by James Axler
Strasser went on. "My friends and I have taken over this ville as our base. We have made the locomotive work and it carries us to another, smaller ville, in the hills. You people may help us."
He began to move around as he spoke, heels clicking on the cobbles, gazing incuriously at the settlers as he passed them. Strasser had started on the far side from where Mildred and Doc were standing. Just a little past stood Elder Vare, his arm around Sharon's shoulders.
"We can always use workers. Women to cook. Men to fetch and carry. Children to—" There was a burst of cruel laughter from one of the bandits and Strasser slowly turned his long, narrow head, eyes seeking the man who'd made the sound. "Take care, Hernandez," he said quietly. "Children will be cherished. We aren't men and women of blood. Those who obey will live and live well. Those who don't will perish and perish hard. It's as simple as that."
He'd walked slowly past half of the settlers. Mildred noticed that nobody had actually looked Strasser in the face. She resolved that she would try hard to avoid staring at him. To remain anonymous must be the least worst option.
The lean, black-clad figure halted, looking hard at one of the settlers, a frail man named Gaunter, one of the gray anonymous figures distinguished only by the fact that he wore a black patch over his left eye. With a thrill of realization, Mildred was suddenly aware of why Strasser had stopped.
"Your name, One-Eye?" Strasser called. .
"Caunter. Robert Caunter, sir," he replied in a trembling voice.
Strasser stepped in very close to the man, lifted the metal tip of his riding crop and touched him gently on the face, beneath the patch. He nodded slowly and then moved on.
RYAN GLANCED at J.B. "What d'you reckon? Move out, or try to find us a place to hole up inside the ville?"
"Like that better," the Armorer replied. "Won't be that long before Strasser finds out about us. One way or another he'll learn it, then he'll put up guards or come hunt us. Best place could be inside."
Krysty tugged at Ryan's sleeve. "That row of stores. There were rooms above. How about that?"
Jak answered. "No. Trapped. Better gardens big houses west ville. Not trapped."
She nodded. "Sure, Jak. Guess that makes more sense. Wouldn't fancy getting trapped by Cort Strasser. No way."
Ryan began to edge away. "Can't do anything here. Probably nothing much'll happen now. Let's go and find ourselves a good place to hole up."
STRASSER REACHED Elder Vare.
"You in charge, old man?"
"I have the honor of being appointed by the Lord as the shepherd in charge of this humble flock of poor sheep who wander—"
Strasser held up a hand. "Asked you if you were in charge. Didn't want a sermon, preacher."
"I am so sorry, Mr. Strasser. Yes, I am Vare, Elder Vare."
"And this?" The tip of the short whip nearly touched the breast of the man's daughter.
"Sharon, my daughter, Mr. Strasser. She is—"
"I can see that for myself, Elder. Indeed I can see that. We all can. Can't we, Rafe?"
The slit-eyed man with the mustache smiled. "Sure can, boss."
He was absently twirling a pair of rosewood nun-chaku sticks, linked by eight inches of steel chain, the fighting instrument making a whirring, clicking noise in his hands.
Strasser beckoned to the girl to step forward, but her father stopped her with his hand on her arm. The skull-faced man never stopped smiling for a moment.
"We have a problem, Elder Vare?"
"She's my daughter and I won't have her harmed by someone like you."
Mildred heard Doc drawing several long slow breaths, as though he were fighting for his life, and heard him whisper, "Uh-oh," at the preacher's protest.
"Brave," she whispered to him.
"No. Stupid."
Cort Strasser ignored the whispering from along the line, his attention concentrated on Elder Vare and the pretty little blond girl. "Someone like me?" he repeated.
"I meant that—"
"What?" Strasser was smiling, rocking gently back and forth on his heels. He transferred the whip to his left hand, leaving his right hand free.
"Nothing."
"You mean nothing?"
"Yes."
"Your daughter's nothing to you, Elder Vare. Well, I think she can be something to me."
The tip of the whip darted, in under the girl's skirt, thrusting up hard into her groin. She gasped in shock, her face reddening. Her father grabbed at Strasser's left arm, trying to push him away.
