Meanwhile, the other preparations were taking place. Although the desert floor outside the outcrop was too disturbed by the chem storm, and too pitted and scarred to show any giveaway wag tracks, inside the arena itself the surface of the earth was relatively smooth and undisturbed, so any recent wag tracks would be all too visible. To this end, Correll had ordered that, on their arrival and secretion, some of his people would leave their wags and, using brushes they had brought with them from the redoubt, would clear the surface of any telltale wag tracks.
It was a risk. If the surface had been muddy and the weight of the wags had caused the tracks to be sunk into the earth beyond a certain depth, it would have proved difficult, if not impossible, to eradicate their traces. However, Correll had figured that the desert surface would have dried out and returned to its sunbaked hardness by the time their convoy had arrived, leaving just the disturbed top layer of sandy soil to be raked over by the brushes.
He was right. Led and directed by Rudi, ten of the Hellbenders set to with speed and alacrity to scour the surface of the arena, their ears bent toward the sound of distant wags and the rumble of heavy duty wheels that would signal the imminent arrival of their quarry. The ten Hellbenders worked hard, and in a surprisingly short time had completed their task, working from the center out toward the sides of the arena, brushing and raking themselves clear back to the channel openings on each side, enabling them to return to their wags without leaving a sign of their passing.
Correll used the radio to confirm that each Hellbender had returned to his or her post.
"What now?" Krysty asked him.
The gaunt man fixed her with a stare that had the lust of battle mixed with a strange glow of almost infinite contentment.
"We wait," he said simply.
"THERE IT IS, baron. I hope you're ready for this," Elias Tulk said softly as he piloted the leading wag toward the outcrop, which became larger with each passing minute, the narrow entrance framed by forbidding rocks that reached to the chem-clouded sky. Tulk added, after looking up at the sky, "Yeah, I really hope you are ready, 'cause it looks like it's headed for a sandstorm to me."
Tad Hutter gave Tulk a sideways glance that could have chilled him on the spot. "You being funny, boy?"
"Call it that if you want," Tulk answered, "but you just take a look up at that sky and tell me I'm wrong."
Hutter looked up at the sky through the windshield of the wag, and could immediately see that the chem clouds had returned to the previously hazy but clear atmosphere. They were scudding across the bloated red orb of the sun, and indicated that there were conflicting air pressures and zephyrs in among them.
"Fuck it, that's all we need," he murmured, annoyed both at the approaching storm and at the fact that Tulk had been proved right. If there was one thing of which Hutter was certain, it was that Tulk wouldn't live long when they returned to Summerfield.
"I figure that we're in for a sandstorm with it," Tulk continued, making a point of ignoring his baron's hostility. "With those kind of winds blowing up there, all it's gonna take is for one little sidewinder to come down and touch base, and it's gonna be a whole lot of fun. Let's hope we don't get it at the rendezvous, eh?" And he allowed himself a small grin at this.
They continued in silence, the outcrop looming larger. Tulk slowed his wag, wanting to take a good look at the approaching rendezvous point. It would seem that they were the first to arrive, as the shape of the arena within the outcrop allowed him to see virtually all angles—certainly enough angles to show any wags that were attempting to hide within. The arena was clear, and the far entrance was empty. He didn't know about the channels to the side of the arena, and a flutter of fear crossed his stomach. What if the Hellbenders hadn't showed? How the hell would he cope with a pissed-off Hutter after the trade? He didn't mind dying in a firefight or hand-to-hand combat, as long as Hutter bought the farm. But if he had to go back to Summerfield, he knew that his chilling would be painful and drawn out after the way he had treated the baron.
Mebbe Correll knew something he didn't, and everything was okay. He could only hope so. He spoke again, trying to keep the sudden wave of fear from his voice.
"Looks like we're the first here," he said simply.
Hutter grunted. "Take it to the entrance and then stop. We'll wait there—that way they can't encircle us."
"Okay," Tulk replied simply. It seemed to him that Hutter had momentarily forgotten their little conflict in his anxiety at making the trade. Which was okay…for now.
