Axler, James - Deathlands 66 - Separation

by Separation [lit]

  The sooner they found a dry area for Mildred and Doc and secured their position, the better. Because, although his instincts were muted by fatigue and the disorientation engendered by the voyage, Jak had a niggling feeling that they weren't alone along the shore.

  Ryan and Krysty had reached the firmer footing of the trees, where sparse vegetation and tree roots made for a more sure, if uneven, surface. The surrounding area grew darker as the canopy of the trees blotted out the moonlight.

  "Find a clearing if possible—anything where we can lay her down," Ryan whispered, unable to raise his voice above an almost inaudible volume.

  "Sure," Krysty replied, unwilling to risk her voice, but knowing that he would be unable to see any gesture of assent.

  Following behind, J.B., Jak and Dean were able to move more swiftly, and were gaining ground on those in front. They were close enough to see where Ryan and Krysty had entered the cover of the trees and so had been able to follow their path.

  As they half walked, half stumbled into the dark and cover, Jak felt all his instincts begin to kick in. They were telling him things that were far from good. "J.B., need be careful here," he said in a low voice.

  "Yeah, we could break an ankle on this," Dean complained as he turned an ankle for the second time in a few paces.

  "Not what mean," Jak rasped. "Be triple-red."

  "Okay," J.B. said simply. He glanced around him as they made their way through the trees. He could see or hear nothing, but he knew that Jak's hunting instincts were honed to an almost preternatural level and he trusted them implicitly.

  If Jak could sense a threat, it was there. It was just a question of when it would show itself.

  Now only a few yards ahead of the Armorer and his party, Ryan and Krysty had come upon a small clearing in the trees, no more than a few square feet. It was, however, enough to lay Mildred down and for Doc to be placed beside her. The canopy of trees overhead gave them shelter, and despite the cold of night, it was still warm compared to conditions in the raft or on the beach. The one-eyed man became aware that he was shivering, his muscles locked into an almost continual spasm. They needed to stop, to build a fire, to mount a guard and to get themselves warm and dry. Maybe even some proper sleep. That was a thought that wrapped itself around his mind like a warm blanket.

  "Stop here," he rasped to Krysty, who nodded agreement. They placed Mildred on the soft floor of the woods and began to strip her.

  "Pity we don't have anything dry to cover her with," Krysty huffed.

  "Get some leaves, any bracken…just something to keep the warmth in," Ryan replied, beginning to search the immediate area.

  The others reached the clearing, J.B. signaling their arrival with a brief and sore-throated, "Us, Ryan…"

  The one-eyed man barely had the energy to acknowledge their arrival as the second group laid Doc down by Mildred. Taking a deep breath that rasped in his aching rib cage, he spoke in barely more than a whisper.

  "Need to get a fire going, try to get warm, dry. Gather some wood. Blasters are useless, so need knives."

  Jak nodded, understanding immediately what Ryan meant. Hands dipping into the hidden recesses of his camou jacket, he produced two leaf-bladed throwing knives. One of these he kept in his own palm, the other he gave to Krysty. Now all of the companions that were conscious had a weapon of some sort that could work. And in the close quarters of the woodland, the knives and the panga sported by Ryan would be much more effective than any blaster that could alert an enemy of their position.

  "Dean, Krysty, stay here and keep guard over Mildred and Doc. The rest of us will gather wood for the fire."

  And as the younger Cawdor and the red-haired woman took up defensive positions, the remaining three companions moved into the darkness to gather small wood and kindling for a fire. Even if it was kept small, it would still give away their position when lit, but at least they would be able to establish a solid line of defense.

  Jak, despite the battering his wiry frame had taken, was recovering more quickly than the others and he moved with speed to gather firewood, his blazing red eyes scanning the darkness as his nose and ears tried to pick out the slightest sound to identify it. He was sure that there was something—someone—out there, but he couldn't be sure what it may be. Whoever or whatever it was, it had a gift for concealment and disguise that made it a match for him. The albino youth gritted his teeth and judged the amount of wood he held—enough for a small fire on its own. He nodded briefly to himself. It was enough for him to get back to the clearing. There was safety in numbers, and it wasn't through any kind of cowardice that he wanted to seek that. Rather, it was the knowledge that J.B. and Ryan were tired and may be carrying more injuries than himself.

  For Jak had been able to tell that the Armorer had been limping, the legacy of a long ago injury thanks to a mutie flying squirrel that had taken a chunk from his leg. It had torn into the muscle of his calf, making it a weak spot that would always succumb first in rough conditions. As for Ryan, the one-eyed man had moved in a way to suggest that movement from the waist up— even from breathing—was painful. Jak suspected that their leader had cracked at least a couple of ribs, and the pain and stiffness would make him much more vulnerable than usual.

  While Jak ghosted his way back to the clearing, Ryan and J.B. were both struggling.

