Doc interjected, "I feel sure that Dean would not have allowed a stranger to endanger this mission. If he is assured that she is safe, and that there is a reason strong enough for her to be here, then the very least that we can do is hear her out."
Lonnie shot Doc a look of venom. If the old man was trying to undermine his authority… Jak caught this, and fixed the patrol leader with his fiery, piercing red eyes.
"Doc right—let's hear," he said simply, but in a tone that would brook little argument.
Lonnie looked away, unable to hold the albino hunter's gaze. He knew that during the preceding few hours, the combined skills of the albino and the old man had been useful, and that he owed them that much. "Well, spill it," he barked at Ayesha. So the baron's daughter told them everything that she had already told Dean and Danny. When she explained how she had caught them, Dean saw that Doc was gazing at him speculatively. He knew that the old man would be amused that Dean had allowed himself to get caught in such a manner, but also anxious for the young Cawdor to explain how much of the old tech he had been able to unlock. It had been unspoken among the companions since the start of their mission, but the CD-ROM that the friends possessed was an item that held their curiosity. Could Dean have discovered how to unlock its secrets? Doc would be anxious to question the young Cawdor when they had some privacy, or when they were back at the redoubt with the rest of their party.
Meanwhile, Ayesha had reached the end of her tale, and had told the rest of the recce party about the deal she had struck with Dean and Danny. Instead of it being greeted with the consent she had expected, she was astonished to find Lonnie whirl around to the bespectacled teenager.
"You nuke shit cretin," Lonnie screamed, white with rage. "What the fuck gives you the right to make deals without telling the rest of us? Who runs this fucking recce party? What, you want to let us do the business while you sneak off and then come back with some kind of stupe scheme that could give everything away?"
"It's not like that," Danny began, but was cut short by the enraged man.
"Shut the fuck up! Where the fuck were you when we needed you? We thought you'd got chilled in that bar and went on to make the recce, and all the while you were in danger of fucking things up for us and for Papa Joe by getting yourselves caught by Baron Al's sec—"
"The sec couldn't catch a stump-legged mutie running backward in a sandstorm," Ayesha spit in disgust. "They're shit, and they know it. Lazy mothers, all of them. Day I can't get past them is the day I deserve to buy the farm," she added.
Lonnie, stopped in midtirade by this outburst, stared at Ayesha speechlessly for a moment, then burst into peals of laughter.
"Shit," he said finally, "you sure don't sound like there's much love lost between you and your ville."
"A ville and a baron who'd sell his own daughter down the river?" she replied bitterly. "What d'you reckon?"
"Mebbe she's got a point there," Mik said. "Anyway, it's too late to worry about it now. We've got three choices—chill the bitch, take her with us or figure she's telling the truth."
Dean watched Danny out of the corner of his eye. The bespectacled youth stiffened at the mention of chilling Ayesha, and Dean figured that this could be a problem. If it came to a choice between the group and the girl, Dean had no doubts where Danny's loyalties would lie, and the last thing Dean wanted was to see him chilled at this stage.
"She's telling the truth," Dean said with a flat, even tone.
"How d'you know?" Mik questioned, his small, beady eyes narrowing to points in his sharp face.
"I don't," Dean answered. "But then again, I don't know that she's lying, either. She could have turned us over to the sec, and she didn't have to bring us back here."
"It's a fair point," Tilly said. "I reckon we should go with this one—it'll make things a little easier when we attack, having one less wag to knock out. Kinda evens the odds a bit."
"Which is no bad thing," Doc interjected. "So I suggest, if I may be so bold as to address our group leader, that we wrap this up and hit the trail. Time is tight, as I believe the saying goes…went."
Lonnie frowned. "You are one crazy old bastard, but there was some sense in there somewhere." He directed his attention to the girl. "Seems everyone wants to believe you, kid. And I guess I should go along with that. Triple fuckin' stupe of Danny to bring you here, but that's done. You go and get yourself and your girls ready, if you can trust them—"
"Only the ones I tell," Ayesha interrupted. "Most of them would be shit, but there's a few of us, and that's all it needs. The others will just be glad to be saved."
"Okay. We need to hit the road, so you get back and get ready."
Ayesha nodded, then turned to Danny. "Guess this is it," she said simply. The teenager nodded dumbly, too choked on conflicting emotions to really speak. "Mebbe I'll see you in a while, if we both get out of this without being chilled. And mebbe you can teach me something about the old tech, okay?"
She left before Danny had a chance to answer, heading back to the edge to the covering rocks, the Thompson still slung across a narrow shoulder. She didn't look back. Surveying the empty area across the desert between the outcrop and the edge of the ville, she stared up at the sun to judge where the sec patrol would be on their bikes. Nodding to herself as she worked out that she had the time to traverse the distance safely before they came around again, she began to walk out into the searing desert heat of the middle of the day. Slow at first, and then building to a trot to cover the distance as quickly as possible, she still didn't look back, preferring to concentrate her attention on the expanse of ground ahead, focused on her task, a small cloud of dust raised by the velvet pumps as she sped across the dry, sandy soil.
Danny watched her go, and then started when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dean was standing next to him.
