Deathlands 074: Strontium Swamp

by James Axler

  It made a noise—not the high-pitched intelligent squeak of dolphins they had seen before, but a lower, more menacing growl. Doc could almost swear he saw the creature’s uvula vibrate as the sound emitted from its cavernous mouth. And then it snapped shut its jaws with a sharp crack, like a whip with more than a hint of wood being chopped. Doc had just had the presence of mind to snatch back his arm, and the creature’s jaws closed on nothing but air. It hung there, disappointment almost obvious in the bright, intelligent eyes, before falling back into the wake of the vessel.

  “Good heavens, I fear I should take it all back,” Doc murmured in an awed, hushed whisper.

  “Storm’s brought them to the surface, scavenging,” the helmsman said swiftly, “and they won’t go back unless they’ve got something to chew on. Seen it all before.”

  “What can they do?” Ryan asked, trying to work out where the danger would come from. He was answered as the boat began to be buffeted from side to side by a series of hard bangs, the deck resounding as the porpoises threw their weight against the sides of the craft, hoping to turn it over. The impact threw the vessel from side to side, pitching almost as much as when the storm was at its height, making it hard for the companions to keep their feet.

  The helmsman clung grimly to the wheel, trying to keep the course straight. She indicated ahead of them. “Just need to outrun these bastards. Look up there…”

  Land was within view—swamplands, with inlets of rivers running from the edge of the sea through the densely vegetated land, which seemed to be almost melting into the water.

  “Try to turn the mast,” she continued. “If we can get some more speed then we can get into the fresh water and run this fucker into the swamp. Just need to get far enough in for the lack of salt to drive them back before they smash us.”

  Following her barked orders, the six companions—Doc now fit enough to help, and determined so to do after nearly losing his arm to one of the creatures—began to trim the sails to catch the winds behind them, the helmsman using the wheel to guide the vessel closer to the freshwater inlets.

  It was hard for them to keep their feet on the still rain-soaked deck as the dolphins hammered the sides of the boat. Each blow altered the course a little, making the steering almost impossible. Yet despite this, the helmsman was managing to guide them closer, closer… They just needed enough speed to outrun the ravening porpoises.

  As if they could sense this, the mammals assaulting the craft increased the vehemence of their attack. The blows grew harder, and as Mildred lost her footing and skittered across the deck, looking for something to arrest her slide before she tumbled through the rail, a dolphin loomed up the side of the boat, hanging in the air and darting its head as far over the side of the rail as it could manage to reach, snapping its jaws in an impotent fury as she managed to keep out of reach.

  After one series of blows, the vessel suddenly shuddered and lurched violently to one side, causing them to cling to the mast lest they be thrown to the mutie mammals. The helmsman swore heavily and loudly as the wheel was wrenched from her grip, spinning wildly, hammering hard and painful on her hands as she tried desperately to regain her grip. Gritting her teeth and hissing abuse at the pain, she grasped the wheel and tried to wrench them back on course.

  The boat stayed at a forty-five-degree angle in the water as it moved.

  “Dark night, the fuckers have managed to put a hole in us,” J.B. yelled.

  “Aye, that they have, but I figure we can just about make it. Only a thousand yards or so and the waters will change.”

  A thousand yards: not that much of a distance, especially at the speed that they had attained as the sails caught a sudden gust of wind, the current taking them in the direction they wanted.

  But a thousand yards was a long way when a boat was shipping water and the craft was vulnerable. The mutie mammals knew this by some dark instinct, and redoubled their efforts to wreck the vessel.

  Another crack from the left, where they were already listing, caused the vessel to suddenly slow as it began to ship more water. They had less than five hundred yards, and some of the porpoises had already begun to fall back, the mingling fresh and salt water at the mouth of the swamp proving too much for them to take. But there was still a core of mutie mammals who were inflamed with bloodlust and hunger, determined to finish the job they had set in motion.

  “For fuck’s sake, use your blasters on them,” the helmsman yelled, pulling herself over so that she stood at a sharp angle to the deck, hauling at the wheel with all her strength to try to compensate for the drag caused by the sudden shipping of water.

