Downrigger Drift

by James Axler

Then Doc joined them. He’d also apparently bathed in the river, for his hair was still damp and stringy around his shoulders. His knees cracked like dry sticks as he settled by the fire. “Good morning, all. I trust everyone rested comfortably last night?”

  Ryan, Krysty, Mildred and J.B. all nodded or mumbled affirmatives. Jak was the picture of stony, injured silence. Doc poured himself a cup of coffee, then leaned over the skillet. “And who do I have to thank for this delectable-looking repast?”

  Ryan cleared his throat. “That’d be Mildred.”

  Doc sketched another of his elegant bows. “If it tastes half as good as it looks, ’twill be ambrosia upon my hungry lips.”

  He picked up a plate and silverware and helped himself, then noticed Jak off to the side. “Jak, my good man, I didn’t see you when I awoke this morning.”

  “Was out.” The boy barely glanced up from his plate, white hair falling across his eyes.

  “Courting a fair, ebony-haired maiden, were you?”

  “What you say?” Jak’s head snapped up at this, his crimson stare boring into Ryan, who shook his head and held up his hands, fighting to keep a smile off his face.

  Doc shrugged. “Oh, no matter at all, I merely commented because I noticed the young woman left traces of her lipstick upon your mouth. You should be more careful if you want to keep your dalliances discreet among these ruffians.”

  Now Jak frowned in puzzlement, one hand going up to his lips, which were still bright red from the scalding coffee. Mildred lost it first, laughing so hard she fell over, whooping for air. Ryan and Krysty were next, leaving J.B. shaking his head and chuckling quietly.

  “Not fuckin’ funny!” Snatching the remains of his sandwich, Jak threw down his plate and stomped off, leaving the other four gasping for air, and a befuddled Doc looking around at all of them, his brow furrowed.

  “Was it something I said?”

  That just set the others off all over again.

  JAK RETREATED to the sanctuary of the war wag, settling himself in the front blaster’s position, and refusing to come out until they were on the road.

  J.B. shrugged. “Probably just as well. If he did get any action and Jabe finds out, likely there’d be another duel, and Brend’s son’ll end up on his back, staring into the sun.”

  His blunt assessment of the situation sobered everyone, and Ryan cleared his throat first. “Yeah, time for us to hit the road anyway. Let’s pack this up, get it back to whomever it goes to, and get moving.”

  “Might be too late.” J.B. nodded past Ryan, who turned to see Brend and several of the other bridge guards walking toward them. Everyone was armed, but no weapons were out.

  “Everyone stay cool, and be ready to move on my signal.” Ryan turned to face the group, aware of the odds stacked against them if anything did go down. Although he was armed, and he was sure Krysty and J.B. were as well, the same couldn’t be said of Mildred and Doc, even though they were supposed to carry everywhere they went, even in a “safe” ville.

  Brend came up to him and nodded. “Morning, Ryan.” He nodded to everyone else. “Mind if you and I talk for a minute?”

  Ryan’s gaze flicked down and back up the other man, trying to fathom his intent. He didn’t get the sense that Brend was about to try a bushwhack, so he nodded. “Let’s walk.”

  Deliberately turning his back on the other man, Ryan led the way downriver, knowing that if the ville leader was going to try something, that would be the time—and he’d be killed by J.B. before he could get a shot off, leaving Ryan to try and distract the rest of the guards. Although his demeanor was relaxed, Ryan couldn’t help feeling his shoulder blades tense in expectation of a bullet ripping through them.

  But that didn’t happen. The sun shone on Ryan’s face, a light wind ruffled his hair, and the two men kept walking until they were out of earshot of the rest. The last thing Ryan heard was Mildred playing peace-maker in the simplest way she knew: “Any of you boys hungry?”

  When he figured they were far enough away, Ryan turned to Brend, planted his feet and waited.

  The ville leader wasted no time. “After the…unpleasantness that happened last night, I saw ya exchanging words with my son. Like to know what ya told him.”

  “I warned him against trying to go after Jak in his condition. Seemed he’d had a bit too much to drink. He wouldn’t have had a chance, you’d be burying your boy today, and there’d be a lot of bad blood between mine and yours, which I didn’t feel like having. Especially after the hospitality you’ve shown us.”