Tulk drove to the mouth of the arena and stopped the wag. Hutter shifted in his seat. "Come on, boy, we've got some orders to hand out," he muttered as he left the wag.
Tulk joined him, leaving the other sec men in the lead wag on lookout for the approach of the Charity convoy, which would be plainly visible through the opposing gap in the rocks.
Hutter moved back down the wags, ordering his men to keep alert. His basic plan was that they would begin to move into the outcrop at the same pace as the Charity convoy, beginning when Jourgensen's men hit the far entrance, so that both convoys could keep equal pace and distance.
"We don't move to hand anything over until I've spoke to Jourgensen. Then we unload our wags and place the goods in the center, between the two leading wags, while they lead the women out. When they're both in the center, then we swap and retreat, keeping our blasters on them."
"What do we do if this storm blows up?" Tulk asked.
Hutter gave him another chilling look. "We hope it doesn't," he replied.
INSIDE THE WAG containing the women who were the trade for Summerfield, Claudette kept her Uzi trained on the driver and shotgun sec, while Ayesha watched the women.
"How near are we?" Ayesha said shortly.
"How the fuck should I know?" the driver replied testily. "I can't see squat for all the dust in front of me. I'm just following the wag in front."
"Won't your daddy use the radio when we get near?" Claudette asked with a sneer.
"Don't give me shit with the attitude," Ayesha snapped. "You think if I had any feelings left for that cock sucking son of a gaudy whore I'd be doing this? No, I'd be going forth like the dutiful daughter and getting screwed by every man in Summerfield."
"Okay, I get it," Claudette replied reluctantly, "so I'll say it again without the sarcasm. Won't Baron Al have orders to give over the radio when we get near?"
"I'd guess so," Ayesha replied thoughtfully. "Is that what he's told you?" she directed toward the driver.
The two sec men stayed silent for a moment, considering whether they should answer, before the man riding shotgun said reluctantly, "He told us that we'd get a call from him when we were within ten minutes' drive. That way we'd be prepared when we get there."
"And you know what 'there' looks like?" Ayesha pressed.
"Yeah," the sec man replied without elaborating.
Claudette spared a glance at Ayesha; it was a glance filled with surprise: "You're shitting me," she whispered. "He never told you what was going to happen?"
Ayesha turned on Claudette angrily. "In case it's escaped your notice, I'm a piece of meat just like you, babe. I didn't get fuck all of a say in what happened to me, and I'm damn sure that under the circumstances there was no way my lovely father was going to tell me anything that was going on. You understand that now?"
"Yeah, I think I do," Claudette said quietly,
"Good, well, let's just get it together here, because we really need to get some kind of a plan together. You," she snapped at the sec man who was riding shotgun, and who had been turned uncomfortably toward them for some time, frightened to move in case he got blown to pieces, "what happens when we get to the rendezvous?"
"You get exchanged for the seed crops and the food supplies," the man replied simply.
Ayesha sighed heavily. "Don't be a stupe, or else I'll just get Claudette to blow you away, okay? I mean tell me exactly what happens, and mebbe you'll get out of here in one piece."
&nb
sp; The sec man paused for a second, unsure as to whether he should say anything.
"Okay, I'll tell you. The plan is that we rendezvous at a bunch of rocks that form an enclosure, kinda like the field where we primed the wags. That means that we're covered on all sides, and there's only us and the guys from Summerfield in the middle, with no way of anyone sneaking around from the sides, 'cause there's only one exit at each end. So when we're there, we wait for them and then we get ourselves into the middle of the space, and we make the trade. If all goes well, and we get to do it, then you get led out in those shackles—" he inclined his head to the chains and cuffs that were spread on the floor of the wag "—and then we exchange you. They load you up, we load up the trade and we both back out slowly, keeping an eye on each other."
"You're not just handing over the wag?" Ayesha asked, a sudden wave of nausea riding up her throat.
