by James Axler
A buzzing cloud of flies crawled over something in the muck. It looked like a pile of rags. But then the pile moved, and a huge barrel-chested man with long hair gave a moan and tried to crawl out of the slippery mud, only to collapse after a few inches. The man’s clothing was in tatters, and one boot was missing. There was a holster at his hip, but no blaster or anything else that looked usable.
Tucking away his own wep, Stirling silently wished the outlander good luck, then started to leave. The brutal fact was that the sec chief could barely take care of himself, so there was no reason in the world to help a stranger.
But the sec chief had only gotten a few feet when the man in the weeds began to sputter curses.
“Curse you…Delphi…” Edward Rogan groaned in delirium. “Gonna ace ya…bastard….”
Snapping his head around at the sound of the name, Stirling went back to the reeds. His boots sank deep into the soft mud, but he grabbed the big man under the arms and dragged him onto dry land. The effort took everything he had, and Stirling passed out from the exertion.
Some time later, the aching sec chief awakened. The sun was behind the cliff, which meant late afternoon. Forcing himself to stand, Stirling gathered some broken pieces of wood and built a small fire near the unconscious man. Then he used the canteen to rinse off the stranger’s face. The flies stayed nearby, but became less interested.
The man’s face was covered with tiny cuts, slashed in a hundred places, the wounds dirty and only partially healed. Using his canteen, Stirling washed the face clean, then poured some raw shine over the cuts. He was no healer, but the sec man knew that the mud in those cuts would form scars. Lots of them. This poor bastard would have a face like a quilt. But he guessed it was better than being aced. He had to have fallen off the cliff and hit some rocks while in the river. Either that, or he just missed getting chilled by a gren. Lord knew, he couldn’t have done both. Nobody was that tough.
Time passed and as the campfire diminished, Stirling went on the hunt again, this time finding a nice long piece of wood suitable for fishing. Wonder of wonders! After tending the campfire, he waded into the shallows and got busy. In short order, there were several gutted trout dangling above the small blaze. The moment the fish were cooked, Stirling ate, stuffing himself like a ville pig. Sleep was all he wanted now, but the sec man got to his feet and waded out into the shallows of the cold river to get more supplies.
Evening was approaching when there came a sniff from the big man, then another, and finally his eyelids fluttered to open wide.
“Hungry?” Stirling asked, looking up from cleaning his blaster. “There’s plenty. Fish are dumber than gophers, and that’s saying something.”
His muscular neck trembling from the effort, Edward painfully lifted his head from the dry dirt. “Where…the frag…am I?” he whispered, raising a trembling arm.
“The Zone, I think.” Stirling shrugged. “Don’t know for sure. Could be anywhere.”
Scowling at the response, Edward suddenly noticed the clean bandages on his wrist, then blinked in surprise when he found more on his bare chest. Where was his body armor? Oh, yes, he remembered ripping it off when he was drowning under the water.
The smell of the fish was delicious, but Edward didn’t think he could eat without being sick. His guts ached something awful. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
Finished cleaning the piece, the sec chief started reloading the blaster. “Steve Stirling, sec chief for Two-Son ville.”
“Never heard of place,” Edward muttered, brushing back his damp hair. The river was yards away, the tracks of his boot heels in the mud telling a clear story. The stranger had saved his life. But why?
“It doesn’t matter, friend,” Stirling replied, holstering the handblaster. “My ville is a long distance from here. We are on our own.”
“Friend?” Edward said suspiciously, a hand going to the empty holster at his side.
Stirling noticed the gesture and looked the man in the eye. “Delphi,” he said, the name dripping hate.
Edward snarled, then nodded in understanding.
“The enemy of my enemy,” the last Rogan brother growled, and weakly held out a massive hand.
“Blood for blood,” Stirling agreed, and they shook to seal the bond.
“Any water?” Edward asked, wiping his mouth on a sleeve.
Stirling gestured. “Over by the fire, near the fish. Help yourself. I’ve already eaten.”
“Th-thanks.”
As the giant man started to devour the fried trout, Stirling smiled in grim contentment. It looked like he had a formidable ally in the hunt for Delphi. Good. Two blasters were certainly better than one. Yet the sec chief had a feeling that they might need a fragging army to take down the whitecoat. Fortunately, he knew just the place to get one of those.
