Downrigger Drift

by James Axler

  The third one was quick enough to see his companions killed, and turned to run back to the safety of the tall grass around the clearing, only a few yards away. He had just taken his first full step when Jak let fly with one of his throwing knives.

  Ryan was passably good with the blades himself, but he had to admit that the albino youth’s mastery of them bordered on the supernatural. While most men used them as a distraction, Jak performed incredible feats with his blades, such as the show he had put on in Toma. This throw—at a dark target fifteen yards away, in rainy darkness—was another.

  The lizardman dropped as if poleaxed, skidding on his face in the muck and water for another couple yards before stopping. A gleam of wet metal poking up from the back of the lizardman’s neck showed where Jak had hit, severing the spinal cord and causing instant death.

  “Clear the area!” Ryan whispered, already on his feet and sliding down the far side of the hill, his blaster tracking the slightest twitch of movement from the three bodies. Jak skidded down the side as well, with Donfil following more carefully. Prowling through the clearing revealed no obvious sign of anyone else nearby, although Ryan never trusted first impressions. The only way to be sure was to either sweep and clear the entire area, or be standing over the bodies of anything that had been there.

  Sure enough, he had just taken another step into the clearing when a dark form broke from cover and dashed through the puddles toward the building. Ryan snap aimed and fired, but the bullet went wide as the fourth lizardman kept going, ducking out of sight into the grass. Ryan ran to the far side of the clearing to chase it, flanked by Donfil, harpoon in hand again, who climbed on top of a small hill, maybe three feet high, on the other side.

  There wasn’t enough room on it for both of them, leaving Ryan standing on his tiptoes, trying to see any movement through the tall grass. “See him?”

  “Shh!” warned the Apache. Donfil turned his head to listen for a moment, then cocked his arm and let fly, the harpoon arcing into the night and vanishing out of sight. A few seconds later, there was a frantic rustling and a loud grunt.

  “Come on!” Donfil jumped from the hillock and disappeared into the grass, with Ryan close behind. He sensed rather than saw Jak bringing up the rear, and knew they were safe from ambush.

  At least thirty yards from the clearing, Ryan and Donfil came upon a large swath of crushed grass. In the middle of it was the last lizardman, lying on its back, both hands wrapped around the steel and wood shaft of the harpoon sticking through its stomach. Black blood pulsed from the mortal wound with each agonized breath it took, and its inhuman eyes cast around at the three men standing above it in a mute appeal for mercy.

  Without a word, Ryan drew his panga and swung it with all his strength, severing the mutie’s head from its shoulders. Donfil wrenched the harpoon from the corpse and cleaned the head and shaft on the wet grass.

  “Hell of a shot, that was.”

  The Apache shrugged and smiled. “Much like spotting muskie on lake, only you have to lead the two-legs a bit more.”

  Ryan checked his chron, seeing they had nine minutes left before J.B. and the others began their attack. “Come on, we still have to find a way into this place.”

  “They came out, so must be way in nearby,” Jak opined.

  Donfil shook his head. “Assuming they didn’t come from the lake itself onto shore.”

  “Button it.” Ryan stepped cautiously through the grass, trying to gauge where it stopped and the building began. A few more paces brought him to the edge, with the gargantuan structure looming above him, its shape lit by a sudden flash of lightning.

  “Okay, where the hell is it?” In the flash of light, Ryan saw an unbroken wall of crumbling concrete, with no door, window, or other access point. Only a large pool of occasionally bubbling water at the base of the wall lay before him. With a sinking feeling, Ryan realized how they were going to have to get inside.

  “Anyone afraid of the dark or going underwater, speak up now.”

  Jak turned his head and spit. “Got no problem.”

  Donfil looked less sure, but nodded. “My place is at your side, One-Eye Chills.”

  Ryan nodded once. “Okay. Me, then Jak, then Donfil to the wall. I’ll go in first, make sure nothing’s waiting to fuck us up on the other side, then come get you.”