"Don't think about it," the younger Cawdor advised. "If you see her again, then it's supposed to be that way. Concentrate on keeping yourself from being chilled. That's all that any of us can do, right?"
Danny answered with a nod, and Dean continued, "Okay, so when we get back to the redoubt we'll try and unravel a few secrets before we have to get into a firefight. Sound good to you?"
"Yeah, guess so," Danny replied. But for the first time in a long time during his young life, he realized that there was something pulling at his attention that was more than just a hunk of old machinery.
The two young men returned to the main body of the party, where Lonnie was issuing his commands. "I was figuring on taking some rest here until the cover of night, but now we can't be certain that this is safe. I don't know whether or not to trust her, or whether or not she'll be spotted coming away from here, so I figure we need to head out triple fast."
"In this heat?" Mik questioned, adding with a whine, "and how the fuck are we going to get any cover in the middle of the day?"
"We aren't," Lonnie answered. "We just move at a regular pace, and keep ourselves triple alert. If she's found, or says anything, then the mission's blown anyway. The attack on the convoy won't be a secret. So it's even more important than ever to get back to Papa Joe and report what we've found."
"Guess so," Mik agreed reluctantly.
"Then let's do it," Lonnie said with an air of finality.
The sun bore down with an unrelenting gaze, the heat seeming to settle around their feet and work up their ankles in tendrils of heat that grabbed at them and sucked them down, draining them of their energy, each step sapping their strength.
Tilly stared up at the sky, squinting and covering her eyes as she looked toward the sun, trying to determine its position and so work out how much longer they had until the cooling balm of the night. She turned and shook her head at Mik, who was giving her a quizzical stare. The burning red orb was still almost centered in the sky, and although it was past the midway point of the day, there were still many, soul destroying hours of heat to go before the night could descend.
Lonnie led, with Tilly and Mik at poin
t, Danny sticking to the middle with the three companions. As they walked, using as few words as possible so that they could conserve energy and not run their throats ragged in the dry heat, Danny and Dean filled in Doc and Jak on the details of their part of the mission.
Dean confessed that he was surprised to find the others waiting at the rendezvous when he and Danny had returned. They had only spent a few hours in the ville, and the rendezvous time was set for the next morning.
"Didn't even know if you were alive," he said shortly to preserve precious breath, "but even so, didn't expect to see you waiting."
"Things triple fast when pressure," Jak said, shaking his head, the tendrils of his stringy white hair dripping sweat in the overwhelming heat.
"I must confess, I hadn't expected us to achieve our objective as quickly," Doc mused.
"When we left the bar, it was touch and go whether the sec would get us…and if not them, then certainly those drunks and jolt fiends who were gathered on the sidewalk outside. Fortunately, there was enough smoke and covering fire from within to confuse them, so when we tumbled out in the midst of a few other customers who were placing discretion over valor, then there was enough of a general melee for us to achieve safety. I fear the poor bartender may, however, have bought the farm.
"In the safety of a side alley—possibly the very one you had used scant seconds before, though that is mere supposition on my part—we were able to regroup, and Mik and Tilly were able to calm Lonnie. It would seem, although I can claim no authority for this, that the bartender was one of those responsible for him falling foul of the baron, and thus being exiled. I fear he wanted to settle that old score before we began our mission.
"However, that notwithstanding, once we were out of immediate danger, he managed to regain calm and outline a plan of recce that we could follow. It would appear that he allotted a whole day to the enterprise in case we should find ourselves having to wait for a window in which to carry out the mission. Myself and Jak, of course, expressed our concern about your good self and young Danny, but Lonnie rightly pointed out that you may be chilled or alive, but that you knew the rendezvous point, and the rest was up to you. There was little to do but concur with such an opinion.
"We headed off to the area where the convoy was being prepared. It was in an area of the ville that was not so heavily populated, and it would seem to me that it was an old sports arena that was being used to house the wags. Even from some distance, you could hear the noise of engines being tuned and maintained by grease laden mechanics, and the smell of wag fuel became almost overpowering within a block of the arena itself.
"I was struck by the paucity of the sec guard that was being mounted. We were obviously strangers to the area, and yet we encountered only the barest minimum of sec patrols, and as the area was largely deserted it was a simple task to find cover, either in a building or a side alley. I would hazard a guess that the good baron is either slack through lack of threat, or is pouring all his resources into the convoy and its preparation, and hoping that no one will threaten him in the meanwhile. Whatever his view, it was simple for us to approach the arena.
"Gaining access to the area where the wags were being prepared was, however, another matter. The arena is not large, but it does have a central stand that is still intact, and a building that housed the box office once upon a time. I should imagine it was a baseball stadium rather than football, and one's mind does go back to the golden days when the boys would step out to the diamond, bat in hand, ready to face the pitcher, hiding the secrets of his tricky grip behind his glove…a war of wits between two men, the fielders poised—"
"Doc, stop and tell story," Jak murmured in a low voice, interrupting the old man's flow.
For a moment, Doc looked blankly at Jak, as though the albino hunter had interrupted a dream from which he didn't wish to emerge. Then his eyes, misted over by his own imaginings, cleared, and he grimaced.
