Perception Fault

by James Axler

  Ryan, along with Carr, the Carringtons and the rest of the men present stared at the sudden imbalance with mouths agape. Carr recovered first. “So you have enslaved those primitive mutants to serve as your own personal suicide troops. I can’t think of anything more repellant than forcing mindless creatures to die for something they can’t even understand.”

  Tellen glanced back, almost as an afterthought. “Every creature under the sun serves its purpose, even those creatures. When fighting a war, one must use every weapon in one’s arsenal to ensure a victory.”

  Rachel followed, almost on his heels. “So that’s what they are—just another weapon in your arsenal. And you’re the person who’s going to keep order in the Free City? Not once we let everyone know what we’ve seen here.”

  “Ah, but that would presume that you are going to survive this little meeting. I expect to be hailed as the city’s savior once I come back to tell them that you and your father were tragically killed by the deviant people in the Bunker, who lured you out under false pretenses to try and control you so they could take over the city themselves. Of course, if you abdicate in my favor now, there would be no need for further violence.”

  Waltrop stepped in front of Carr, shielding him as he spoke. “I can stop any further possibility of violence right now. Unit One, prepare to target the two cargo trucks approximately one hundred yards southwest of your position.” He stared at Tellen with a frown. “If you don’t want the drivers of those trucks killed in three seconds, I suggest you tell them to stand down and surrender to us immediately.”

  Tellen remained amazingly unperturbed. “In order to issue demands from a position of force, you must be able to back up those demands with consequences. But if you are unable to, your demands are just empty threats.” With that, he pushed off the floor with his foot, tipping his chair backward.

  Ryan’s combat-honed senses were already shrieking, and he dived to the ground, shouting “Get down!” before clapping his hands over his ears and opening his mouth. He had a momentary glimpse of Krysty and the others doing the same before he squeezed his eye shut.

  “What the hell is he—” was all Waltrop had time to say before the APC twenty yards away erupted in a thunderous explosion that launched the large machine into the air, the flaming wreckage crashing back to earth a few seconds later, a fiery pyre of destroyed tech. The sec men in front of it had literally disappeared, immolated in the blast. Ryan shielded his head as a gory rain of bloody, flaming body parts fell to earth around them, several landing on the canopied tent with wet thuds.

  Ryan opened his eye to see Tellen pulling Rachel away with him toward the two trucks while his pair of bodyguards covered his retreat. Glancing back, he saw the other force under Tellen’s control begin their attack. Groups of blue-painted Indians swarmed out of more tunnel openings and moving to kill the stunned or wounded Bunker guards. The pincer movement had been executed almost perfectly, with the majority of Carr’s force caught between the two improvised but effective armies.

  Hefting the water bottle in his left hand, Ryan hurled it at the head of Tellen’s nearest sec man while drawing his blaster with his right. The metal bottle smacked into the man’s forehead, making him stagger back from the dead Bunker guard’s weapon he’d been reaching for. Ryan brought up his Sig Sauer and triggered it twice, sending two bullets into the chest of the second bodyguard. The man, who had been coming at him, slowed to a stop as the 9 mm slugs mangled his heart and lungs. Unable to breathe, he fell to the ground, his face slowly turning red as he drowned in his own blood. Ryan switched his aim to the second man, who was going for the other weapon again, and shot him in the head, blood and brains flying as he fell over the body of the dead guard.

  Glancing at the men around him, Ryan saw both Waltrop and Kelor lying motionless a few feet away, and Carr sitting against the overturned table, breathing heavily, his face pale where it wasn’t streaked with blood. Ryan crawled to him, his ears were still ringing with the incredible force of the blast.

  When he reached the whitecoat, he saw why the other man wasn’t moving. Carr had been impaled by a metal shaft, most likely from the APC’s engine, that had punched straight through his abdomen, pinning him to the table. Each breath was labored, but he motioned Ryan closer. Straining to hear, Ryan pressed his ear to the small man’s lips.