  “I have a better idea.” Donfil unwrapped several lengths of braided cord from around his waist. “We use this as a lifeline on the boats. Tie it to yourself and go in. Two tugs means follow, three tugs means trouble, and for us to bring you back.”

  Ryan eyed the line dubiously, then glanced back at the black pool he was about to head into. “Couldn’t hurt. At the least you’ll know about how far you have to go. Make sure you stand still when I go in. When I give the signal, swim toward the light.”

  He tied the strong cord around his waist, making sure it was secure but not binding him, then took a deep breath and waded into the pool. The cold, dark water enveloped his ankles, then his knees, and rose halfway to his hips before he reached the wall. Moving carefully to where the bubbles were coming up, he felt around carefully near the base of the wall with his boot. As he’d suspected, there was open space underneath it, a narrow corridor the muties used to exit the building.

  Ryan made sure his weapons were secure, then his equipment, including the small, waterproof flashlight from the wag. Although he ached to use it, he knew that the light would just make him a brightly illuminated target. If they wanted to keep the element of surprise, he had to go in blind.

  Just before he went under, he checked his chron once more. The timer had just hit the two-minute mark. Inhaling deeply once, twice, three times to fill his lungs with air, Ryan closed his eyes and descended into the blackness.

  The chilly water needled his face, and he involuntarily let out a small gasp as the cold penetrated his skin. Keeping one hand on the surface of the broken wall above him, Ryan edged forward. His plan was simple—keeping the line taut behind him, he would move forward, using the ceiling as his guide, until it ended, and he could stick his head above water. That was the idea, at least, depending on how long this crude underwater passage extended.

  Almost with his very first step, Ryan ran into trouble. The ground underfoot was rough and broken, making each step difficult. He took one step forward, then another, then his foot almost slid off what felt like a large, slanted slab of concrete into empty space.

  The bottom was deeper than he thought. Improvising quickly, Ryan attempted to relax enough to let his legs float up, until he was lying parallel with the ceiling above him. He’d made sure to stay oriented in the direction he wanted to go, the only difference now was that he faced the ceiling. Reaching out, he slowly began crawling forward, using the thick concrete as his guide.

  The lack of sensory input quickly grew maddening. With only the icy water around him, it wasn’t just as if he was moving through darkness, but moving through a complete absence of light. Since he only had the rough stone as a marker, Ryan had no idea if he was heading deeper underwater, or if he was even still going in the right direction. The familiar burn of oxygen deprivation had begun in his lungs, as well. He hadn’t expected the wall to be this thick, but every time he reached out with numbed fingers, the tips met more unyielding concrete ahead.

  The ache in his chest was growing more painful with each second, but Ryan kept pulling himself forward, knowing that if he didn’t find air in the next thirty seconds, he would be dead, since he was now too far in to return in time. Reach forward, more concrete. Pull himself along and reach out again—

  His hand met with nothing this time, scraping his forearm on the edge of the wall. Resisting his first instinct to push forward and shove his face up into the life-giving air that had to be nearby, Ryan pulled himself up slowly, not wanting a single bursting bubble or drop of falling water to give himself away. Clinging to the side, he raised himself until his face broke the surface.

  As cold as the water wa
s, the air was colder still, stinging his cheeks and nose and making his lips shake. Ryan clenched his jaw to prevent his teeth from chattering, sucking in a breath of dank, fetid air that tasted wonderful.

  He had no idea where dry land was, or if anyone was in here with him. For a moment, he stayed right where he was, letting rivulets of water flow off his hair, straining to hear the slightest noise in the room. He remained frozen for at least an entire minute, listening, waiting. Only when he was sure the place was deserted did he start moving along the wall to try to find someplace to get out of the water.

  He’d gone a few yards when he reached a corner, with the new wall extending into the room. Following this one brought Ryan to broken chunks of rubble under his feet after what seemed like a hundred years, but was probably no more than twenty seconds. Crawling gratefully out of the pool, he took a moment to catch his breath. His muscles trembled with a combination of the cold and the energy spent in getting here, and only pure will on his part stilled his body. Reaching for his flashlight, Ryan unfolding the tiny crank on the side and turned it between stiff fingers. After a few dozen turns, he shielded his eyes before turning it on so he wouldn’t blind himself.