  It was, in a sense, incredible that they had got this far without firing on the mammals. Yet it had been hard enough to keep the sails tacked and to keep on the deck without even thinking about attacking the creatures.

  Their weapons and belongings were still on the deck, their movement curtailed by the rocks that had been intended to weigh down and sink them when they were dumped over the side. They had moved a little in the chaos, but had come to rest against the small bulkhead, lodged in a safe position.

  But getting to them wouldn’t be simple. The bulkhead was situated near the side of the boat, and in their desperation, the mutie mammals who were sticking with the attack to the bitter end were hurling themselves up into the air and hanging over the deck, heads moving, jaws snapping in an attempt to take some tasty morsel back into the depths with them.

  Snapping jaws that were dangerously close to where the rock-bound blasters were stranded.

  Ryan and J.B. exchanged glances. With the briefest of nods, the two men set out across the deck, desperately trying to keep their footing as the vessel pitched and yawed violently as the dolphins hammered against the sides, tipping at more and more of an acute angle as the water shipped in through the hole under the waterline. The planking of the whole vessel groaned with the threat of tearing apart under the stress.

  And the swamps were in plain view, so close that they could easily swim in if the boat sunk—except for the predators that would have been glad of the opportunity to attack them.

  Ryan and J.B. thudded into the bulkhead almost simultaneously, reaching into the pile to try to extricate their blasters.

  J.B. pulled out his M-4000 and chambered a shell. “Ryan, use my Uzi. It’s no time for sharpshooting,” he yelled over the noises around them.

  The one-eyed man gave him a wry grin. Ryan’s own blasters were more for single-shot firefighting, and he was glad of the Armorer’s offer.

  The two men readied themselves for the next sighting of the mutie mammals, yet no amount of wariness or preparation could truly prepare a person for the moment when the giant predator burst from the deep, appearing suddenly in front of them with an awesome violence. The gaping maw opened, foul breath hitting them in a wave, the teeth standing sentry like a thousand soldiers poised to attack.

  For the merest fraction of a second, both men were stunned. How could any blaster hope to make an impression on such a creature?

  It lasted as long as it took their combat instincts to kick in. Both men fired simultaneously, the load of barbed metal fléchettes from the M-4000 ripping a hole through the upper jaw and snout of the creature, pulping the brain and splattering the glittering eyes, which now seemed to dull suddenly before disappearing into a mass of viscous fluid.

  Ryan and J.B. were covered in a sticky, stinking spray of blood and eye fluid, the hot liquid sticking to them and running down their clothes, mixing with their own recently shed blood.

  Realizing that there was no need for him to fire on the creature, Ryan moved the Uzi in an arc as he depressed the trigger, the shots weaving wide of the chilled mutie as it fell, but catching another of the dolphins as it broke the surface to join the attack. The creature squealed in a high-pitched tone, almost a human cry of pain. The Uzi fire wasn’t concentrated enough to chill the creature, but it took enough lumps of flesh from its body to make it retreat in agony and confusion.


  Scrambling to their feet, both men tried to attain the far side of the deck, almost having to climb uphill as the vessel yawed dangerously. As one of the creatures reared up out of the surf, J.B. racked another shell and fired into its snout, the impact spreading a rain of flesh and blood over the deck.

  Ryan directed his Uzi fire to the stern, clipping another of the mammals as it came up and loomed over the decking. One of the shots exploded its left eye, the others stitching a line of holes down its snout and onto its exposed underbelly. It flipped back, squealing in pain, hitting the water on its back, flailing as it tried to extinguish the fires of pain that the Uzi shells had left inside its body.

  “Hold on to something, this is gonna be rough,” their helmsman yelled as she took the sinking boat into one of the channels leading into the swamps.

  To their rear, the mutie mammals finally began to retreat, the combination of blasterfire and the freshwater into which the boat had now sailed too much for them. Not that the companions had a chance to see them retreat. Their world was now suddenly bounded by the overhanging trees and grasses of the swamp, looming up out of the waters as the land and rivers merged into a sludge that was sometimes more fluid, sometimes more solid.