"Stupid," Doc whispered.
There was a narrow-bladed knife with an ivory hilt sheathed on Strasser's belt, just to the left of a large brass buckle. He drew it in a whisper of movement and pulled it once across the front of the preacher's neck, so fast and so delicate that for a fraction of a moment nobody in the crowd could be sure what had happened.
Not even Elder Vare knew.
His shock at the assault on his daughter had prompted him to snatch at the tall man's leather-coated arm. He caught a glimpse of firelight off steel in front of his face, and felt a sharp pain across his throat, as though a wasp had stung him.
He heard someone cry out and wondered who it was, though the voice sounded familiar. There was rain falling around his feet, pattering on his shoulders, soaking him in its warmth.
"Warm?" he said, as dizziness overwhelmed him and he slumped to the bloodied dirt, his hand loosing its grip on Strasser's arm.
There was a long, muted sigh from the watching settlers as they saw their leader die, blood pumping across the sand and cobbles. Sharon Vare turned away, burying her face in the arms of the woman on her left.
Strasser stooped with an angular grace and wiped his blade on the dying man's coat, sheathed it and straightened again.
Doc took a half pace forward, shrugging off Mildred's attempt to stop him.
His voice was hoarse with anger. "Nothing changes, does it, you murderous dog?"
Strasser turned, face puzzled. He stepped toward the old man and then halted. "Well, well, well. Journeys end in old friends meeting, Dr. Tanner. This is a surprise!"
Chapter Twenty-Two
JAK FOUND the perfect house for them to use as a hiding place. It was constructed from concrete blocks and stood in about a third of an acre of totally overgrown garden. A dusty yew hedge, dotted with towering spikes of yucca, made the house itself almost invisible from the side road that jutted from the back of the main street. The white-painted walls had flaked and peeled long ago, and the glass in the windows was crazed by the long scouring winds of the desert.
The back door had been kicked off its hinges many years ago, and anything that had ever been worth taking had gone. The main furniture remained, most of it only shells, ruined by insect predators.
"Fine," Ryan said, peering through the moonlit shadows.
Ward leaned his hand against the wall by a long picture window. "By cracky, son, but I don't see what in thunder you and me and three other good folks can do against that ruffian out there."
"Me, neither, Major. But Strasser's now holding two friends, and I don't see how we can just walk away from that."
Despite his heroic words, Ryan was essentially a realist. Living close to middle age in Deathlands had imposed that on him. He liked Doc very much, and he'd come to respect Mildred. But there was no way that he'd simply throw his life away for them.
"What do you think Strasser'll do, lover?" Krysty asked.
"Soon as he finds out what he's caught he'll probably try and hunt us down. If that fails, he'll look for some way of trading."
"Trading?" Ward asked, puzzled.
J.B. answered. "Strasser would like Ryan best, and young Jak here as well. They both hurt him. Ryan mashed in his mouth and Jak broke a finger for him. Man like Strasser savors revenge better than any other meal. Won't mind waiting for it. He'll likely offer Doc and Mildred for Ryan and Jak. Fair, straight trade."
The wag master shook his head. From the moment the gang took over Salvation
, he'd been out of his depth, floundering helplessly. "So, what will you do? Don't seem likely that Skullface would keep his word in a trade."
Ryan couldn't control a grim smile at the idea that Cort Strasser might ever keep his word about anything.
Krysty sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Gaia! This is a bad one."
"Best all try and get some rest." Ryan looked around the room, his eyes caught by a painting of a woman with a blue face that hung crookedly on the wall by the door. "Didn't know they had muties before the long winters," he said. "Have to keep watch."
J.B. nodded. "Five of us. Have two on and three off. Split the breaks."
Ryan and Krysty took the first spell on guard, one at the front and one at the back. With an odd number, the normal way of arranging the rotation was for them to alternate. After an hour Krysty was replaced by Jak. An hour later Ryan was replaced by J.B., and an hour after that Major Ward was awakened to take Jak's place. It meant everyone had a chance for a reasonable period of sleep and kept the watchers fresh.