  “Don’t…let…Tellen…win…” Carr’s head lolled, his eyes glazing into the sightlessness of death.

  “Fireblast!” Ryan swore, just as Josiah Carrington sat upright from beneath a pile of papers, spitting dirt and blood out of his mouth.

  “Rachel!” He clapped his hands to his ears and hunched over as the aftereffects of the blast hit him, his fingers coming away bloody. Spotting Ryan, he shouted, “Where’s Rachel?”

  “Tellen’s got her!” Ryan pointed at the two trucks where two figures struggled while the caged stickies watched.

  “No!” Josiah pulled himself to his feet, leaning against the overturned table, grimacing in pain. Despite that, he staggered forward, apparently intent on attacking Tellen with his bare hands.

  “Damn it, stop!” Ryan lunged for the other man, his fingers just grazing his leg as the leader of Denver stumbled out into the harsh sunlight. Torn between going after the man and getting to his friends so they could all get the hell out of there, Ryan glanced back to see the rest of his people fighting off a wave of blue Indians that had appeared out of the smoke. Looking back the other way, he saw Carrington, his mouth open and screaming incoherently, staggering toward Tellen. The rebel leader ignored him, his attention fixed on Rachel, or more specifically, her hands, as he struggled to fasten something around them. She was resisting as best as she could, her balled fists trying to connect with his head, but he hauled off and slapped her across the face with a roundhouse open hand. Rachel sagged against the truck for a moment, stunned.

  “Oh, shit.” As if he was going to unleash it himself, Ryan knew what was coming next. And all he could do was watch.

  The collar fastened, Tellen shouted a command, and the back door of the cages of both trucks swung open.

  The stickies saw the open door. They paused for a moment, as if enjoying the appearance of their freedom from captivity.

  Then, in a massive, slobbering, hooting mass, they surged for the exit, spilling to the ground and coming right at the lone man in their path—Josiah Carrington.

  Chapter Thirty

  From the moment her gaze locked with Ryan’s, Krysty felt that small, cold ball of dread at the base of her neck grow to envelop her entire mind with the dull, red throb of approaching trouble—a lot of trouble.

  Krysty’s latent doomie power had warned her early that morning, the dull throb just behind her temples foreshadowing a stronger indication of danger to come. When Tellen’s men had appeared at the meeting location, her feeling of impending destruction had spiked, but she hadn’t needed any psychic powers to understand that the most dangerous man in sight had just arrived.

  So, when Ryan had caught her eye and given that silent warning, the first thing she had done was whisper, “J.B.”

  “What’s going on?” He was squinting at the other tent, but apparently hadn’t made out Ryan’s warning.

  “Trouble coming. Ryan wants everyone to be ready to move.” Krysty shaded her eyes with one hand as she watched another small group crowd into the tent, the press of people making it hard to discern exactly what was happening. “Looks like Carrington’s arrived. This isn’t going to go well.”

  “Old man got crazy eyes.” Jak’s voice surprised Krysty. He’d spent the morning slumped against one of the tent poles, not looking any better, despite the change in surroundings. “Hate all this—get fuck out here soonest.”

  “Our snow-headed friend’s suggestion is looking more and more appealing the longer we sit here while dark men plan dark deeds,” Doc said, casting suspicious glances at the armored men stationed nearby in their helmets and longblasters. “I’m inclined to believe that no good
will come of our strange host’s misguided intentions, no matter how noble they may be.”

  “Yeah, Doc’s right-on about that one,” Mildred said, straightening so that she could try to see what was going on at the other tent just as a loud bang came from under the canopy, making the guards start and glance over in case they were needed. “What the hell is going on over there? Everyone seems to be talking at once.”

  “Best think about how we get out once the shit starts raining down.” J.B. patted his waist for his knife.

  Krysty leaned close to J.B. “What’s the plan?”

  “Depends on the direction trouble comes from first. We need to break through the perimeter, steal a vehicle. The big ones—” he jabbed a thumb at the massive APCs that loomed nearby “—are far too dangerous. Too many sec men inside. Best to try and hook up with Carrington’s forces, if possible, but we don’t know if they’ll even recognize us.”

