Dark Carnival

by James Axler

  For a second he thought his son was going to argue with him, but Doc stepped in quickly, putting his arm on the boy's shoulders. "They need steadiness and men of iron resolve in the heart of the patrol, Dean. So, that's you and me."

  They set off, and in less than two minutes they found themselves facing a huge pair of sec doors. Painted a bilious shade of pale green, they stretched from floor to ceiling. At the side was a small control panel of letters and numbers.

  "This is it." Ryan looked behind them. There'd been no other options; the way out was either back through the gateway or past these vanadium-steel doors.

  "Try the usual code?" J.B. suggested. "Worked before."

  "Three-five-two," Krysty said.

  Ryan keyed in the numbers while the rest of them spread out, blasters ready.

  For several stretched heartbeats there was simply a great stillness. Ryan was about to try the control panel again when they all heard a distant hissing, like the heavy sigh of some massive monster wakened from a reluctant sleep. Weights and counterweights moved into grudging life, and the doors began to slide upward.

  Dean had thrown himself down on his stomach so that he could be the first to peer out beyond the ponderous wall of sec steel.

  "Nobody there," he said, his voice cracking with his excitement.

  "Get back, son," Ryan said quietly. "Keep out of our fire line."

  "Can't I have a blaster, huh?"

  "Maybe… Now keep your lips tight-shut and your eyes wide open."

  The double doors finally stopped moving.

  Beyond it an identical passage carried on, the walls painted a mat magnolia color. Ryan saw immediately that the sec vids were working. A tiny ruby eye glowed beneath each of them, and they moved slowly from side to side, like the heads of world-weary eels.

  J.B. had also seen them. "Could be on auto. Triggered by body heat, movement, sound, anything."

  Mildred stared up at them. "Maybe I should give them a wave and a smile. Show them we're friendly. What do you think, John?"

  The Armorer shook his head. "Chances are that there's nobody watching their screens, Mildred. Probably hasn't been anyone there for a hundred years."

  "Shouldn't you shoot them out?" Dean asked. "Stop them spying."

  "Fireblast! I've never known anyone ask so many damned questions. I wonder how you managed to live to be ten years old."

  The boy shuffled his feet. "Real sorry, Dad. Just that there never seem enough answers to go around, so I ask more questions."

  Ryan laughed. "All right, Dean. But learn to pick the right moment for the right question. Now let's move on."

  Once again the passage came quickly to a dead end. They retraced their steps, past the opening that led toward the gateway. Ryan paused by the familiar sign: Entry Is Absolutely Forbidden To All Except Personnel Cleared To Level B-14 Or Higher.

  "Might be worth closing the doors again," he said. "Just in case anyone wanders down here."

  The reverse number code of 253 sent the heavy doors sliding remorselessly down, settling into place with a faint crunching sound.

  Punching in the digits made Ryan wonder for a passing moment about the crumpled piece of paper he'd shoved into his pocket. But a call from Dean made him forget about it again.

  "Stairs and an elevator here," the boy shouted. "Shall I press the call button?"

  Krysty saw the expression on Ryan's face, and she quickly put her hand on his arm. "Slowly, lover," she warned.

  "But he's—"

  "You were ten once."

  He nodded grimly. "Yeah, and I knew the value of checking the safety before squeezing the trigger. The boy must learn silence, lover."

  "He will."

  Outside, Dean was waiting patiently for them, finger hovering over the recessed black button by the door of the elevator. Ryan remembered the problems in Newyork and waved a hand.

  "No. If there's stairs, we take them. Not so much risk of getting trapped."

  Krysty wiped sweat from her forehead. "Gaia, but it's sticky in here! This air feels like it's been going around and around and getting wetter and hotter all the time."

  "I am beginning to have some passing appreciation of what it must be like to spend one's life as a hothouse orchid," Doc said.

  "We going up?" Dean asked, craning his neck so that he could see to the top of the wide spiral staircase. "Not too far."

  Ryan joined his son, looking more cautiously up the steps. There was a flat landing area about fifty feet above them, with what looked like another door beyond it.