  As the Armorer collected wood he grit his teeth, his calf muscle feeling as if it were on fire. It had begun as a dull ache and had increased as they had carried Doc through the woods. So much so that he had felt himself begin to drag the leg as he walked, the calf stiffening and refusing to respond before a dull ache began to suffuse it. When they had stopped, instead of a cessation of pain, it had begun to grow in intensity to the point where it now felt as if a red-hot knife had been pushed vertically through it. Sweat spangled his forehead, running salt into his eyes as he continued with his task as quickly as he could manage. He, too, was in a hurry to get back to the safety of numbers and an established camp, being only too aware of the vulnerable state in which he found himself.

  Ryan, on the other hand, couldn't have hurried if he tried. Like the Armorer, he wanted to return to camp quickly, but the notion of rapid movement was, at the moment, quite alien. Every breath, every step, sent pains around his ribs and chest, shooting back and forth like snakes in long grass, never letting him know exactly where they would appear next. Bending to gather wood was an almost impossible task, and although he gathered some pieces, he soon gave up on that. It would be all he could do to get back to the others. Breathing as shallowly as possible to cut down on the pain of muscle movement around his ribs, he began to hobble back, taking small, quick steps to make as rapid a progress as possible with as little effort and pain.

  Unlike Jak, both Ryan and J.B.—although keeping triple-red—were unaware of any presence around them, their own pain and difficulty misting their usually razor sharp faculties.

  It made the group relatively defenseless, especially as Mildred was still unconscious when Jak—the first back—reached the clearing.

  "Me," he said simply as he emerged from cover to join Krysty and Dean, dropping his load of firewood on the woodland floor. "Where others?"

  "Not back yet," Krysty replied.

  Jak grimaced. "You notice?" he asked.

  "Notice what?" Krysty countered.

  "Ryan and J.B. both carrying injury—one leg, one ribs. Try to cover, carry on—but must hurt like fuck."

  Krysty trusted Jak's judgment implicitly. It was typical of both men to try to work through their pain; but given the conditions under which the companions were trying to survive, it was better that Jak had made them aware of this. They would have to pull together more then ever.

  Doc began to moan.

  "He's coming around," Dean said, leaning over Doc as his eyes flickered open. They were unseeing, as though the old man was viewing a different world.

  "Heavens to Betsy, is there no one who will rid me of this troublesome priest?" he as
ked in feeble tones. Then, surprising them, he shot bolt upright and spoke in loud, declamatory tones. "Are we not men? Do we seek to hide in the shadows and not to come into the open and declare ourselves? What is this that makes us skulk in the shadows? When they came, then came again, I said nothing. When they came for me, there was nobody left to save me. Oh, who will save the poor widow's son? I do not wish to be split from breast to breast and have my entrails spilled across my shoulder, and yet…and yet…" As he repeated the phrase, his voice suddenly quietened and he sank back, eyes still open. "Oh my sweet Lord," he continued softly, "what has happened to me?"

  "It'd take too long to explain, Doc," Krysty said softly, mopping his brow. "Just know that you're pretty safe right now, and we're about to build a fire and get warm. Do you remember being in the raft?"

  "I think so," he said gently, nodding with wide-eyed wonder like a child frightened of the dark and sensing a friendly hand in the blackness.

  "Well, that was a rough ride, but we're out of it now. Just got to dry off and get warm."

  Doc struggled up onto one elbow. "But the good Dr. Wyeth? What has happened to her? I know something must have, for she is always there when I am troubled in the soul and awaken from a nightmare." He looked around, catching sight of the prone Mildred. "Is she…?"

  "She's alive, Doc, but unconscious," Krysty answered, holding on to the hand with which he clung to her, tightly and as though his life were dependent upon it. "It's important that we get this fire built."

  "What? Oh, yes, of course," he said, suddenly snapping into reality and letting go her hand. "What must I do?"

  "You stay there, Doc, while we do this," Dean answered. "You're still not a hundred percent and that was a hell of a trip. Just rest a moment."

  Doc nodded sagely. "You are a wise man, like your father, young master Cawdor." He fell silent as he watched them.

  The fire was soon built and Jak began to use a stick rubbed onto dry leaves in a channel cut into a larger branch by his knife. In the dark, the first sparks of fire and the smoldering of the leaves glowed dimly in the dark, brightening as Jak blew gently to fan the flame before transferring it to the pile they had constructed ready for burning.

  As the fire took, all four of them suddenly became aware of the fact that J.B. and Ryan hadn't yet appeared.

  "Hot pipe, where are they?" Dean asked, a note of concern and worry creeping into his voice. "Mebbe we should try to search for them."

  Jak shook his head, his eyes like the embers in the center of the now burning fire. "They not call for help, and not quick as usual. Wait for 'while. Light of fire guide them if they lose bearing."

  The albino youth was right. After a few tense minutes when no one dared to break the silence, first the Armorer and then the one-eyed man came into view. J.B. was limping heavily, and Ryan moved slowly, the pain of each step, each breath, showing on the lines etched on his face. The two men stopped and looked at each other as they entered the small clearing, wry grins appearing despite the pain.

  "And I thought I had something to tell you," J.B. said softly.

  They made their way to the fire and settled uncomfortably.

