job yesterday, Ryan," said a young man from his crew. "We all won a lot of jack because of you, and we just wanted you to know how grateful we all are."
"No problem," Ryan said, wishing the man would go away.
"And in appreciation, we want you to have Simka here as your own personal slave for as long as you like. She can get you food, bathe you, and she's a good rutter with both men and women."
"Thanks, but no thanks."
The girl, Simka, looked disappointed.
"You're too good to be a slave," he told her. "My slave or anybody else's slave, including the baron. You deserve to be free."
She smiled at that.
"Make some other man happy," Ryan said, gently pushing her and the man escorting her away. He began eating his food, trying to look very much as if he didn't want to be bothered.
But after just three spoons of oatmeal, another slave slid into the seat next to him.
"You're the one-eye, right?"
Ryan said nothing, but turned so the blond-haired teenager next to him could see his patch.
"Okay, I guess you are, then."
Ryan took another spoon of oatmeal.
"Just want to tell you to be careful today."
It sounded like a genuine warning.
Ryan continued eating. "Why?" he asked, staring straight ahead.
"I work in the sec men's lounge serving meals. They were all quiet this morning, like something was going down. I wanted to know what it was, so when I finished my shift I hid in one of the empty lockers." The youth paused to take a quick glance around. "I heard one of the sec men say the baron wants you chilled."
Ryan wanted to know the reason why, but knew it didn't matter and made no difference to the sec men why the baron wanted him dead. "When?" he asked.
"Today sometime. Probably out in the orchards. Just be careful."
It occurred to Ryan that this might be some sort of trap being set by a group of slaves who'd been friendly to Mog. "Why are you telling me this?"
"You were good in the circle yesterday, and you chilled Richmond and Salazar. I hated those two sec bastards and was glad to see that they got what they deserved. With those two gone, slaves won't be gettin' chilled for sport anymore. Way I see it, we all owe you somethin' for that."
Ryan understood. "Thanks."
The man started to get up to leave, but Ryan caught the sleeve of his shirt and pulled him back down.
"Spread the word that something's going to be happening soon. Something big."
The youth turned to look at Ryan and for the first time he saw the jagged razor cut that went under the youth's right eye, across the bridge of his nose and down his left cheek. "You gonna try breakin' out?"
"No," Ryan said. "More like somebody will be breaking in."
"When?"
"Don't know. Soon."
The blond-haired teen with the scar nodded.
Ryan couldn't help staring at the man's scar. It was red and fresh and reminded him of his own scar.
"Nice, huh? That's Salazar's handiwork. And while he did it, Richmond watched…and laughed."
"Thanks for the warning," Ryan said.
"Likewise."
Ryan finished eating his breakfast, and, seeing he was done, other slaves offered him food off their trays. Ryan took them up on their offer, not knowing when he might have another chance to eat a hot meal.
J.B. PULLED THE WAG off the road at the top of a rise that overlooked the farm. He guided the big vehicle behind a stand of trees and cut the ignition. The wag's engine rumbled for a few more strokes, then came to a sputtering, choking stop. He wanted to try the battery to see if their short trip north had recharged it, but decided he'd find that out later when he really needed to restart the engine. No sense wasting power. Besides, if the engine didn't turn over, they could always roll it down the hill and start the wag that way.
"Got time before dark," Jak said, looking at his wrist chron.
"Better to be early than late," J.B. answered.
Dean hopped off the back of the wag. "What'll we do till the sun goes down?"
J.B. looked at Clarissa. "You find your mutie friends and let them know what's going down tonight. And let them know that once we get inside, they can have all the food they can eat."
Clarissa nodded and headed off.
"Jak and Dean," J.B. summoned.
The albino teenager and the boy stepped in front of J.B.
"We'll need to get a message to Ryan, Mildred or Krysty about our plans. Walk the perimeter of the farm and see if you can spot one of them and pass along the word. If I know Ryan, he'll be expecting you."
Jak and Dean turned and headed down the road toward the farm.
Alone with J.B., Doc cleared his throat. "And what might you be requiring of me, John Barrymore?"
"You're going to help me, Doc. The wag's still running rough, and there's a few more things I need to do to make sure the blasters and the cannon don't jam when we need them most."