  The last-chance gasp of the boat had caught a gust that had whipped it in at too great a speed to negotiate the sudden turns and narrowness of the channels in the swamps, and they were thrown across the wildly pitching deck as the boat hit land, then water, then land, then water, throwing itself from side to side despite the attempts of the helmsman to keep some kind of course and bring the vessel in safely.

  “Oh, fuck.”

  It was the last thing they heard for some time. The boat groaned, the air was filled with the sound of splintering wood, and the craft came to a violent, shuddering halt, throwing them forward and into the air as it hit a bank too wide and solid to plough through or bounce off.

  The swamp turned upside down around them and then went black.

  IT WAS DARK when Ryan opened his eye, a pain shooting through his skull. A clear night, with a three-quarter moon that was bright enough to illumine the swamplands around. He tried to move, tentatively, feeling for any damage on his body. Apart from the protestations of sore and aching muscles, there was no major damage. He hoped the others had been as lucky.

  In the clear light of the moon, he was able to see that the boat had careened into a mudbank and finally broken up, the internal stresses taking their toll on its superstructure and forcing the wooden hull apart. Pieces of hull and deck were scattered around, and Ryan felt lucky that no part of it had impaled him and hopefully, others had been spared.

  Moving carefully—partly to save his aching limbs and partly so that he didn’t fall into the quicksand-like swamp in the semidarkness—Ryan tried to locate the others. In the thick undergrowth, he could see very little. Yet it was this undergrowth that had saved him from serious injury. The lushness of the foliage had acted as a cushion to his impact.

  After some fruitless searching, he heard movement. Reaching for the panga usually strapped to his thigh, he realized that their weapons were still tied up in a bundle ready for dumping. He hoped that he would be able to find the bundle before he was in dire need; and for that he would certainly need daylight.

  Dropping into a combat stance, Ryan crouched to hug the cover of the swamp, ready for the noise to be a source of danger. His relief when Jak Lauren emerged from the swamp grass was almost palpable.

  “Ryan, found three others and our stuff,” Jak said swiftly, with no pretence at ceremony. “Krysty and Doc still out, J.B. coming to. Here.” He tossed Ryan the SIG-Sauer and the Steyr, then pulled the panga from his belt and handed it hilt-first to the one-eyed man. “Left stuff by them. No sign of Mildred or woman,” he stated.

  Ryan nodded. “I’ve seen no one except you…and I was wondering how I’d find these,” he added with a grin, indicating the weapons. “Figured I might need them when I heard you coming.”

  “If enemy, then not hear me till buy farm,” Jak said without a trace of humor. “Same for most around here,” he added, making it clear that it was a warning for Ryan to stay triple frosty.

  Ryan could remember his last time in the swamps, and readily agreed. The two fighters agreed to divide the area, search, and meet back in half an hour. “Told J.B. stay put until feeling okay and I come back,” Jak added.

  Ryan could see the logic: keep all those whose locations he knew in one place, then collect everyone together when they were fully conscious. Should, ideally, make it easier to find the missing pair…

  Or maybe not. Almost half an hour later Ryan had nothing but insect bites and a mounting sense of frustration to show for his searches. The swamp area he had searched was empty—at least, devoid of human life. He made his way back to the meeting point, where he was astounded to see Jak standing with Mildred: between them they were carrying the woman who had helmed the boat. She was unconscious.

  “Hey, Ryan, how’s things?” Mildred said brightly, as though she had only seen him a second ago and they were crossing paths on the street of a friendly ville.

  “Mildred, what—”

  “I figure I got lucky and didn’t land too badly…and I landed near her,” she added, indicating the unconscious woman she was helping carry. “It was a real struggle trying to drag her around with me until Jak found us.”

  “But why were you trying to do that? Why—” Ryan began to ask, but was cut short.