  Brend nodded. “That’s all—you didn’t say anything else last night?”

  Ryan debated for a second just how much to tell him about the second encounter. “I came across Jabe and some of his friends later in the evening. They were looking to blow off steam after what’d happened in the square.”

  “Not aimed at you or your group, was it?”

  “Not at any one of us, no.” Although it was stretching the truth, Ryan kept going before Brend could think about his answer. “I had a bit of a talk with Jabe, told him I thought he had the makings of a good leader, and mebbe he should try that route instead of running around causing trouble.”

  Brend stared at him for a long time, and Ryan didn’t flinch or drop his gaze. At last, the other man nodded. “When I saw him this morning, he was…different. Whatever you told him, it musta sunk in deep. Hell, he was washin’ his own pants in the tub when I woke up. Hasn’t done since forever.”

  Ryan rubbed his mouth to erase the smile that had sprung to his lips. If Brend noticed, he gave no sign. “Just wanted to thank you for whatever you said to him. Already he seems like another person than who he was last night, almost as if he came to some life-changin’ decision.”

  Ryan shrugged. “Doubt I had anything to do with it, but if something I said or did helped, hopefully that’s all for the good.”

  “A’right, then.” Brend clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s that. Ya all headin’ out today?”

  “Yeah. We’re going to keep heading east, mebbe find those traders along the Lakes, the ones you mentioned last night.”

  Brend snapped his fingers. “That’s what I was gonna tell ya! Something was niggling my brain last night, but I couldn’t grab it till the morning. If ya stay on the main road out of town, you’re gonna follow it down toward what used to be the capital of this area, a large city called Madison, mebbe sixty, seventy miles away. Caravans coming through’ve said to steer clear of the city itself—heard cannies’re campin’ out there.”

  Ryan grimaced at the thought. He’d just as soon shoot a cannibal the moment he saw one. He held out his hand, which Brend clasped and pumped. “Thanks, we’ll keep a sharp eye out for them. And if we’re ever back in the area, we’ll be sure to drop by.”

  “You and yours are welcome here anytime.”

  With a nod, they headed back to find the rest of Brend’s men clustered around the fire, polishing off the last of Mildred’s breakfast. When they had finished, the plates and utensils were washed, and the men said they’d make sure the cooking gear got back to the right people. Everyone said their goodbyes, then Ryan and his crew finished cleaning up their campsite, packing up any remaining items and basically making sure nothing remained of their passage but tire tracks and, Ryan hoped, a bit of good sense.

  Leaving the ville was a drawn-out affair, with small knots of villagers dropping by to say goodbye. Ryan even caught Jabe standing at the back of a small crowd that had come to see the war wag start up, since they rarely saw self-powered vehicles around anymore. The young man regarded him with a steady, emotionless stare. Meeting his gaze squarely, Ryan inclined his head. Jabe nodded back, once, and Ryan turned to continue directing the packing.

  At last everything was secured, and the group was ready to leave. Ryan shook Brend’s hand one last time, then hoisted himself through the hatch into the driver’s seat, made sure everything was ready and fired up the engine.

  Putting the vehicle in gear, R
yan eased out along the riverbank until he came to the cracked, highway, Number 90, according to J.B.’s maps. It would take them southeast to Madison, then east to the former city called Milwaukee and from there south to the blackened plain of Chicago and the hidden mat-trans.

  J.B. kept the ville of Toma in his camera view as they slowly accelerated away, until the buildings and their waving inhabitants were mere specks on the horizon.

  Chapter Twenty

  They stayed ahead of the storm blowing out of the west for the first hour, pushing up to about forty miles an hour on sections of highway that weren’t too badly damaged. But the clouds grew larger and darker behind them, with lightning bolts arcing from the thunderheads to the ground, and claps of thunder heralding the impending storm, until Krysty and Doc both suggested finding a safe spot, preferably under cover, until the tempest passed over.

