But it wasn't just the heat. The track they were taking was across desert terrain that had been muddied by the lashing chem rains and churned up into a quagmire. This was now drying, the ridges of wind driven mud now becoming hard obstructions beneath the wheels of the wags, making steering hard and bumping the vehicles and their contents uncomfortably across the desert floor. They also had to keep an eye out for those patches that had turned into quicksand and were proving less willing to dry out. Spotting anything was hard, as the powdery soil was becoming dust, driven up in clouds from the hard ridges by the constant disturbance of the wag wheels, the resultant dust clouds making visibility poor at times.
It was easiest for the front wag, piloted by Correll. For J.B., Lonnie and those wag drivers that followed them, things were proving to be at times disorienting.
"If we all make it to the right place at the right time, and in one piece, that'll be the biggest achievement of all," Mildred commented sardonically as J.B. had to swerve hard to avoid a deep rut that came out of a dust cloud at the last moment.
"That's when the difficult bit starts," Jenny countered, fixing Mildred with a piercing stare. "We have to be disciplined and motivated."
"Sweetie, you sound like a machine," Mildred returned, a wry smile crossing her face. "You can be as disciplined and motivated as you like, but you need to get to the enemy first. And this is a real bastard."
"You're not kidding, Millie," J.B. muttered. "This is bad enough for me, but for those behind?" He let the question hang in the air.
Jenny shifted in her seat and looked to the back of the wag. It was closed in, with no windows but a sec monitor that gave them a rear view via a camera in the frame of the vehicle. The monitors still worked, and one of Correll's men watched it.
"What's happening back there?" the Native American asked.
The Hellbender shrugged. "Fuck knows. He's right, Jenny. There's nothing but dust back there. I wouldn't mind betting they can't see a thing."
THE SENTIMENT WAS ECHOED by Lonnie, the driver of the next wag back, but with a little more exasperation.
"Fuck it, why don't they watch where they go?" he yelled—more to himself than anyone else—as he hit the wheel of the wag hard with the palm of his hand. "Shit, how are we supposed to know where we are when there's nothing but dust all around?"
"Just follow, for fuck's sake," Catherine said wearily, leaning against the side of the wag, then wincing as a jolt over a rut caused her to crack her head against the metal side.
"How can I?" Lonnie snapped. "I can't see what I'm supposed to be following."
Dean pondered for a few seconds, then leaned forward to Doc.
"You wish a few moments of discursive diversion?" Doc asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I want to talk about something," Dean replied.
"Then pray tell me what it is."
"I've been thinking, Doc, and I'm wondering if I should mention this."
Doc beamed at the young Cawdor. "Certainly, I would be only too pleased to advise you—provided, of course, you tell me what it is that you wish advice upon."
"Yeah, funny, Doc, really funny. But it could be important."
Doc's attitude changed, immediately becoming more serious. "Then go ahead, young Dean," he said softly.
"Well, if Lonnie's having this trouble, and all the wags behind are getting it worse, then what's it going to be like when we mount the ambush? There won't just be our wags, there'll be convoys from Summerfield and Charity, as well."
"That's a lot of dust, and a lot of confusion," Doc agreed.
"Exactly."
"I think this needs mentioning," Doc said gravely.
"You hear that, Lonnie?" Catherine said. Although feigning disinterest, she had been listening in to their conversation.
"Yeah, I caught the general idea," Lonnie acknowledged between gritted teeth, steering wildly to try to negotiate a reasonably clear path along the track. "Think the two-ways will work yet?"
"They may over a short distance," Dean said, moving to the front of the wag. "I'll keep it brief, 'cause you never know who may be listening."
"I don't reckon that they've got radio equipment," Lonnie answered.
"Mebbe if find spy," Jak chipped in. He had been apparently sleeping, but as was his way he had kept his senses alert and had awakened at the sound of Dean's voice.
Lonnie blew out his cheeks. "Fuck, I hope not."
Dean picked up the handset of the radio and put a call through to the leading wag, knowing that the exchange would be heard by all the wags, as Correll had made sure that they were all tuned to the same wavelength before leaving the redoubt. The use of old tech like this was rare, but Correll, with Danny's help, had been able to make sense of what he had found at the old military installation, and right now, Dean was glad of this.
When Correll responded angrily, asking why the hell Dean was using the radio, which was only for emergency use, Dean quickly explained his concern. There was a pause before Correll answered.
"If we stick to the basic plan, then we'll be in close enough to see what's going on in the clouds. If we move swiftly, then we'll pin them down in such a way that they won't be able to move out of formation without running straight into us…in which case we just blast the fuckers anyway. Besides, the rendezvous point is hemmed in on all sides by outcrops. The chem storm won't have been able to blow up so hard in there, so the ground shouldn't be so churned up."
With which finality, Correll put down the handset and returned his attention fully to the vast expanse of desert that lay ahead. In the far distance, almost over the horizon and approximately another half hour's drive away, Ryan and Krysty could see a small cluster of rocks.
"That's it," Correll said so softly that it could almost have been to himself. He kept one hand on the wheel of the wag while, with the other, he cradled the box on his lap. "Soon," he added in a gentle tone.