  “I’m not sure, but I think I’ve got a mild concussion that’s making me do some stupid things,” Mildred interrupted. “Good thing Jak found me, or no knowing where I would have wandered. It should pass—weird kind of knowing it, to tell the truth—but I figure one of you should stay with me while you round up the others.”

  Ryan sent Jak. It was obvious, as the albino knew where the others were situated. While Ryan waited for him to come back with them, he had to sit and listen to Mildred ramble on about anything that came into her head. Truth to tell, he had no idea what she was talking about, and he seriously doubted that she did, either. Eventually she fell asleep. The other woman was still out cold.

  It became a long wait. Jak, having picked up J.B., was obviously trying to rouse the others rather than have to carry them, and so by the time they appeared, the sun had risen in the early morning sky, and it was set to be another humid, misty day in the swamps. The marsh gases began to rise, moisture pulled from the swamp by the heat, and the sounds of swamp life began to echo around Ryan, Mildred and the woman. Strange to think that she had saved their lives—albeit to save her own—and yet they didn’t know her name.

  Ryan heard the procession through the swamp before he saw them, and when Jak led them to where he was waiting, he was glad to see that J.B., Krysty and Doc were showing nothing more than a few knocks and bruises for their ordeal. In fact, he hadn’t seen Doc looking so strong since they had left the redoubt—fireblast, how many days had that been?—and the old man looked able to take on whatever faced them ahead.

  Their approach stirred both Mildred and the woman lying beside her.

  “Shit, my head feels like someone’s used it for target practice with a baseball bat,” Mildred moaned.

  “You remember what you were saying before?” Ryan asked. She shook her head, giving him a blank, uncomprehending stare. “Dammit, that’s a pity—thought you might be able to explain what the hell it was all about,” he said wryly, before explaining what he meant.

  Mildred whistled softly. “Man, I was gone. Can’t remember a damn thing…”

  They gathered together and Jak divided the bundle of belongings he had rescued. There was little left, as most he had distributed as he searched, but J.B. was glad to be reunited with his ammo and explosives stores. And, searching one of the bags, his eyes lit up when he unearthed his battered fedora. “Thought I’d lost it,” he muttered, carefully placing it on his head as though it were some kind of talisman.

  They ate some of the self-heats that had
been stored in their belongings, and used the remains of the bottled water that had survived the journey. They were surrounded by water, but the brackish liquid of the swamp was an unknown quantity, and they were unwilling to risk drinking it until it was strictly necessary.

  Over their unpalatable but necessary meal, they introduced themselves to the woman. She wasn’t hostile, but by the same token she found it hard to be too friendly.

  “Remember, I was ready to chill you all, and I don’t think that I’d be too kindly disposed to me after that,” she said warily.

  Ryan shrugged. “That was a ville thing. You saved our hides after.”

  “To save my own,” she pointed out.

  “But that’s the point,” Krysty interjected. “We’re on the same road now, so we need to look for each other’s backs. No one else to do it. What happened before doesn’t matter. Things were different then.”

  The woman shrugged. “Guess so, if you want to see it that way. Name’s Coral, and I’ve never really done anything except fish. Don’t know anything about surviving in swamps like this,” she said with a shiver as she looked around.

  “Figure you stay with us, it’ll be okay until you find somewhere you want to stop.” Ryan shrugged.

  “Yeah, but where’s here in the first place?” Coral asked with an answering shrug.

  J.B. was on his feet, the minisextant in his hand, trying to get a fix on the position of the sun. “That’s what I’m hoping I can tell you in a moment,” he murmured. “Yeah,” he said finally, looking down at the others, “I figure that if we head off to the northeast, we’re about twenty miles or so from where we met Jak.”

  “West Lowellton,” Krysty mused. “Wonder if they managed to build the kind of place they wanted?”

  “Had chance when we left,” Jak said. “Mebbe we’ll see.”

  “What are they talking about?” Coral whispered to Mildred.

  The physician shrugged. “It was before they, uh, found me. But around here is where Jak comes from,” she added.

  Krysty looked at the albino with an appraising eye. “Yeah, kinda figures. He looks like some of the swampies we used to deal with. That stopped awhile back, though.”