  The light shone out like a beacon of white, its brilliance making his eyes water after the impenetrable darkness. Ryan was reaching for his SIG-Sauer when he noticed what the flash was illuminating.

  The scaly, clawed foot of a lizardman, standing right next to him.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Lurching back, Ryan tried to draw his blaster even as he raised the light to shine its beam directly into the mutie’s face. Caught by surprise, the lizardman growled and threw its arm over its eyes as it reached down to grab Ryan by the back of his shirt with its free hand.

  He’d only have a second to aim. Ryan tried to line up the metal sights on the creature’s squat body even as he was being lifted into the air. Swaying wildly, he couldn’t steady himself long enough to draw a bead before he was flung through the air.

  Ryan hit the pool with a giant splash. Instinctively he held tight to both the flashlight and his blaster, aware he’d be dead if he lost either one. Unfortunately, his full hands made swimming back to the surface more difficult than expected. Ryan ended up jamming the light in his pants pocket before he could claw his way back to the surface.

  His head broke the surface just in time to hear a splash in the water near the shore. He turned to see the lizardman rushing toward him, all claws and teeth, ready to tear into his flesh. Ryan brought his blaster around again, but was hit in the side before he could line up a shot, the shoulder blow almost paralyzing his already cold, stiff muscles. And as fast as it had appeared, the mutie was gone, vanishing into the darkness.

  Kicking his legs and treading water with his free arm to stay afloat, Ryan turned a slow circle, trying to see where the dry land was. The flashlight in his pants didn’t give off enough light to show him which direction to go.

  The line! Ryan cast around for the line at his back, seeing which way it trailed off, since that would be the direction of the entrance. It was tangled at his back, but seemed to be curled around his waist and snaking off into the distance ahead of him, which meant—

  Ryan felt a tremendous jerk on the line that almost pulled him under the water. Turning, he starting splashing in the opposite direction, but was brought up short by the line tightening around his waist, dragging him under the surface. His eyes widening, Ryan realized what was happening.

  That scaly bastard’s fishing—and I’m his catch!

  Ryan tried to resist the steady pull, but soon realized that the lizardman was braced against something, and he was going under no matter what. He thought about pulling his panga and cutting himself free, but that would leave Jak and Donfil without a way in—and more vital, all of them without a safe way out. There was only one way to go. Sucking in a last lungful of air, Ryan plunged below the surface.

  Letting himself be pulled deeper, he yanked the flashlight out and shone it ahead of him, following the taut rope down. As he descended, he felt pressure building in his ears and swallowed to relieve it. A dark, humanoid form was now visible a few yards below, its feet gripping a large, jagged chunk of stone. Ryan held his blaster behind his back and kicked with his legs, trying to give the illusion he was struggling to escape. The lizardman’s face split into a needle-toothed snarl as it saw its prey drawing closer. He was only a few yards away—one more pull and he would be caught in the monster’s claws for sure.

  The mutie yanked on the rope one more time, its free hand outstretched to grab Ryan’s futilely kicking leg. Ryan let his foot slow a bit, just enough for the clawed fingers to grab him. He had to time it just right…

  The lizardman pulled him down, its mouth open to take a huge bite out of his torso. As he was dragged toward the gaping jaws, Ryan swung up his SIG-Sauer and, placing it squarely against the mutie’s head, squeezed the trigger.

  With what sounded like a muted thunderclap, the blaster fired. Even underwater, at point-blank range the bullet had enough power to penetrate the scaly skull and burrow deep into the brain of Ryan’s captor. Its hand tightened once on his foot, then let go as the body relaxed and floated in place, its feet still gripping the rocky floor.

  Ryan’s lungs pulsed with pain now, and he jammed his blaster into his pocket and kicked hard for the surface, the light bobbing crazily in his hand as he ascended. Breaking the surface with a gasp, he sucked in air again, just in time to see a familiar white-haired head appear at the underwater entryway.

  “What…the hell…took you…so long?”