Ryan wasn't sure, but it seemed as though Correll was addressing the box.
ELIAS TULK HAD DRIVEN in silence across the plains, avoiding the ruts wherever possible and skirting the patches of quicksand. Baron Tad Hutter sat next to him in silence. Tulk was setting a fast pace as the leading driver, and the sec men who sat in the rear of the leading wag were keeping a close watch on the wags that followed.
"Shit, man, slow down," once of them implored. "Those dudes back there are really having problems keeping the pace up."
"Not my problem," Tulk said shortly. "Not my fault if the bastards can't drive."
"But Baron," the other sec man added, addressing the silent Hutter, "we don't want to lose them."
Hutter was silent for a moment, then said, "If they can't keep up, then they've got no place on my sec."
The two sec men in the rear of the wag exchanged puzzled glances. It didn't make sense. If they lost the rest of the party, it would put the baron at risk if they arrived at the rendezvous point alone and found the opposing force there in full.
Neither, however, felt brave enough to question Hutter on this. Instead, they lapsed into an uneasy and uncomfortable silence.
Hutter, however, was much keener to talk now that his long silence had been broken. He spoke in a low undertone that could be heard over the sound of the wag engine by Tulk, but not by the sec men at the rear of the vehicle.
"So what d'you think you can prove, boy?"
"Who says I want to prove anything?" Tulk replied, keeping his eyes on the road and not pausing to glance at the baron.
"I'd say you want to prove something pretty badly," Hutter mused. "You've never spoke to me like this before—no fucker with any sense has," he added.
"Mebbe I've lost any sense I ever had," Tulk replied. "Mebbe I've got some for the first time. And mebbe you should make your mind up about that, eh?" he added.
Hutter narrowed his eyes and didn't speak for a time. He studied the whip-thin sec man beside him, his eyes concentrating on the road ahead with an intensity that was out of place.
"Can't th
ink of anything to say now?" Tulk added after a while, without looking around.
"No," Hutter replied truthfully. "If I thought it was possible, I'd say you had some plan to get rid of me, but I can't work out how the fuck you'd manage that on your own. And you sure as shit wouldn't get any of the others to join you. I've made sure of that, making them all shit scared of each other more than me."
There was a note of puzzlement in the baron's voice that made Tulk want to smile. However, he managed to keep any sign of his inward amusement from showing on his face.
As he drove, Tulk's mind wound back to the moment when the recce party had taken him back to the redoubt.
It had been some months after he had begun spying, and it had taken until this point before he had been truly accepted, and any suspicions that the Hellbenders still held had been allayed. By night he had left the ville, and had met with the recce party at a point several miles from the edge of the ville. His cover story to explain his absence was that he had been conducting a survey of the outlying areas to plot any points from where the ville could be attacked. To this end, the recce party, which already knew the area, gave him a detailed map of the area surrounding the ville that would only omit their own personal camping spots when on recce. Armed with this, and the wag he had used to leave the ville, Tulk was able to cover his own back and make the time to follow them on the day-long journey to the redoubt, where he had first met Correll.
The memory of the gaunt man's unsmiling visage as he explained his personal—and therefore group—mission still haunted Tulk. He had no doubt that Correll was insane, and yet he could understand that. He had no idea of Correll's own personal history, but he knew from his own experience that to have to internalize the intense emotions that a baron abusing privilege could bring was to skirt close to insanity. Some stayed the right line—as he believed he had—because they had to keep living with the enemy. Others, like Correll, didn't, and so were allowed free reign to their feelings, and perhaps the descent into madness.
After a briefing, Tulk had returned with the personal knowledge that Correll was as insane as Hutter, just in a different way. But this was, in a sense, irrelevant. Correll's madness allowed Tulk to unleash his own, and gain his revenge.
And that was priceless.
The knowledge that it was nearly time filled him to bursting, but—mindful of the still puzzled baron beside him—he allowed himself only the expression of putting his foot down on the gas, and coaxing more speed from the wag's protesting engine.
"AYESHA, THIS ISN'T going to make things any better for us. We'll just get beaten before they screw us, and it'll hurt," whined the big blonde from her seat in the back of the wag.
"Shut up, bitch," snapped the girl with the Uzi. She didn't turn to glare at Anita, but the big blonde could feel the hostility coming off her, and immediately shut up, even trying to stifle her sobs.
"Thanks for that," Ayesha murmured as she spared a glance for the sniveling blonde. "Any more of that shit, and I probably would have slit her throat, as well."
"Anytime, babe," her ally replied. "But I hope you've got some sort of plan, 'cause I've just seized the moment, and I don't know what the hell to do next."
"First thing is to get their blasters," Ayesha said decisively, moving down the middle of the wag. She addressed the sec men in the front directly. "I want you to hand your blasters over the back, holding them by the business end with your fingertips only. I don't want you getting any ideas, or else my friend here may just blow your mother fucking head off. Okay, boys?"
The sec men complied without a word, the one who had twisted in his seat dropping his H&K over the back, while the driver unholstered his Walther PPK handblaster and dropped it over the back, straining to keep the vehicle on track as he leaned behind him.