"Hell, no," the sec man replied, "you think we'd hand over something as good as this? Anyway, they might think that it's booby-trapped. We'd suspect it of them, right?"
"Oh, shit," Ayesha said softly.
"What do you mean, 'oh shit' ?" Claudette asked. Ayesha looked at her. "I thought they'd just swap wags. I told the others that we'd hold this wag and stop these bastards blasting them as long as they left us alone. But what the fuck are we going to do if we have to leave the wag? Especially if we have to wear those stupe things," she added, indicating the shackles.
"Okay, girl, don't panic about it," Claudette said, a look crossing her face that showed she was deep in thought. A thought that was interrupted by Anita, who still—after all this time—hadn't stopped crying.
"I told you that it was useless. We're all just meat, and we're going to be used by those vile bastards."
"Will you shut the fuck up, you irritating bitch?" Claudette snapped, taking a step back and swinging the barrel of the Uzi so that it caught the heavy blonde full across the face, leaving her mouth a smear of blood and saliva, stunning her so much that she couldn't even squeal or cry anymore. Before the sec man had a chance to move, the iron-faced young woman had the blaster trained back on him.
"We're going to have to go through with it at least part of the way," Ayesha said softly. "No matter what the plan was, we're going to have to go out there with these shackles on."
"We can't do that," Claudette answered. "If we even make an effort to do that, then we're in the shit. We can't step out of here holding blasters, and these mothers will have to have some to make it look convincing, otherwise we bring the whole of the sec down on us."
"There has to be a way around this," Ayesha said, picking up the shackles and looking at them. On a close inspection, she could see that the cuffs could be left unlocked and uncoupled without it appearing too obvious. She looked at the other women. "Are you with us or against us?" she asked.
The majority of them agreed, glad of any opportunity to try to escape. Those who were initially unwilling reluctantly agreed when they saw they were outvoted. Even Anita grudgingly agreed between spitting out mouthfuls of blood and sobbing.
"Okay, here's what we do," Ayesha said. "We take the blasters and conceal them, leaving these assholes with one empty blaster that they can wave around. We go out with the shackles undone, and when it all goes down we head back for the wag and secure it. That sound good?"
"It sounds risky," Claudette stated, "but it's better than anything I've come up with, so it'll have to do."
"Ya know, babe, I don't think we're in any position to worry about it," Ayesha said. "We'll just have to roll with it."
Claudette shrugged, and was just about to comment when the voice of Baron Al crackled over the radio. "The rendezvous point is in sight. The Summerfield convoy is there, and it looks like we've got a dust storm brewing."
Chapter Eighteen
Correll looked up and sniffed the air. He was standing beside his wag, and had been there ever since the distant rumble of an approaching convoy had been detected. The rumble had gotten nearer and finally ground to a halt, the wag engines just ticking over as the Summerfield convoy stood inert at the entrance to the arena, waiting for the rival convoy to arrive. From the opposite direction, a different pitch of noise signaled the approach of the Charity convoy.
Ryan joined Correll and looked up at the skies.
"Storm," he said simply.
Correll nodded assent. "That'll be good. We may be determined, but we are outnumbered. Mebbe the confusion will even the odds for us."
Ryan agreed. "We know who we're attacking. They won't be sure what the hell is going on."
Correll allowed himself the ghost of a smile, which seemed oddly out of place on his gaunt countenance, and for one second gave the one-eyed man an insight into the man Correll may once have been.
But before it could go any further, Catherine came running up to Correll.
"Papa Joe, they're all in place. Should I send the lookouts up?"
Correll's face once again became grim and set as he nodded before turning and mounting the wag once more. Ryan, left standing, followed the small blonde as she ran back to the wag in which she had traveled. It was the one in which Dean, Jak, Doc and Danny had also journeyed. That meant that only J.B. and Mildred would be attacking from the other side, and be that much more isolated from their companions. But J.B. was more than just Ryan's trusted lieutenant. The two men had spent so long fighting together that in many ways they thought as one, as well as fought as one.
Ryan wondered who would be the lookout on that side of the divide. This side he figured was obvious.