  Jak paddled over, his soaked hair forming a helmet around his head. “Waited till you pulled rope twice, then came in. Not have light follow—thanks lot—had come in blind.”

  Just then the limp body of the lizardman bobbed to the surface, making Jak start and scoot away from it, a throwing knife appearing in one hand as if by magic.

  “Yeah, I kind of had my own problems.” Ryan didn’t give the corpse a second glance as he shone his light around to find dry land. Once he had it in sight, he started moving toward it. “Where’s Donfil?”

  “Right.” Ryan felt his rope tighten, then slacken before tightening again. “Donfil be along.”

  Reaching the shore, Ryan crawled up on his elbows and knees. The rough ground was empty of any other muties, although their tracks crisscrossed everywhere in the mud.

  “Hey, hear that?” Jak said, cupping a hand to his ear.

  Straining to hear above his dripping hair and clothes, Ryan made out a faint, steady noise—the dull roar of a heavy automatic cannon. “J.B.’s started his assault. Soon as Donfil gets here, we move out.” Untying the rope from his waist, he found a suitable rock and tied it around that, placing it near the wall so it wouldn’t attract attention.

  A splash behind them alerted both to the shaman’s presence in the entry cave. Donfil’s lean face popped up as the shaman sucked in a deep breath, his iron-gray hair plastered to his head as he paddled awkwardly toward shore. Jak helped him clamber onto dry land, where he immediately drew his blaster and cleared the barrel.

  SIG-Sauer drawn again, Ryan stood at a dark, doorless opening leading deeper into the structure, shining his light down the angled corridor. The floor had once consisted of smooth linoleum, but was now a cracked, uneven mess, with muddy lizardman tracks everywhere. The ceiling was an exposed mess of twisted metal rods, dangling wires, pipes, and tubes, reminding Ryan of the ceiling in the Fort McCoy hallway. This place contained its own hazards, however, just as deadly as those thrice-damned pig-rats.

  “You two ready?” he whispered when Jak and Donfil joined him at the entryway. The short boy and tall man nodded. “All right, stay near the walls, and check every corner before rounding it. Also watch above—wouldn’t put it past these bastards to hide in the ceiling.”

  “Where going?” Jak asked.

  “Head to the middle of the building. Most likely that’s where their nest is—and where we’ll find
Krysty,” Ryan said. “If we get separated before we find her, you two get back to the entrance and get out. If we find her and get separated on the way out, same rule applies.”

  With that, Ryan crept into the passageway, stepping carefully to keep his footing on the slick surface. The corridor extended for about ten yards, ending in a T-intersection, its floor covered in a puddle of black water. Before he took another step, Ryan checked his rad counter, which was at the top of the safe green range, edging into red. He had no doubt it would probably go higher the farther in they went. “All right, stay sharp—let’s get in, get Krysty and get out.”

  His back against the wall, Ryan began making his way down the hall. About halfway down, his foot slipped and he fell on his butt, sliding down the sloping floor to land in a splash at the bottom. The accident saved his life. As Ryan shook water out of his eyes, he saw two long objects blur over his head—crude spears, thrown by the lizardmen who had been waiting to ambush whoever came in from the entrance.

  Raising his SIG-Sauer, Ryan tracked the path of one spear back to its owner and triggered the blaster, sending two rounds into its chest. The lizardman splashed on its face in the ankle-deep water, but was replaced by another one rushing forward, spear braced to skewer Ryan. Adjusting his aim, he sent two bullets at its head, one of them punching the mutie’s left eye out and instantly terminating all higher brain functions. It slid to a stop only a step away from him, the spear splashing into the water.

  Ryan immediately whirled to locate the other attackers, but his vision was blocked by a skinny form in dark blue broadcloth. Donfil had slid down the corridor as well, and now let fly with his harpoon, the barbed metal head finding its target with a dull thunk as it pierced skin and flesh. His target let out a low wail as it collapsed against the wall, unable to move.

  The second one was, however, also charging the Apache at full speed. Donfil raised his .357, aiming at the lizardman’s broad chest.