Ayesha moved in front of her ally and pulled the blasters back, crouching low but keeping her head up and her sights firmly on the sec man who was still facing her. The knife, still dripping, she kept in her left hand, the blade angled up ready to strike if attacked.
Gathering the blasters, she pulled back and stuck the Walther in the waistband of her jeans. The H&K she held on to, looking around at the women on the benches. Most of them still looked like Anita—downtrodden and resigned to their fate, fearing it would now be worse because of her actions. But a couple of the women had brightened considerably, and although they had nowhere near the courage of the girl holding the Uzi rock steady, they could be useful.
"You," she said, indicating a slim woman with sharp features and short, cropped hair who had begun to take an interest in events. "What's your name?"
"Adrienne," the woman replied in a tone that was nervous, but had an underlying bite of insolence that could be useful.
"Consider yourself recruited to our little women's liberation army," Ayesha said, tossing the H&K to her. "Know how to use that?"
"It's a blaster like them all. Just give me a second or two to work out its little peculiarities," Adrienne replied in an offhand manner.
The sec man facing them spit down onto the floor of the wag. "Don't think you bitches are gonna get away with this."
Without a word, the girl with the Uzi took half a pace forward and swung the barrel of the blaster up in an arc, catching him in the mouth and nose, which gushed crimson. Before he had a chance to react or even register the agony he felt, she had stepped back out of range and resumed her position, with the blaster trained on the pair of sec men in the front of the wag.
"Don't you think at all, asshole. That way you may not get chilled yet," she muttered with savage venom.
"Nice work," Ayesha murmured approvingly. "Listen, just who are you, girl?"
"Name's Claudette. I used to work in the kitchens for the sec, and I know what fuckpigs they are," she said shortly, adding, "and you still ain't said if you've got a plan."
"I've got a plan, Claudette, don't you worry about that," Ayesha said. "By the way, I'm—"
"Hell, you think I don't know who you are?" Claudette snapped. "You're the prize package. I've heard this scum talking about what they'd do to you before Tad Hutter had the chance, and then about what he'd do to you. Gotta say, girl, that was a smooth move you pulled. But you'd better have a good plan, 'cause I can't see how we'll get out of this alive. And if I was you, knowing what I know, I'd chill myself now and save the humiliation and pain if we don't get out and Hutter gets his hands on you."
"No worries about that," Ayesha replied simply. "We just need to stay on course to the rendezvous and wait."
Claudette didn't look around, preferring to keep her eyes firmly fixed on the sec men, but Ayesha could feel— almost see—her look of disbelief.
"Girl, tell me that you're shitting me," she said quietly.
"I'm telling you straight, sister," Ayesha reassured her. "There's going to be an ambush on the two convoys by a group that has as much reason to hate my father and the scum Hutter as much as we have. And they're armed and ready for a firefight. We're safe as long as we keep these assholes quiet."
"How the fuck—?"
"It doesn't matter now," Ayesha interrupted. "The only thing that matters is that we keep this wag rolling, and no one gets any notion that anything is wrong until we reach the meeting point. And then it'll be too late."
"It's risky," Claudette commented.
"So's anything," Ayesha returned. "What else can we do? If we break ranks and try to get this wag to run for it, they outnumber us in wags and firepower. All we can do is sit tight and wait."
"Okay, if that's the way it's got to be, then that's the way it will be." Claudette shrugged. "I just hope we can carry it off, babe."
Chapter Sixteen
It stood impassive and still under the burning heat of the rad-blasted sun, the sky a haze that shimmered above its topmost reaches. Formed of two groupings of rock that stood upright in the middle of the desert, with no other outcrops within sight, it was noble and awesome in its apparent ability to stand alone and unbowed against the
elements.
The reddish-brown rocks were jagged and uneven, rising and falling in a series of peaks and troughs that seemed to mirror one another, with a channel in the middle that was surprisingly clear of rock falls. The fact that it stood alone meant that the elements had been equally harsh to each side of the outcrop, hence the similarity between the breaks and erosions along the top of the standing stones.
For that was what the two sides of jagged rock resembled. With their equal measures of wear and erosion, they looked uncannily as though they had been formed of individual stones that had been moved slowly and arduously across the empty desert by men, and then assembled into this pattern for a reason that could only be guessed. But once the men had vanished, the stones had become rocks, the very elements causing them to spread out and web together.
At each end of the outcrop there was a narrow channel, wide enough for two wags to fit side by side. This widened to about three times that width as the center of the small valley was reached. It was enough space for the trade to take place with both sides having room to move, but not enough to try any kind of maneuver. The rock on each side seemed too sheer for anyone to hide out or be strategically placed by one side seeking to gain advantage over the other. And the outcrop, standing solitary and magnificent as it did, fell almost exactly equidistant from the villes of Summerfield and Charity, meaning that neither side had to lose face by traveling a longer distance than the other to make the trade. A small thing in many ways, it was a matter of vital importance to both barons if they were to keep their prestige both in their own minds, and in the minds of their people.
Axler, James - Deathlands 65 - Hellbenders Page 20