"Of course, of course… We had no way of knowing if there were any sec posted at the windows of the block, keeping a lookout. It did not seem likely, given the lack of force we had so far encountered, but nonetheless, it was a necessary measure.
"Jak volunteered to take the role of decoy, and set out to draw any fire as he headed for the side of the arena at an angle, using what little cover there was. I fear that, even given our friend's skills, it would have been difficult for him to escape injury if there had been anyone on guard. But, quite amazingly, he attained his objective without drawing a single blaster shot. It would seem that any sec was concentrated on the interior of the arena.
"We hurried to the front of the arena, where Jak joined us, and it was simple task to gain entry without being seen. "Inside the arena, on the space that would once have been occupied by the grassy field of play, there was a sea of churned up and rutted mud and dust, the mud no doubt caused by spillages of water and wag fuel used by the mechanics.
"And this is where it becomes a matter of some concern to us. There are twelve wags in the Charity convoy, one of which looks large enough to convey the body of women that are to be the prize for Summerfield. There is another, armored wag that will carry the jack. Of the others, four are for the transfer and safe return to Charity of the crops and supplies that Baron Al is purchasing. The others are sec wags, and they are a formidable sight.
"Six wags, all of them armored and reinforced with the addition of metal shielding and wire mesh across the windows to make it hard for any grens to be thrown into them. They are mounted internally with a variety of machine blasters, and two appear to have rocket launchers also fitted. They were covered with a swarm of filthy, sweat begrimed mechanics, who are working flat out to prepare them.
"There was a heavy sec presence within the arena, but such is the work rate being demanded of the mechanics that they were being pressed into action to help mount blasters and carry cans of fuel and boxes of ammo to and from the central stores, which seems to be located under the main stand. It did cross my mind that to knock out this stand would be to cripple their operation, but I was vetoed by Lonnie on this notion. I fear a head-to-head conflict would be a necessity for the Hellbenders to achieve satisfaction, no matter how else the result could be achieved. "We were able to secrete ourselves around the arena and make notes and observations, and also to hide in plain sight among the sec and mechanics. It is such chaos as they straggle to meet the deadline imposed on them that the firefight to come may be aided by their inability to ensure the full working order of every wag and blaster.
"Having achieved our objective, retreat was a simple matter, as was regaining the rendezvous. The rest you know."
Doc finished his story, and Dean contemplated it in silence as they continued across the hot desert, keeping watch on an empty horizon and praying for dusk to fall.
It would be interesting to see what Ryan made of this, as compared to Papa Joe.
Chapter Twelve
It took less than two days to make the return journey, the recce party hastened by its initial trip into the desert during daylight hours. When night fell, they were glad to rest up, dehydrated and overheated by the rigors of the day's march. After building a fire, they ate and then slept while a watch rotated, rising with the dawn the next morning to complete the trip back to the hidden redoubt.
The last few hours, those spent scaling the winding road that stuttered in and out of existence around the side of the mountain, were in many ways the worst, as they found themselves making a journey upward in the blazing sun, the incline and the heat conspiring to draw any strength that was left from their calf and thigh muscles, each step weighing heavy and dragging what little energy they had from their bodies.
Apart from the sheer hard slog of it, the journey had been uneventful. There had been no more giant worms to disturb their passage, no packs of wild cats luring them into a feeding frenzy trap and certainly no other humans or muties such as stickies who were traversing the vast wastes of dust-blown desert, either on foot or by wag.
&
nbsp; They had been completely alone, and this sense of desolation hadn't added to the ease of the journey, making them feel as though they were the only people left alive. By the time they had reached the small plateau of rock shelf that stood before the camouflaged entry to the redoubt, they felt as though this may actually be true. Doc, already partly delirious from the heat and the dehydration, was sure that this was so, and that those who accompanied him were mere shades—ghosts of those he had set off with, but who had perished along the way. Within the recesses of his mind, Doc was aware that he was starting to lose the thin thread of sanity, the silken cord to which he desperately clung, and prayed fervently that they would soon attain the air conditioned cool, the water and food sources of the redoubt, and that he would be able to rest and recover, grasping once more that silken thread.
"Sec cameras should have got us on the last turn," Lonnie remarked to Dean, Jak and Doc as they walked—more shuffled after the last grueling ascent—toward the large sec doors set in the rock face. "There should be a party waiting for us."
His assumption was proved correct. As they came within a few yards of the doors, they began to open, scrolling upward to reveal a party of Hellbenders, accompanied by Ryan and Mildred, and headed by Correll himself.
"Weren't expecting you back so soon," he said briefly. "Must've been a hell of a journey." Gesturing to the rear of him, he indicated that two of the party go forward to assist Doc, whose will to carry on had collapsed now that the doors were open. The old man was buckling at the knees, and Travis and Rudi rushed forward to support him, closely followed by Mildred.
"Jeez, you old coot, you can't keep doing this at your age," she whispered to him as she checked his vital signs quickly before indicating to Travis with a nod that they transfer him to the med lab.
Doc was able to spare her a distant smile. "Not bad for someone breaching a third century, though, my dear doctor…"
Axler, James - Deathlands 65 - Hellbenders Page 15