  "I'll go first," he said. "Rest of you stay down here until I've cleared the way."

  The blaster in his right hand, he began to pick his way carefully up the steps, his boots ringing softly on the slatted metal. Occasionally it came to him how odd it was that he might be the first human being to tread this way for the best part of a hundred years. The last set of feet probably belonged to a senior sec officer, making a final check that the complex had been properly cleared in those terrifying final days before the skies grew dark and nuke-black night came to the United States.

  Around the door he saw a wide wooden frame. But the damp had ravaged it, leaving it soft and covered in a fibrous brown mold.

  The door itself was made of steel, but it hung loose on its hinges. Ryan pushed at it, and it slumped open at his touch.

  "Come on up," he called. "Looks like an abandoned redoubt."

  A COUPLE OF HOURS LATER they were sitting around a folding table, the remains of their meal scattered across the top.

  Dean belched noisily and grinned at the others for approbation. "I never seen any place like this… like this redoubt." He pronounced the new word with extra care. "Rona told me about them, but she said she'd never actually seen one herself. I never met anyone who had. Plenty of big-lip liars pretended."

  J.B. nodded. "Always find people eager to pretend, Dean. Make them seem more important. We don't know how many of these redoubts there are in Deathlands. All we know is that they were built in the very end of the 1990s, and mostly hidden. A part of what they called the Totality Concept."

  "What was that?"

  Ryan answered him. "It was a war plan. Like most war plans, it never worked. The nukes won."

  "Any more of that juice-sub?" The boy licked his lips. "Real good." A thought struck him. "Hey, why can't we live here forever? Nobody can get in, and there's food and blasters."

  "We maybe could," Krysty said gently, "but there's more to life than hiding in a safe cave. We just stock up here on fresh clothes and what we need. Then we move on." She looked across at Ryan, and a note of bitterness entered her voice. "I sometimes think that I'll be always moving on."

  COMPARED TO SOME of the huge labyrinths that they'd found in the past, this redoubt was relatively compact. There was sleeping accommodation for only fifty people, in four dormitories; a central dining area and kitchens; a dozen identically empty cubes that must have been admin offices; some sealed storage areas holding food, clothes and some weaponry.

  It was odd.

  The place looked as if it had been partly evacuated. Some of it was totally stripped, but sheets and blankets had been left on the bunks. All of which had rotted away in the moist air. There were no personal effects left anywhere. Yet the warehousing facilities were amazingly well stocked.

  Predictably the boy had wanted to go explore this treasure trove from the past, but Ryan had insisted that they took the usual precautions.

  "We check out the whole complex. Make sure it's secure. That means we're going to be secure, Dean. Next comes food. Then we explore."

  It hadn't taken them long to go through the redoubt, finding that there appeared to be only one exit. That was a surprisingly small sec door tucked away in a corner beyond the sleeping quarters. There was a sec vid unit that had been built to show a view of the world outside.

  But when Ryan tried the controls, it was locked onto a mass of thick foliage. A solid wedge of green filled the screen, barely moving, ma
king it absolutely impossible to work out where in the world they might be.

  "Hawaii?" Mildred suggested.

  Doc snorted. "Don't think so small, my dear woman."

  "Don't 'dear woman' me, you sententious old fart! What's wrong with Hawaii?"

  "I would hazard a guess that we have terminated our journey a little farther away than that."

  Ryan shook his head. "You mean outside Deathlands, Doc? I doubt that. The place in Moscow was a one-off freak. There for a reason. No, I figure we've hit the ace on the line for some local hot spot. But it looks like it's getting dark out there. We'll check it out tomorrow."

  Then they ate.

  The redoubt, like most of the others, was still self-sufficient, running off its own nuke-powered generator. The light and the power still functioned properly.

  Apart from one section where lines had gone down and whole containers of food had rotted to a dark, odorless liquid, the larders were full.

  Ryan was surprised at the degree of the boy's literacy. Considering the traveling life he'd led, he was good with letters. Even bright, barefoot ten-year-old boys in frontier villes had to take their pants down to count to twenty-one.