Doc nodded. "While I am not well versed in the mechanics of such infernal devices as this wag and those blasters, I'll endeavor to be the best assistant armorer my limited abilities allow."
"And I'll need you to keep your blaster ready, in case any stray muties wander by."
"Or if need be," Doc continued, hardly missing a beat, "I will gladly assume the duties of sentinel, guarding against any intruders who might wish to thwart us in our quest to free the noble Ryan of Cawdor…"
J.B. merely looked at Doc for several seconds, then said, "Bring me the toolbox."
Doc looked up, as if yanked out of a daze. "The toolbox, of course."
The two men set to work.
RYAN COULD SEE the sec men moving into position, blocking off the exits. Several armed with longblasters were also walking the upper level that ringed the cafeteria.
He knew he didn't have much time.
"You," he said, calling over to a bearded man in his thirties. "Come here."
"You want to talk to me?"
"Yeah, you." Ryan nodded. "Come here."
GRUNWOLD WANTED to grab the outlander as soon as possible, but they couldn't move in on him just yet. If they singled him out in the cafeteria, that would arouse the suspicion of the other slaves. The man was, after all, their new champion, and there was no reason for him to be taken away and chilled. Doing it now would incite a riot, and that was to be avoided at all costs.
But if they waited too long, the outlander might get out into the orchards where capturing him would be much more difficult. Once a breeder named Clarissa had hidden out in the orchards for two days before sneaking into the barn and stealing their best wag right out from under their noses. This outlander was far more resourceful and dangerous than the female breeder had been, and if he got loose within the compound Grunwold might lose several sec men before he was caught.
The sec chief kept his eye on the outlander while he gave the signal to his sec men to tighten up the circle around him. If all went well, they'd wait until the slaves had finished with breakfast and were on their way out to the orchards. Sec men would escort the one-eyed man out a door leading back into the main building, and once the door was closed they'd chill him with a single bullet to his brain.
After that it would be up to the baron to explain to the slaves why their hero was suddenly dead, something Grundwold was interested in hearing himself.
Just then a fight broke out in one corner of the cafeteria.
"I'm rutting with her tonight!" someone yelled.
"She's mine," came the response. "I claimed her first."
Fights between slaves over rutting with breeders wasn't unusual, but the t
iming of this one seemed peculiar to Grundwold. These things usually took place at the end of the day when slaves began pairing up for the night. Another thing that wasn't right was how many other slaves seemed to have an interest in the outcome. At most a fight involved four men, but this one seemed to involve the entire side of the cafeteria. Men and breeders were piling onto one another, trying to strike their blows against the two that had started the fight.
The cafeteria was rapidly becoming a sea of jumbled bodies. The noise was growing louder, and the fight was beginning to move toward the doors.
Grunwold signaled for his men on the cafeteria floor to intervene.
Sec men moved in to break it up, but despite pulling bodies out of the fray, more were joining in. Several slaves were pushed away, falling through the exit doors that led outside. In moments streams of slaves were spilling out into the orchards, and the sec men on the floor still hadn't gotten a handle on the fight.
The sec chief quickly scanned the cafeteria, looking for the one-eyed outlander. When the fight broke out, he'd been content to finish his breakfast as the fight stormed around him.
But now he was gone.
"Son of a gaudy slut!" the sec chief shouted.
The fight below was still going on.
Grunwold unslung his longblaster, pointed it into the middle of the jumble of bodies and pulled the trigger.
The crack of the blaster's fire stopped the fighting.
Slaves moved back from the center of the scrap, leaving the young man who'd been caught by Grundwold's bullet to fall to the floor in a bloody mess, half of his head blown off and splattered against the faces and bodies of those around him.
"The one-eyed outlander!" Grunwold yelled.
"Where'd he go?" a sec man asked.
The sec chief, seething in anger over the loss of the outlander, leveled his longblaster on the sec man who'd asked the question. He even toyed with the idea of pulling the trigger, but he put the weapon down, knowing he'd need every man on his force to find the man who surely had known they had intended to chill him. "He's gone out the door, you triple-stupe bastard!"
Axler, James - Deathlands 61 - Skydark Spawn Page 19