  Ryan was for pushing on, until J.B. brought up the fact they were in a big rolling piece of metal, and, although grounded by the tires, a direct or nearby lightning strike could easily knock out the engine or electrical system, stranding them in the middle of nowhere. “We’re running just fine now, and I don’t want to blow it because you have a hard-on to get another ten miles down the road,” were the Armorer’s exact words, making Mildred and Doc smile, and Ryan flip his old friend the finger without taking his hand off the wheel.

  In the end, however, he went along with the group consensus and found a highway overpass that seemed stable enough, since it held the Commando’s weight when they drove across it. Easing carefully down the crumbling off-ramp, he pulled around underneath just as the first patter of rain hit the war wag. They rolled to a stop into the center of the concrete structure just as a freakish blast of wind howled through the man-made tunnel, and then the skies opened up. Even through the wag’s metal skin, they heard the rain pounding down all around them, with a gust of howling wind blowing sheets of water over the Commando. J.B. showed them on the blaster cam just how bad it was outside—driving sheets of solid water that cut visibility to a few yards at best.

  “Least it’s not acid,” Ryan commented, drawing a grunt of agreement from J.B. Out west, particularly along the border of what used to be Mexico and the U.S. the infrequent rains picked up alkali and other chemicals that brewed into toxic, deadly precipitation that could strip a person to the bone in under five minutes. Once, when he was barely out of his teens and working in one of the pestholes along the Tex-Mex border, Ryan had had the unfortunate chance to see one of these storms in action as it deluged a poor drunk who had been caught away from shelter. The caustic liquid had flayed the man’s skin and flesh from his bones as he had run for cover, turning him into a seared, blind, deaf, mute wretch by the time he had reached the reinforced doors. One of the other bouncers had taken pity on the poor lump of meat and put him out of his misery with a bullet. Ryan had never forgotten the sight of the guy beating on the door with his melted hands, his screams of pain muted to incomprehensible moans. And there were other times….

  “Ow! Son of a bitch!” The commotion came from the front blaster port, with Jak cursing, followed by the clank of the blaster port slamming shut. They all heard the hiss of a knife being drawn, then nothing.

  “Jak? You okay up there?” Ryan called from the driver’s seat. He was about to get up and maneuver his way over when the albino teen’s head appeared, glowing reddish-white in the dim light from the instrument panel.

  “Bastard bugs, or whatever’s out there!” The youth was favoring his left hand, and when J.B. produced a small penlight and shone it on his injury, they saw a dime-sized injury on his palm, bleeding profusely.

  “Fireblast! Mildred, get up here, Jak got bit again.”

  She came up to see, her eyes widening in surprise at the wound. “My God, Jak, trouble is drawn to you.”

  “Just tryin’ to get drink rain water. Hot up there, no vents open.”

  Ryan and J.B. exchanged a knowing glance. “So you decided to cool off, right?”

  The youth glared at them while Mildred tended to his hand. “Was just gonna stick hand out. Next I know, something landed on it, hurt like hell. Pulled in, stabbed fucker with knife, flicked it out the port, slammed shut.” His expression grew pensive. “Saw more out there. Lots, black, small.” He made an o with his thumb and forefinger. “’Bout that big.”

  “Insect swarm, lookin’ for shelter from the storm?” Ryan guessed.

  “Whatever they are, they don’t strike like any insect I’ve ever seen,” Mildred said while bandaging Jak’s wound. “This wasn’t made by a proboscis, more like some kind of leech, with some kind of rasping tongue to scrape off layers of skin until the bleeding starts.”

  “One way to find out.” J.B. turned to the blaster cam and fired it up, moving the turret to scan back and forth. “What the hell are these things?”

  The area around the war wag was filled with small, black, floating creatures, looking like a dark globule of gum or dirt, drifting lazily in the air. Occasionally one would pass by the camera, seeming to writhe in the air, as if it was steering in some instinctive fashion.

  “My word, isn’t that interesting.” Doc had managed to squeeze his lanky frame into the cramped main compartment, and stare at the monitor. “Reminds me of the famous Kansas City, Missouri, incident in 1873, whereupon the entire city was pelted with live frogs during a freak rainstorm. Of course, at the time I don’t expect anyone suffered the indignity of a bite like young Jak.”