  But Dean had walked along the lines of steel shelving in the cool storage rooms, rattling off what he could see.

  "Chicken curry and chili and beans and tofu bake and fried prawns and trout and beans and more beans and breakfast fry-up and pork chops and burgers and burgers and veg burgers and salmon and oatmeal and green jelly and orange jelly and red jelly and green beans and ham and chicken dumplings and beef slices and lamb cutlets and nut cutlets and—"

  Doc had stopped him. "If you carry on without pausing to draw a breath, my dear young fellow, then you will turn white and fade away. Just take your pick and we can set to cooking it."

  Other sections of the facility held clothing and weapons, but that was also for after the meal.

  DOC AND J.B. CLEARED away the table, dumping everything into a garbage compactor. Mildred had calculated that they could use fresh plates and cutlery every day for a month and simply throw them out.

  "Want to check the rest of the complex, Dean?" Ryan asked.

  The boy was leaning forward at the table, head on his arms. He didn't react at all.

  "Kid's bushed," Krysty said. "Best get him off to bed."

  Ryan looked across at her. "Maybe we could do the same, lover."

  She smiled. "Why not?"

  Chapter Thirteen

  DOC HAD PICKED one of the dormitory cubicles for himself. Bundled under a pile of fresh blankets, he'd quickly fallen asleep.

  Mildred had stood from the table, looking across at J.B., who, as taciturn as always, had simply nodded to her. They'd gone off hand in hand to another section of the redoubt.

  Ryan had tried to pick up the boy, hoping to get him to bed without waking him. But the moment he was touched, Dean had reacted violently, kicking and yelling, but stopping as soon as he came to and realized what he'd been doing.

  "Sorry, Dad," he muttered.

  "Don't worry about it, son. Been a long, long, hard day for all of us."

  Krysty had collected some blankets for the boy. She followed Ryan into the room, quickly making up a bed for Dean.

  "You can take off your boots and pants," Ryan told his son. "Not many places you can. But this is about as safe as it gets."

  Dean looked at him dozily. "Can't I sleep in the same room as you?"

  "No. Most nights of our lives we all have to sleep in together. Either for security or warmth. Or both. This is somewhere we can close a door on the world. Doc's that side of you. Me and Krysty'll be this side. And Mildred and J.B. are one room along. You know where the can is?"

  "Yeah. End of the passage on the right."

  Ryan and Krysty stood and waited for the boy to get into bed, but he didn't move.

  "I'll be fine, Dad. Good night, Krysty." He paused. "You can leave me now. I'm fine."

  Krysty tugged Ryan away, giving the despondent little figure a smile and a half wave. "Sleep well, Dean."

  She closed the door and pulled Ryan with her into the next room, closing the door behind them. "Kid wants some privacy, lover. Doesn't want me watching him get undressed."

  "Guess so. You mind watching me?"

  Krysty grinned. "Wait and see."

  They pushed two of the metal-framed bunks together and laid mattresses sideways across them. The blankets and sheets were all single, so it needed some skill to contrive a comfortable arrangement. Fortunately the complex was warm enough for it not to be too big a problem.

  Ryan took off his clothes and stacked his weapons on the floor near the head of the bed. Krysty kicked off her dark blue cowboy boots, the overhead light glinting off the chiseled silver points on the toes. The rest of her clothes followed until she stood by the bed wearing only a pale turquoise pair of bikini panties.

  "Light off or on, lover?" she asked.

  Ryan had already climbed carefully into the nest of bedclothes and he looked up at her. "Part of me says 'on' and part says 'off.' I guess off. Save one of us having to get up afterward."

  She nodded and walked to the main light switch, conscious of his gaze on her. She deliberately sashayed her hips as she moved, turning and placing one arm coyly across her breasts, blowing him a toss as she plunged the room into total darkness.

  Ryan heard her bare feet, then felt the mattresses dip as she climbed quickly in beside him. For a moment there was a stretched stillness, then Krysty shifted closer, her knee brushing against his thigh.

  "Hi, lover," she whispered. "Been a long time since we had this sort of luxury."

  "Can't remember when." He eased his body against hers, his hand reaching for her.