Ryan took the rear door, squatting on the floor in what would once have been the kitchen. The moon came and went, giving periods of good light followed by long minutes of total darkness. When you were on watch at night, you didn't use your eyes all that much. Should call it being on listen, Ryan thought.
As he waited, hearing the Texas wind sighing through the undergrowth, he wondered how Strasser would play this one. Most of the cards were already in his clawed fist.
LESS THAN A half mile away, Cort Strasser was talking to Doc. The rest of the settlers, including Mildred, had been taken away and locked into the engine house. The corpse of Elder Vare had been dragged by the ankles and heaved out into a dry irrigation ditch alongside the railroad.
The only scintilla of brightness in Doc's heart was the knowledge that nobody had yet told Strasser of his connection with Mildred. But if the ex-sec boss started interrogating any of the settlers it would only be a matter of time before someone blurted out the link, and told Strasser all about where Ryan and the others had gone. The interrogations of the skull-faced man had that effect on people. Doc knew that from personal experience.
Doc had been taken onto the waiting train, finding himself aboard a coach of amazing luxury. It had obviously been lovingly restored just before nuke-day, bringing it back to its glory days. It was a bizarre experience for Doc, pushing his toppling mind nearer still to the fingernail edge of madness. It was precisely the kind of railroad coach that he'd traveled on with his young wife, Emily. Past and future blurred.
Strasser followed him, sitting on a luxurious padded seat, resting his feet on the brocade material. The woman came with him and sat in a corner, worrying at a ragged edge to her skirt. Two of the armed guards stood silently in the doorway, holding their M-16s at the ready.
Strasser was almost hugging himself with delight. "Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner. So good to meet you again after so many months. You're looking well, my dear Doctor."
With a considerable effort of will, the old man succeeded in jerking himself from the warm memories of the past into the bleak reality of the hideous present.
"You'll kill me, Strasser. I'm not the foolish, frightened old imbecile that you used to sport with. So I'd appreciate it if we could abbreviate this conversation and then you can get on with the killing. If you don't mind."
He felt absurdly proud of himself that he hadn't allowed his deep, round voice to tremble, even though he was as terrified as he'd ever been in his entire life. Sweat was running down the small of his back, and his mouth was sand dry.
Strasser nodded approvingly. "That's very good, Dr. Tanner. I'm genuinely impressed." He turned to the woman. "Bring us some liquor, Rosa." She was slow to respond. "I want it tonight and not sometime tomorrow."
The voice had the remembered softness, overlaying homicidal violence. Like a straight razor in a velvet box. The woman jumped to her feet and walked quickly out of the door toward the rear of the train.
Strasser watched her go and smiled. "Rosa has great strengths, Doctor. She will share any sexual experiment, no matter how… unusual it may be. And she also shares my own curiosity about inflicting pain." He sighed and laid his quirt on a walnut veneer table. "But set against that is the fact that Rosa is overwhelmingly, utterly stupid."
"Which goes to prove that even you can't have everything, Strasser," Doc said, rather proud of his continuing control.
"True. But let's talk about you. How've you been since our last meeting?"
"Well enough. Most kind of you to ask. And yourself? You haven't traveled far?"
Strasser grinned. "Life hasn't been unkind. I was lucky enough to fall in with a raggle-taggle band of mercies eager to work for whoever could provide them with the most jack. Give me a few good guns and I could rule all Deathlands."
Doc nodded. The more time that slipped by, the better were the chances of Ryan and the others escaping. He had no illusions about his own fate. Strasser would chill him. When the moment came, Doc had already decided he would try to snatch a blaster and ensure himself a swift passing.
"But what about you, Doctor? And what of my dear, dear friends?"
"Friends, Strasser? I confess that I was not aware any living creature would number you among its friends. Who are they?"
The vanity of the lean man was one of his areas of weakness. And Doc was prepared to try to buy what time he could by playing on that.