  “So it’d probably be best to have Carrington or Rachel with us when we left.” Krysty mused. “How the hell are we going to do that?”

  “Got me—” J.B. began before he was cut off by a shout from Ryan that spurred everyone to action.

  “Get down!”

  Immediately, everyone under the tent flattened themselves to the floor, shielding their faces and ears. A moment later, a gigantic blast muted the world, followed by a concussive shock wave that blew the tent away and sent the guards flying.

  Krysty opened her eyes to find the world aflame. Both APCs that had been parked nearby had been destroyed, the once-deadly vehicles now hulks of burning wreckage spewing thick, black plumes of smoke. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and what should have been a cacophony of noises around her all sounded like they were very far away. She pushed herself up to her knees, then to her feet, swaying a bit, but managing to draw her blaster. Feeling a hand on her arm, she pulled away, her blaster hand poised to slam the Smith & Wesson’s butt into her attacker’s face, but arrested the blow when she saw J.B.’s face.

  “We’ve got to evac! That ammo could cook off any second! Get Doc and Jak up and moving!” he called as he moved off into the haze again.

  Mildred was already standing, grimacing either at the pain stabbing through her head or the sudden destruction around her. She looked up at Krysty, her expression turning to one of horror as she raised her Czech-made target pistol. “Duck!”

  Krysty obeyed without thought, whirling as she did to see a figure charging straight at her. Naked except for a breechclout, the man’s face was painted a dark blue. His wide, white eyes and black hole of a mouth as he screamed while holding a thick war club over his head made him a vision out of a nightmare. Before he could come any closer, Krysty heard a dull clap, and the man fell on his face and skidded to a stop a few feet away, the back of his head blown out by Mildred’s single bullet.

  Krysty didn’t pause to thank her—she was already aiming at the next blue-painted warrior rushing out of the smoke near the burning APCs. Steadying her right hand with her left, she aimed and took three down in quick succession. Mildred had stepped up beside her, and for a few moments, the two women were the calm eye of the storm, taking out anyone wearing a hint of blue that came near. However, another wave of warriors was gathering. Their war cries could be heard through the black haze obscuring the landscape, and as Krysty and Mildred reloaded, they glanced at each other, then around, looking for the rest of their friends.

  “Come on, this way!” J.B. appeared again behind them, toting one of the Bunker weapons, a strange-looking blaster with two thick, hexagonal tubes mounted above the barrel. Jak and Doc were with him, Doc holding his smoking LeMat in one hand and his bloody rapier blade in the other. Jak flanked him, his .357 Magnum Cold Python in one hand, and the old man’s sword scabbard in the other.

  “What’s that do?” Mildred asked.

  “Not sure, but we’re about to find out. Let’s go.” J.B. led them away from the burning wags, out toward the plains.

  “What about Ryan?”

  “If we see him and can get to him, great, otherwise we get some wheels, then try and find him. Everyone ready? Let’s go.”

  With J.B. in the lead, they had taken only a few steps before another wave of blue warriors swarmed them from the smoke. Bracing his new weapon against his hip, J.B. pulled the trigger, playing the muzzle across the nearest group of five attackers. The device sprayed a thick stream of bright red, gelatinous goo across their bodies, making them howl in pain and begin trying to wipe off the thick sludge. One of the men took a shot directly in the face and fell to the ground, screaming not in rage but agony as he clawed at his irritated skin with both hands.

  “Fuck, not point at me!” Jak skittered away, aiming his Colt Python at another charging warrior and squeezing the trigger. The bullet shattered the man’s forearm and sent him to the ground, clutching ruined, bloody flesh in his good hand.

  “Guys! Trouble behind us!” Mildred called out, making heads turn. Krysty’s mouth fell open when she saw what was coming their way.

