Even though Mildred knew she was being hosed, she returned his smile. Her own lover rarely tossed out such commonplace courtesies and compliments. Manners, like so many other social niceties, had gone the way of the nukecaust. While the woman knew she never would have been confused for Emily Post, by the very nature of her former positions as re- searcher, physician and Olympic champion she knew her way around a cocktail party or formal dinner.
Then, there were occasions she missed getting dressed up for a night of entertainment as opposed to trekking through a world that was not only consistently crude and inelegant but also held an inexhaustible stock of nasty surprises for them.
Dressing up and dining out. Too bad the man sitting across from her wasn't J. B. Not that the Armorer would have been enjoying himself. For all of his talents, he wasn't a man for casual finery or amusement. To a woman who had once lived in the late span of the twentieth century, the Armorer could seem almost supernaturally cool and dispassionate.
Still, Mildred mused, while J.B. was predictable, he was usually predictable in all the right ways.
Jamaisvous, on the other hand, was still an unknown commodity. Charming, handsome, silver-tongued, and like herself, intelligent, he seemed to be more the type a woman like herself should be attracted to.
So, why didn't Mildred trust him?
"I said, would you like some more wine?" Jamaisvous asked, snapping Mildred out of her reverie. He held up the bottle from the silver ice bucket and presented it to her.
Mildred held out her empty glass. "Pour."
Jamaisvous did so with a flourish of the wrist.
' 'I always thought you government types preferred a cold, sterile environment," Mildred remarked, stretching like a lazy cat in the island heat. The bal- cony offered up a spectacular view of the ocean, and the warm sea breeze blowing across her body was most comforting.
Jamaisvous leaned on his arm and watched her as he spoke. "Really, Dr. Wyeth, I was hoping for some time away from talking shop. That was one reason why I left Dr. Tanner to his own devices for brunch."
"Sorry, the subject just came to mind."
"What you really mean is why did 'they' choose Puerto Rico as a site for Operation Chronos's trawling experiments?"
Mildred turned back to face him. "Yes," she replied directly.
Jamaisvous paused, the wind whipping through and tousling his graying hair, then idly checked the backs of his hands, holding them out, extended from the front of his body. "Would you believe the group wanted to work on their tans?" he asked, deadpan.
Mildred couldn't help herself. She had to chuckle. "No."
"I didn't think so."
The phrasing, the joking-Jamaisvous's speech patterns were unlike any of those she'd heard since coming back to life in Deathlands, and after some thought, she'd understood why. Of course they weren't unfamiliar to her since he was also a freezie. His speech, the teasing sarcasm, the timbre of his voice, the predark slang he used-it was all very comforting.
While making her uneasy as hell.
"You have a most fascinating voice," she said, forthright and boldly.
Jamaisvous looked up from his omelette with a quizzical expression. "Is there something wrong with the way I speak?"
"Exactly the opposite. I like listening to you talk."
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it...and you never answered my question."
"Of course I did. The possibility of their working on their tans. I asked if you would believe such a statement."
"No, Silas. I wouldn't," Mildred said.
"I thought not. The project is long dead. Why concern yourself with trivial matters now?"
"Nothing involving the Totality Concept ever dies. At least, that's been my experience," Mildred said, a tinge of unease in her voice.
"In this instance, you are incorrect. What does it matter why they chose to set up here?"
"It matters to me."
"They had their reasons. Just as you do."
"What are you talking about?"
"Like you and Dr. Tanner, two members of the merry marching Cawdor band that seem totally out of place. The intense redhead, the skinny one with the glasses, the bloodless albino teen-even the Caw-dor boy. They're of a kind with Ryan, those four. Not much of what you or I think of as being civilized among them. Stand all of you against a wall and ask even the youngest child to pick the two who weren't quite the same and the success rate would be most high."
"No, they're not civilized, if by that you mean urbane. And yes, any child could pick out Doc and me-because he's an oldie and I'm the only black," Mildred retorted hotly.
"Oh, please, that's not what I meant at all. Don't twist my words to bring up your unwarranted ire," Jamaisvous replied, holding up a hand to still Mildred's burst of anger. "You and Doc Tanner are the only two members of the group with something on the ball beyond innate cunning and alpha-male dominance. I think your former places in time have something to do with that. We don't belong here, Dr. Wy-eth. We're all lost."
"Not me. And watch what you say about the skinny one with glasses."
"He means something to you, this Dix?"
"He does."
"Could have fooled me. Where's the affection, Dr. Wyeth? The secret smiles, the holding of hands... from my observation, limited as it might be, he treats you as one of his fellows."
"And what's wrong with that?"
"Well, for one thing, if you were my companion, I'd treat you with the attention and care a woman such as yourself deserves. Like I'm doing now. Good food. Nice clothes. Intelligent conversation."
"Look, Silas," Mildred began, "fine wines and new clothes aren't the only things a woman is seeking in a mate."
"I know, but aren't they a nice bonus?"