"Ah, Doctor. Friends. People that I'd like to see again. That's friends, isn't it?"
Doc glanced out of the window, past the tasseled draperies. But that side of the carriage faced over the desert and the distant hills.
"Most of my friends are dead."
"And mine, Doctor. And mine. But there are two that I would seriously like to see again." He leaned forward, swinging his feet off the couch. "And you know where they are."
"A clue, Strasser?"
The crooked mouth came close to a smile. "Don't do this, Doctor."
"What?"
The smile disappeared like a smoldering ember doused in water.
"Ryan Cawdor and the white-haired boy! Jak Lauren! Where are they?"
"I know that you and Ryan were never particularly close companions, Strasser, but why do you want to see Jak again?"
Strasser held up his right hand, showing him the missing finger. "Because of this, Doctor. The boy did this."
"Cut your finger off? I believed that he had only broken it."
Strasser rose to his feet and made a move toward the old man, who winced in anticipation of the blow. But Rosa came back into the carriage, carrying a plastic bottle that contained an amber liquid, and two small shot glasses.
"Ah, my dear little cock biter! You just saved this old fool a little pain. Pour out a measure of the rot-gut."
She did as she was told, handing one of the thick glasses to Doc, who took it, schooling himself not to tremble. He also fought the temptation to drain the liquor at a single gulp, sipping at it and then holding it in his hand.
Waiting, aware of an invisible clock that was ticking away time. Time for Ryan and the others to make good their escape.
"The rat-faced little bastard didn't just snap the bone, Doctor," Strasser growled, draining his glass in one gulp.
"I would like to relieve the pressure on my bladder, if I may," Doc said, trying to divert the black-clad man opposite him.
"You want what?"
"A piss." Doc glanced at the blank-faced woman. "If you will pardon me for the language, my dear young lady."
"No, and don't interrupt me again, you horse-toothed old fucker."
Doc nodded. He'd spent enough time around Cort Strasser to know that the man could only be pushed so far without a serious risk to life and limb.
"After he broke my finger and you all ran away from me, it got gangrened."
Deathlands was low on any kind of medical knowledge, and antiseptics were almost unknown. Doc wasn't surprised to hear
the damaged digit had become infected.
"So I cut it off," Strasser said, baring his teeth again in a mirthless grin.
"You did?"
"I took this knife—" he flourished it in Doc's face "—and I laid my hand across the bole of a tree and I hacked the finger off. It took three attempts, Doctor, but it was useless to me and so it went."
Doc took another sip at his fiery drink, finding to his surprise that he'd somehow managed to empty the glass.
Strasser nodded grimly at him and sat down again, sheathing his knife and showing the gnarled stump of the missing finger.
"Now, Doctor, the night is passing. You may tell me what lies you wish. I don't give a flying fuck about you. Either you tell me the truth about Ryan, Jak and the redhead, or I find out."
Doc shook his head, knowing the futility of the gesture.
Strasser smiled at the gesture. "Oh no, Doctor Tanner, not you. I'll send Rafe out and bring in the youngest child and its mother. I shall press my thumb in behind each of the babe's eyes and pop them from their cute little sockets."
"They're gone," Doc said blankly.
"Ah."
"Ryan's here with me. Jak Lauren. Krysty. The four of us."
Strasser pointed at him, hands still together. "No, Doctor. I know more than that. The Armorer is here, isn't he? Dix?"
"Yes."
"And that's all?"
Doc reached over to put his glass on the table, buying a moment before answering. Did Cort Strasser know about Mildred Wyeth? Probably not. But if there was an interrogation then he'd find out almost immediately, and he'd be angry with Doc.
"That's all," he said. "Nobody else traveling with us."
"Truth, Dr. Tanner, my friend."
"Oh, yes. There's the wag master with them, an elderly man called Major Seth Ward. Sorry, Strasser. I forgot."
"Good. Five marks out of five, Doc." He held out the glass and the woman silently refilled it. Doc shook his head to refuse more liquor, wanting to keep a tight hold on himself. "Want to go for ten from ten, Doc? Try."