  "Too long." Her fingers found him, feathering across the flat wall of his stomach, grasping him with a gentle firmness.

  He rolled on his side, closer, lips brushing the skin of her throat, kissing her softly. Krysty moaned as his right hand delved between her thighs, bringing her to instant arousal.

  "Love you so much," she whispered, her breath quickening, brushing the short hairs on the side of Ryan's neck.

  "Me you, too," he said.

  "Let's do it, lover."

  RYAN ROSE FIRST. He climbed silently into his clothes, carrying his heavy-duty combat boots outside so he wouldn't disturb Krysty.

  The air in the corridor still held the scents of last night's supper, confirming his suspicion that the conditioning was on the blink. He walked into the kitchen and switched on a pan of water, intending to use it to brew up a hot drink and to shave.

  A sound behind him made him whirl, to see J.B. grinning at him. The Armorer was wiping his glasses on the sleeve of his shirt.

  "Getting jumpy, friend?"

  "Better to be jumpy—"

  "Than asleep," finished the slight figure. It had been one of the Trader's favorite sayings.

  "Want some coffee-sub?"

  "Sure. Krysty asleep?"

  Ryan nodded. "Yeah. Mildred?"

  "Was when I left her. How about the boy? Didn't hear him in the night."

  Steam billowed as Ryan poured out the boiling water, the harsh smell of the drink filling the kitchen. He passed one of the mugs to J.B.

  "Didn't hear a sound. Oh, yeah, I heard Doc coughing his way to the pisser. Once or twice." He took a great gulp from the hot, brown liquid. "Fire-blast! This is damned good coffee-sub!"

  "What're your plans for the boy, Ryan?"

  The one-eyed man sighed. "Only knew about him a couple of days ago. Spend all my life thinking one thing, then I'm a father. Boy of ten. By a woman I knew for less than a week. Haven't seen for over ten years. Thought was dead. Is dead. Now…" He shook his head. "I don't know, J.B., and that's the honest truth. What do you think?"

  "Trader used to say you never went out on the highway with either animals or young children."

  Ryan sipped at his coffee-sub. "Sure. One thing I was wondering…"

  "Jak Lauren?"


  "That's right." He was startled at the way the Armorer had thought along the same lines. "If we can get him down there. Long way. But he'd be safe."

  "Safe, Ryan?"

  The kitchen was silent. Ryan was trying to run some alternative plays through his mind. From what he'd already seen of Dean, there didn't seem any doubt that he was an amazingly tough and self-sufficient ten-year-old boy.

  But he was a ten-year-old boy.

  "NEW CLOTHES!" Mildred exclaimed. "I can't fucking believe it. Oh, pardon my French! But I'd forgotten that such things existed."

  "Be a good idea if everyone got fixed up, best as they can." Ryan looked along the shelves at the shrink-wrapped, sealed packs of equipment. The stores were controlled for temperature and humidity, and everything looked to be in fine shape.

  "Changing rooms out back here," J.B. called. "Must've known we were coming. There's six of them."

  Ryan beckoned to Dean, ticking items off on his fingers. "Combat boots. Tight but not too tight. All-weather combat top and pants. T-shirt and underclothes. Good socks. Put those on before you try the boots. Shirt. Cotton, with pockets. Nothing in bright colors. Some kind of hat."

  "Don't like hats."

  "Get something, anyway. When you've got everything ready, come show me. All right?"

  "What about a blaster?" '

  "Clothes first."

  "All right, Dad."

  Everyone eventually managed to make some changes to their wardrobes.

  Some things altered, some things remained the same.

  Doc agreed to get fresh underclothes and a new white shirt, but he clung to the old-fashioned frock coat and antiquated breeches, as well as the cracked and worn knee boots.

  J.B. kept his leather jacket with its infinity of infinitely deep pockets, but he found a new pair of dark brown boots with steel toes and heels. He also outfitted himself with a pair of pants and a matching light brown shirt. Mildred tried to sneak away his beloved old fedora, but he caught her at it.

  "Wasn't there a pre-dark song about knocking a man down and stepping on his face?"