A HUNDRED KLICKS AWAY, a warm desert wind blew along Perdition Valley, the breeze creating tiny dust devils that whirled and danced along the loose sand. Popping into view, a tarantula snapped at the whirlwinds, then went totally motionless as a rattlesnake bit it from behind. The tarantula chittered fiercely in blind rage, then shuddered violently and died. Biting and swallowing, the rattlesnake consumed it whole, uncaring if it was either alive or dead.
Walking along the dusty road, Lily paused at the sound of rattling wood and looked up in time to see a wooden cart roll into view. The man and woman driving the buckboard wag seemed surprised to see her, then grinned in unabashed delight as they both pulled crossbows.
“Hold it right there!” the man commanded, tightening his grip on the wep.
It took Lily only a split second to recognize the cage behind the armed couple as a slave cage. Then she sprang into action. Exactly as she had seen the companions do in the fight with the Rogans, Lily dropped into a crouch to stabilize her stance, pulled the Webley and fired. The big-bore blaster sounded louder than thunder as flame extended from the muzzle. With a strangled cry, David flew backward off the wag, spraying out his life from a ruined throat.
“Nuking bitch!” Sharon screamed, firing the bow. The arrow went wide and she scrambled to reload.
Staying calm, Lily moved to a new position and fired again, the .445 predark round exploding the woman’s head.
Waiting for the echo of the blaster to die away, Lily judiciously approached the wooden cart. Inside the iron cage, a smelly pile of starving slaves trembled in fright.
Saying nothing, Lily went to the front of the wag and easily found a ring of metal keys. Tossing it, the keys clanged off the rusty metal bars and hit the floor of the filthy cage with a dull thud.
At the incredible act, the slaves were stunned, then frantically grabbed at the keys. They formed a human pyramid and tried to work the lock on the top hatch. It was stubborn, but they persisted, cursing and hammering with their scrawny fists. With a prolonged screech, the lock disengaged and hatch came loose. Shouting in delight, the slaves scrambled out of the cage like ants boiling out of the ground.
“Oh, thank you!” a man gushed, tears of gratitude on his sunken cheeks.
“Don’t come any closer,” Lily warned, thumbing back the hammer on the blaster. “Keep your distance, and take what you want from the supplies. Loot the dead, then get moving. The wag is mine.”
Unexpectedly, a baby started to cry.
“What about the little one?” a skinny woman asked nervously, glancing back and forth between the sec woman and the swaddled infant. “Should we ace it for ya?”
“Harm that baby and you’ll beg to get aced,” Lily replied.
Trembling with fear, the freed slaves did as they were ordered. The women pulled the boots of the warm corpses, the men took the crossbows and quivers, along with most of the clothing that wasn’t soaked in fresh blood.
“Ah, there’s a handblaster here…” a man said hesitantly, proffering the wep on an open palm. He clearly lusted for the tiny blaster, but wouldn’t dare take it until the raven-haired woman with the big revolver gave permission.
“Keep it, got better,” Lily stated.
“Bless you!” The blaster was tucked away into a pocket.
“And if you want to keep pulling air,” Lily growled, reveling in her new sense of power, “then don’t point it at me. Savvy?”
Nodding, the skinny man wholeheartedly agreed.
Moving away from the cart, Lily kept the others under careful watch as they raided the buckboard for food and then hastily scampered away into the shifting desert.
Holstering her piece, the young woman climbed into the buckboard and lifted the baby to cradle it in her arms, rocking slightly until the little one stopped crying.
“Hush, now,” Lily whispered. “Guess I’m your new Ma. I’m Lily Ro—” She paused, torn between conflicting emotions. Then a decision was made.
“My name is Emily,” she said, a strange tone creeping into the gentle words. “Emily Tanner, and you be called Lily. Best remember that when we reach Two-Son ville.”
Gurgling happily, the infant wiggled to get comfortable, then went happily back to sleep, tenderly cradled by the grinning madwoman.
ISBN: 978-1-4603-7340-8
PERDITION VALLEY
Copyright © 2006 by Worldwide Library.
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