Their eyes met for a second, and then each turned attention to the meal. No words were spoken for a series of lengthy moments, until Doc Tanner stumbled up and announced himself.
' 'I say, I had wondered where the two of you had gotten off to," he remarked. "Are those scrambled eggs I smell?"
Mildred bit back a giggle. "Why don't you join us, Doc?"
"A splendid suggestion." Doc slid back one of the two unoccupied chairs and began to serve himself from the covered tray of eggs and potatoes.
"Well, you wanted us to stay and assist you- we're doing so. Now it's time for you to come clean and explain why to me. Are you serious about trying to trawl yourself home?"
"I am. And my dear Dr. Wyeth, Puerto Rico has long been a site of the most infinite possibilities. What I find amusing is that even in this far-flung age, decades upon decades after the final nuclear conflagration, this tiny island remains as unstable as it was in the 1990s."
Mildred's brow furrowed. "Unstable in what way?"
"Electromagnetically, of course," Jamaisvous said. "And Puerto Rico is on the edge of one of the great mysteries of life, the Bermuda Triangle."
"Of course!" Doc agreed in between bites of a piece of toast smeared with jam.
"An electromagnetic field covers the world like a blanket," Jamaisvous continued. "When combined with gravitational forces, we have the status for our little network of matter-transfer gateways. When the mat-trans units are focused on the grids of ley lines currently crossing the globe, we tap into the very molten power of Mother Earth herself for transport, and our earth parent is a most powerful entity indeed."
Although she didn't attest to it, Mildred knew Jamaisvous was correct. She'd seen the power of Gaia harnessed before in the form of Krysty Wroth, power that made the woman seem to glow with an inner energy-an energy that gave her terrific speed and strength. Krysty once described the sensation to Mildred as sinking down into a thick whirlpool of heated molten goo, all-encompassing, all-comforting. While your own movements were unencumbered by the substance, the world around you seemed to fall into bizarre slow motion. What to her seemed to be nothing more than a casually launched counterattack against a foe. appeared to others as a blur of destructive power and forc
e.
Mildred had seen Krysty rip off a man's arms as easily as she might break a twig. Back in Kings Bay, Georgia, at the naval base of Admiral Poseidon, while under the influence of the Gaia force, one well-placed kick had sent a man's head flying up, tearing away from his shoulders and spinal column like a punted football.
"Such forces aren't easily controlled," Mildred remarked.
"I don't understand why you weren't brought here, Dr. Tanner," Jamaisvous mused. "In my reading, this site appears to have been a nexus point for advanced chron-jumping. Instead of devoting such a large part of their time and funding to waging war, their undivided attention and Herculean efforts should have been focused on time trawling."
"Too late now," Mildred said and took a bite of toast.
"Actually it isn't. Such is the joy of having access to time travel. If it works, one can always go back to put a fix in, right?"
Doc and Mildred exchanged concerned looks.
"Pass the salt," Doc said.
Chapter Twelve
According to the legends, the lair of El chupacabras was supposed to be farther up the island, somewhere within the dank boundaries of the El Yunque Rain Forest.
"How far out to El Yunque Mountain?" Krysty asked, shielding her eyes and straining to see farther ahead on the road.
"From San Juan? Thirty miles or so. The road is still good in most places with the right transportation, and travel by day is relatively safe from attack," Jorge noted.
"Attack by whom?" J.B. asked.
Jorge looked at him as if he were dim-witted. "The chupacabras, of course. No sane man can be found out in the open once the sun goes down."
"Thirty miles is a long way to walk," Ryan stated. "Take at least two days' travel time on foot."
"Makes my feet hurt just to think about it," Dean added.
"Well, I'm sure as hell not walking all the way out to El Yunque," Luis muttered, obviously not happy to have been taken from the El Morro fortress and assigned to Ryan's group. The sec man was standing in a patch of shade beneath the overhang of an old two-car garage next to the ruin of a house.
"You said the road is still good with the right transportation. You got a wag?" Ryan asked the two Puerto Ricans.
"Better than that, I have two wags," Soto said with a flourish, and the portly man was proved correct when Jorge stepped past Luis and rolled up the garage doors to reveal two well-used, but operational Jeeps. Unlike some of the armored tanklike vehicles Ryan and the others had used for transportation before, these were stripped down little runabouts, both convertibles with roll-up canvas tops in case of inclement weather.
Soto rode with Ryan, Krysty and Dean, and J.B., Jak and Luis joined Jorge. Some dull red jugs of crude gasoline provided full tanks of fuel. For a sixty-mile trip, not much gas would be needed. Progress out of Old San Juan and into the newer part of the city was slow, but soon became easier once they turned onto the open highway going northward.
The heat was heavy, drenching the group in sweat, and a long two hours passed, with stops to move debris from the roadway.
"We're making good time," Soto said, turning to speak to Ryan and Krysty once the odometer revealed they had gone past the twenty-five-mile mark.