  A shambling horde of at least two dozen stickies were running their way, attacking anyone they found. Those Bunker guards able to function after the blast from the APCs had just formed a ragged line when the muties tore through them. Although several got shots off from their strange-looking weapons that seemed to fire quiet bursts of bullets, the stickies’ flesh absorbed the rounds without seeming to injure them too much, enabling them to wreak terrible havoc. One man was grabbed by two of the creatures and literally had his arms pulled off, screaming in agony until his limbs separated from his body and he passed out from shock. Others were set upon by the crazed beings, which peeled strips of skin off limbs and faces with their suckers, hooting and snuffling gleefully as they sprayed blood and flesh everywhere.

  “Reload, reload, reload!” J.B. called, looking around for another weapon, any weapon that would do more permanent damage to the oncoming horde. Spotting a holstered blaster on a belt slung over the shoulder of the warrior Jak had shot, J.B. kicked him in the face, knocking him unconscious, and yanked the belt off. Grabbing the weapon, an ancient, dusty Beretta 92S, he pulled back the slide and threw the belt with its two additional magazines over his shoulder.

  “They’re coming!” Mildred yelled, bracing her left hand with her right and taking aim.

  “More blueskins comin’!” Jak shouted, his chromed Python winking in the sunlight.

  “J.B., we can’t stay here! They’ll tear us apart!” Krysty said.

  “Know that already, thanks.” The Armorer glanced around, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Why hasn’t that APC moved yet?”

  Krysty followed his gaze to see the last Bunker wag standing by itself on the far end. Her eyes met the other man’s, and they both had the same idea.

  “Everybody run for the APC! Lead the stickies into the Indians!” Krysty said, snapping off two shots at the nearest muties only a few yards away. With Jak in the lead, the group ran straight at the nearest cluster of blue warriors, who were just starting their own charge into the melee. The two groups clashed on a flat plain, the five friends against a half dozen frenzied, screaming warriors.

  With the group’s deadly skills all together, it was no contest.

  Jak drew first blood the moment he saw the point warrior emerge from the pall of smoke. Taking three long steps, he launched himself into the air, leading with his booted foot, now turned into a deadly projectile. The running Native American smashed his face into the sole, crushing his nose and snapping his head back with such force his neck vertebrae snapped, killing him before the pain of his pulverized face could register in his brain. Jak sailed over the still-twitching corpse and kept going, Magnum blaster in one hand, Doc’s cane sheath in the other.

  Krysty and Mildred kept it simple, their blasters out and aiming at anyone who came too close. Well-placed shots took out two more warriors, although one got close enough to almost touch her with his war club, made from a converted wooden longblaster stock. She sides
tepped the weak blow and kicked his legs out from under him, then ended his struggles with a bullet to the head.

  Doc also faced two adversaries, but the old scholar was also well prepared to receive his enemies. Thumbing back the hammer on his LeMat, he let fly with the shotgun barrel of the blaster, the heavy lead balls smashing into one blue face, pulping his mouth and jaw and leaving a bloody hole filled with shattered teeth and a mangled tongue. The wounded man clapped both hands over his face and fell to his knees, making thick, unintelligible noises from his ruined face.

  The second fighter, wielding a rusty cavalry saber in both hands, didn’t pause, but lunged forward, the blade raised high above his head to split Doc’s skull in two. The old man didn’t flinch or hesitate, but threw up his blaster arm to block the warrior’s attack while thrusting his own rapier into the man’s stomach. The fierce expression on his adversary’s face turned to a grimace of anguish as the steel ran him through, the point scraping off a rib to emerge from his back in a burst of blood. Doc pushed him away, withdrawing his blade and giving his mortally wounded enemy a quick salute with the blade in front of his face.

  “Doc, quit fuckin’ around and run!” J.B. called from the other side of the fight. He’d risked a precious second to check that the others were still with him, and also find out how close the stickies were, and had nearly lost his head as a result. Feeling a sudden wind on his left, he’d ducked just as a massive war club had swung through the space where his head had been a moment before.