Catherine reached her wag and climbed aboard, looking across to Jak. "Let's go," she said to him as she took the radio handset from Lonnie and rapped the one word— "Search"—before ceasing transmission.
The albino hunter rose from his seat with an effortless grace and took a portable handset from the blonde, who turned to him and said, "You know when?"
Jak assented. "At point exchange—most vulnerable."
"Right." She nodded. "Good luck."
Jak left the wag without another word, pausing only to clasp Dean's hand. The next time they saw each other, the firefight would well and truly commence.
Outside, in the narrow channel they were using as a hiding place, there was little space between the walls of rock and the sides of the wags, and Jak skipped down between them, away from Ryan as he stood watching. The albino hunter was searching for a good place to begin his climb. He found it just past the rear wag, where there was a small split in one of the rocks that gave him a good hand- and toehold. Hoisting himself up, Jak began to scale the rock, which rose for forty feet and was almost sheer.
The sandstone was soft and inclined to crumble, so the ascent was slower than the youth would have liked, each hold having to be tested for weight before he placed himself at its mercy. The quality of the rock was of concern to him. When he reached the summit of the rock, and was observing the trade-off below, he had to be careful that no stray gravel, rocks or pebbles be dislodged and alert the enemy below of his presence.
But he would worry about that when he reached the peak. Right now he was faced with the problem of the ascent, for the rock veered out slightly. He arched his back a few degrees to make the handhold, feeling the pull of the earth below. The extra effort made him break into a sweat, and the muscles in his arms and across his shoulders tensed and cramped at the extra strain. He was fortunate that the foothold was solid and deep, so that he could plant his combat boot firmly and take the strain in his calf and thighs.
One deep breath, one pull of his upper torso and it was done. He was over the worst and up to the summit.
The surface on top of the rock was uneven and jagged, and Jak was faced with the problem of trying to find a niche from which he could observe the happenings below without being himself easily spotted.
The rock was about four feet in thickness, more than enough for him to walk and climb comfortably along its length. He kept low, trying to adhere to a winding path along irregular d
ips in the top of the rock.
After a couple of yards, he found what he was looking for. The rock had a hollow carved out by erosion that formed a small observation post, the rock in front of the hollow enabling him to keep out of view, but also providing—via a split down the middle of the face—a window through which he could see the arena below. Jak settled himself into the hollow and looked through the gap, defining his field of vision. It was a wide area, and obscured only the very far ends of the arena.
He settled onto his haunches, beginning the wait, wondering who his opposite number may be, and how he or she was faring.
ON THE FAR SIDE of the arena, in the opposite channel, the word from Catherine had come over the radio in J.B.'s wag. The Armorer turned to Jenny, who had previously indicated her willingness to tackle the task of lookout.
"Ready?" he asked.
The woman shrugged. "As I'll ever be," she replied before taking a handheld radio from Mildred and leaving the wag.
Like Jak, she had to scan the sheer rock wall for a suitable place to begin her climb, and like the albino she was soon aware of the less than reliable nature of the rocks. She tested each hold thoroughly and hauled herself up the rock face. When she was about thirty feet up, she encountered a similar problem to Jak inasmuch as the rock seemed to curve out and over her. Unlike Jak, she didn't keep climbing, but paused for a second, casting a shrewd eye along the rock wall. If she could climb sideways for a few feet, there was a flatter part of the rock that would be easier to ascend, so she shuffled sideways, reaching out for holds until she was able to get past the outward curve and once more go upward for the last ten feet or so of the rockface.
When she reached the top, she turned and looked down along the length of the channel, and noticed something that Jak had missed during his ascent—the inward curve of the rock continued all the way along the length of the tunnel, suggesting that it acted as a tunnel for any storm forces that may hit the outcrop, the actual channel being caused by wind and sand erosion. She looked up to the gathering storm above and hoped that they would be able to leave the channel before the storm began to hit hard.
Axler, James - Deathlands 65 - Hellbenders Page 22