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the steering wheel of the Jeep twisted out of his hands. One of the front tires of the lead transport burst in an explosion, bringing the agile little vehicle to a sliding stop, angled across the road. Luis had been driving the second wag and was able to hit the brakes, stopping quickly enough to avoid a collision.
"What've we got?" J.B. grunted, stepping up to the first Jeep.
"Flat," Soto said, getting up from his knees where he'd been looking at the tire.
"Is there a spare?" Ryan asked.
"No. No spares for either vehicle."
"How about a jack?" Dean asked.
"That we have," Jorge replied. "In the second Jeep, bolted underneath the back axle."
"Then we need to go ahead and take a tire off the wag with the bum leg so we have a backup for the working Jeep," Ryan said, pointing at the back of the first vehicle. "Guess we're going to have to ride double the rest of the way. How long to swap tires, J.B.?"
"Since we're just taking one off and not having to put on new ones, Jak and I can probably have us a spare hi ten minutes."
"Do it."
THE SUN WAS PAST the height of noon in the sky, but the temperature was still as hot as could be expected in the Caribbean. Unfortunately, soon after the spare tire had been obtained, a misty rain had begun to fall. The lone Jeep buzzed along on the two lanes of elderly paved blacktop, overcrowded and uncovered to the elements.
Still, even with the rain, a few hours of daylight remained when Ryan tapped Jorge on the shoulder.
"Que?"
"We camp here," Ryan said, using a finger to point at a clearing to the left of the cracked black highway. A frame of a former roadside attraction was at the back of the pull-off area, but whatever message or offering it promised had long vanished to the elements. El Yunque Mountain loomed ahead of the Jeep in the distance. Leaning forward to the driver's side, Ryan added, "Stop the Jeep up there under those trees, J.B., next to where the guardrail ends."
"Right," the Armorer replied as he downshifted and hit the brakes of the sturdy little vehicle, slowing to turn off the pavement and onto the grass. Everyone stepped out of the wag, stretching and circulating blood back through their bodies. All were cramped from the close conditions.
As Ryan did a deep knee bend and was rewarded with the sharp crack of both knees popping, Jorge squatted next to him. Ryan knew from the expression on the muscular Puerto Rican's face the man hadn't cared much for camping so soon. "We should continue while the sun is still up. Night is the chupa-cabras's friend, Ryan Cawdor."
Not used to having his orders questioned, Ryan felt his temper start to flare, until he got a good look at Jorge's face, open and innocent. The statement hadn't been a challenge, merely a fact. "If so, Jorge, that's the best time to go hunting for them, right?"
The Puerto Rican looked puzzled. "Yes, I suppose, but I'm not sure I like your logic."
"I do," Jak said stepping next to Ryan. "Take battle to them, they make first move."
"If that's the way they want to play it. Either way, we've been traveling all day. We need to get some rest, let our bodies cool off. We've still got a few hours before dark. It's best to grab some sleep and' downtime before going into the rain forest any farther."
Jorge slapped at a flying insect that resembled a mosquito. "If you say so. You are the one with experience in such affairs, not I."
"That's right, Jorge. Now get some shut-eye."
THE LIGHT WAS DIM. It was time to move out and into the forest proper.
Ryan had chosen to ignore his own advice, keeping watch over the small party. After an hour or so of trying to sleep while swatting at the swarms of mosquitoes and other winged insects in the heated air, J.B. had done likewise, getting quietly to his feet and joining his comrade.
Neither of them had spoken as the Armorer took up position across from Ryan, enabling each man to watch the other's back as they guarded their resting friends.
After consulting his wristchron, Ryan had walked softly among the others, shaking them gently awake. All had come to alertness slowly, except for Jak, whose warrior senses were ready to go the instant Ryan tapped his shoulder.
Luis had stood, moving more slowly than the others but not noticeably so. When erect, he bent to pick up his weapon and promptly fell forward on his knees, dropping his retrieved long blaster as both hands went frantically to his throat.
Noticing his plight from the comer of her vision, Krysty was at his side first, kneeling as she tried to determine what was wrong. Her strong hands grasped him by the shoulders, trying to stop the frantic spasm creeping through the Puerto Rican's tanned body. A coating of sweat had spread across his skin as if he'd walked through a fine mist.
"Luis? What is it? What
's wrong?" the redhead asked, her eyes narrow.
By that time, Soto and the others had joined Krysty and Luis, surrounding the kneeling pair. Soto made a series of clipped inquiries in English, then Spanish. Luis didn't respond to either language. The big man looked at them, panic in his eyes, and tried to speak, but all that came forth was a thick grunting sound from deep within his barrel chest.
"Can't breathe," Luis wheezed, the two words an effort. He tried a third. "Hurts."
"He some kind of epileptic?" Ryan asked suspiciously. "Going to throw a fit?"
"We need to get him down if he is," Krysty said. "I saw Mildred deal with an epileptic once and that's what she said to do."
James Axler - Deathlands 43 - Dark Emblem Page 16