  "I'm going to see if there's any painkillers in Mildred's pockets," Krysty said, rising to move over to the sodden jacket and rifling through the pockets to see what was left. To her surprise, many of the medical supplies were still within the capacious pockets, having stayed there despite the turbulence and immersion of the short voyage. As they were all vacuum packed or shrink wrapped to keep them sterile, it was only the outer coverings of the medical supplies that were wet. Some pills and dressings that had already been opened were ruined, but these were in the minority as Mildred had filled her pockets as much as possible before leaving the redoubt. Although the supplies she had carried in her satchel were forever lost, the supplies she'd stashed in her jacket pockets would do for the time being.

  So Krysty was able to give J.B. and Ryan painkillers. She checked the Armorer's calf, but there was no outward sign of injury. And as Ryan gritted his teeth and swore at the pain, she took a roll of sealed bandage, broke it open and began to bind his ribs. Like the one-eyed man himself, she and the rest of the group were only too well aware that he would be slowed up for some time, leaving him vulnerable. But at least his ribs would be secured as much as possible and they could begin to mend.

  All the while Jak kept his attention divided between the group around the fire and the darkness beyond the clearing, trying to discern any movement and to identify the danger he knew was there.

  "What is it?" Ryan asked simply.

  Jak shook his head distractedly. "Dunno. Something, but good at keeping cover."

  Ryan sucked on his hollow tooth. "Okay, we're not in any shape to go to it, so we have to let it come to us. I figure if nothing else, if it gets too close, at least Jak'll be able to hear it coming, if not all of us. Stay triple-red. Meantime, we need to see what we can do about Mildred."

  The painkillers had begun to kick in and both Ryan and J.B. were able to move a little more freely without the harsh reminder of pain to bring their injuries to mind. The companions gathered around Mildred.

  Krysty pulled back the doctor's eyelid. The eyeball was still rolled back into her head, the pupil lost to view. She had no fever, and there was no cut anywhere on her head, just an egg like lump near the top of her skull, where she had hit the ocean with force. She was breathing regularly and easily now.

  "Why won't she come around?" J.B. asked of no one in particular.

  "It is nothing more than a manifestation of concussion," Doc said quietly. "There is nothing we can do, no matter how frustrating it may be, other than sit and wait."

  "Yeah, but how much time do we have?" Ryan countered.

  Doc fixed him with a stare. "How much time does she need?"

  "I don't know," Krysty said, "but I figure now is the time to risk something she once told me about—she's been out too long."

  "What?" J.B. asked worriedly.

  "Adrenaline. Just a little shot. It may just jolt her out of this."

  "And if it doesn't?"

  Krysty shrugged. "We sit back and wait. Just the one shot, no more. That's what she said." Krysty opened Mildred's shirt and pulled out one arm, the muscle still taut despite her state. The veins in the crook of her elbow stood out like a relief map.

  Krysty wet her lips, dry with nerves. "Dean, look through Mildred's pockets and try to find a shot of adrenaline. She must have some, otherwise she wouldn't have told me about it or how to inject it. And let's hope it wasn't in her satchel."

  THE WARRIORS WERE SWIFT, silent and sure. This was their land and they knew every last inch of it. They picked their way across the foliage and roots in pitch black, using the darkness of their skins as extra camouflage. Their clothes were blacks, browns and muted shades of green, perfect camou for the woods in both light and dark. They carried their blasters across their backs and holstered, sure of themselves not to need them in hand at this time. The blasters were a motley collection of Glocks, Heckler & Kochs, and Colt handblasters that had been looted and garnered over the year before skydark by their ancestors, who had bargained and bartered for a stockpile of ammo that was still extant.

  They didn't often encounter outsiders on the island. It was a difficult place to get to or to get away from. So their community had been insular, aware of the outside and yet protected from it. Their ancestors had soon become wise to the problems of inbreeding, so the community was kept small, the breeding between them strictly monitored to keep any such problems to a minimum. It could be done if a people had discipline, and a cause.

  They had such.

  Yet despite the lack of outsiders to test them, they were a disciplined and slick community. Much of their meat was farmed, but some came from the wildlife on the island. And that wildlife was as likely to be predator as prey. The outsiders had been lucky to arrive on that stretch of beach at that time of day.

  Perhaps not so lucky.


  The warriors usually hunted with knives or bow and arrow. Rarely did they use the precious ammo, except in their practice, kept to a carefully worked minimum. They were sharp with both forms of chilling.

  So when word had reached the ville that there were strangers landed on the south shore, the warriors had soon been ready and had tracked the strangers, keeping their distance.

  The outsiders hadn't spotted them, although the albino had seemed aware of something out of the ordinary. The others seemed to pose little threat. Two of them seemed hurt, two were either young or female and two were unconscious. One of these had since come around, but the other was a sister, and was still out.

  Why did they have her? What could they want with her?

  The strangers had moved away from the fire they had built and were clustering around her. The woman was leaning over the sister, tearing at her clothing. She had already handled her in a way that was undignified, and they talked of her in coarse terms—their whole language and mode of speech coarse.

  Barbarians. They could only mean the sister harm.

  They ripped her clothing, and now one of them— the young one with curly hair, not the older curly haired, one-eyed stranger—was rummaging through a jacket, looking for something. He produced a package, which he unwrapped to reveal a needle.

  They were going to use it on the sister.