  “Think we’re in any danger?” Krysty asked.

  J.B. snorted. “Not unless they can rasp their way through plate armor.”

  Just then, however, the engine hitched before resuming its normal rhythm, making J.B. frown. “Unless they’re attracted to a heat source…”

  The engine hitched once more, then died with a snort, shaking loudly enough that the entire wag vibrated, as well. “And clog up the main exhaust pipe.”

  Ryan had already leaned over into the driver’s seat and turned off the engine. “Better get out there and clear it. Looks like the rain is subsiding, so we can get back on the road, too.”

  “Yeah, these little bastards are floating to the ground—definitely not lighter than air. Let’s give them a couple more minutes to settle, and we’ll head out.”

  Mildred put the back of her hand to Jak’s forehead, who shook it off with a grimace. “You feeling all right so far? We don’t need another incident like we had with those damn pig-rats.”

  “Fine, not worry ’bout me.” Jak looked around at the cramped quarters and shuddered. “Go outside and clear the pipe. Want stretch legs.”

  “In a minute or two, we’ll all get out, three at a time.” Ryan gave it another few minutes before moving to the hatch. “Jak, J.B., you’re with me.” Opening the metal cover, he swung it out slowly, careful to avoid the few little black creatures that had been resting on the top edge of the hatch itself. He peeked out to see the ground alive with a moving carpet of squirming creatures.

  “Here we go.” Ryan stepped out, his feet crushing dozens of the slugs, boots sliding unsteadily on the goo. When his feet hit the ground, the nearby creatures began crawling toward him, undulating their bodies as fast as they could.

  “Hand me a blanket from inside, would you?” J.B. obliged, and Ryan swept it over the roof, dislodging a wave of the slimy creatures that rolled down over the front of the wag to the ground. Using the bottom of the entry hatch as a step, Ryan hauled himself up to the top, brushing away the slugs before they could start coming for him. Once he had cleared a space to stand on, he scrambled onto the roof and flicked the blanket out, sending the invaders tumbling off the top of the vehicle until the area was clear.

  “All right, come out, but stay on the roof. Jak, once you’re on top, get clearing that stack so we can get out of here.”

  The albino teen crawled out onto the roof with ease and trotted to the smokestack, which was still crawling with the loathsome creatures. Many had been cooked by the heat of the pipe, but
there was still a head-size lump of them wriggling all over it.

  “Use one of your knives,” suggested J.B., who had just come up as well after closing the hatch.

  “No shit.” Jak drew a pair of his throwing blades and began scraping the mass off the pipe. Ryan and J.B. kept a careful watch around them, looking at the large, black mass of leeches below them.

  “Hate to fall into that,” the Armorer muttered.

  Ryan nodded, then turned back to Jak. “How’s it coming?”

  “Almost done. Fuckers don’t give up easy.”

  “Hey, Ryan, look at this.” He turned to see J.B. examining one of the animals, which was slowly floating toward him in midair. “I’ll be damned. They’re like little leech balloons.”

  The storm had passed enough to let some wan sunlight into the underpass, enough to illuminate the strange creature. It was about three inches long, and looked for all the world like a banded leech, black and segmented, with a questing mouth on one end, large enough for Ryan to see three tiny plates in its mouth that also moved every time its maw opened, coming together to form a rough surface that could easily strip off skin. The really strange thing was the small sac on its back, filled with what he assumed was air, that allowed it to float on the breeze.

  J.B. moved out of its way, but it turned as well, as if coming after him. Pursing his lips, J.B. blew at it, sending the floating creature drifting away.

  Seeing it so close prickled a vague alarm in the back of Ryan’s mind. “I thought all of them had settled to the ground. Is this a straggler?”

  J.B.’s gaze flicked from the little parasite to Ryan. “Mebbe. Unless—”

  Both men had the same thought at the same time. Lifting his head just enough to look upward, Ryan beheld a nightmare above them.

  The top of the bridge was made of poured concrete sections that supported the road above. They were spaced like giant rows, with a space between each pair of braces. Each space was filled with hundreds, maybe thousands of squirming, writhing leeches, held up by one another’s mass as they wriggled around.