Starfall

by neetha Napew

  "Krysty?" he prompted.

  "Yeah." Mildred sat across from him, pulling her knees in close and wrapping her arms around her legs. "I'm wor­ried about her, John. What we're talking about here with this dead woman in her mind is like possession."

  J.B. took off his glasses and cleaned them on the tail of his shirt. He had to work at it because they were still caked with feces. Mostly he kept his mind off of it because he'd been working on the blasters. He nodded.

  "Possession," Mildred went on, "like with a ghost or something."

  J.B. shook his head.

  "Yeah, yeah, I know. You haven't ever seen a ghost. And mebbe I haven't, either, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. Shit, nobody back in the 1990s would have figured I could have been stuck in a cryogenic tank for a hundred years and woke up to find the whole world blown to hell. Of course, it's probably hard for you to imagine the world before nukecaust."

  J.B. went back to working on the blasters. What was hardest to imagine, what he sometimes still dreamed about, was walking into a sporting-goods store. He'd seen pictures in some old vids. Schwarzenegger stories, where the actor had just walked into a store and bought nearly any damn thing he wanted. He saw part of a vid where the man had walked into a military surplus store and picked up enough handheld weps to take out most armored wags.

  That had been impressive.

  And it was the stuff of fairy tales. Not ghosts.

  "Used to be afraid of ghosts when I was a kid," Mildred admitted. "I went to movies just to be scared. Jason. Freddie. Michael Myers. Hell, we all went to those just to be scared. Poltergeists, they weren't that big a deal. Invisible for the most part. Just destructive. Rearranged furniture in houses, made shit fly through the air, sucked kids into tele­visions. But some of those movies about ghosts, they had them taking over people. Forcing them to do things they would never have done before. Never really thought about it before, about how bad it would be to be took over like that."

  "And now Krysty," J.B. said.

  "I'm worried about her, and that's no lie. I guess I told you my daddy was a hellfire-and-brimstone preacher in his day."

  J.B. remembered as he scraped rust free of a .45's slide with a bit of steel wool he kept in his kit. Mildred's father had also been the victim of a firebombing, race-inspired violence that had been prevalent at the time, when she'd still just been a baby. She hadn't known him at all except through pictures and stories her family had told her.

  "They said he did exorcisms in his church," Mildred went on. "Casting out demons and working against Satan himself."

  "Didn't know he was Catholic."

  Mildred laughed. "Oh hell, no. He'd have probably been pissed if anybody had suggested that to him. But in the South back then, John, they still believed in demons and Satan working through people. Had to be cast out through prayer and fasting."

  "Mebbe that'd work for Krysty."

  Mildred was quiet for a moment. "I don't know, John. But I do know what she's going through isn't easy. I'm going to pray for her and hope my daddy's looking out for me and my friends just a little these days. Sometimes a little faith is all you need."

  "Ryan isn't going to let anything happen to her."

  "I know. But until he gets this thing figured out, I'd just like to know everything's going to be okay."

  J.B. took her hand into his and squeezed it. "Every­thing's going to be okay."

  She smiled and kissed him, unshed tears glinting in her eyes. "I know it will be. I just wanted to hear you say it. I'm glad we can talk like this."

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Gonna be dark soon," Morse commented, squinting up at the darkening canopy of trees over the river.

  Ryan stood next to the boat's captain and scanned the water. The color had gone from green to black as the sky lost the sun. "Is there a place nearby where we can put up for the night?" He'd taken Jak's place watching over the man, letting the albino grab a quick nap.

  "Along here, we can put up damn near anywhere."

  "We can't all sleep on the boat," Ryan pointed out. "Got to have defensible coastline wherever we put to." All of them sleeping on the boat wasn't what he wanted to do, either. It was one thing when the boat was under way; then they had the wind to push them along. At rest, the boat left little space on board to run to. Open terrain offered a better chance to flee or fight.

  Morse nodded. "There's a cove farther ahead. But there's no chance of us getting there before dark."

  Ryan glanced at the thick underbrush along the banks. Over the past hour, he'd seen snakes, insects and animals he wanted to keep plenty of distance from. "Then that's where we'll head."

  Morse shook his head in disgust. "Make more and better sense to stay aboard Junie if you don't want to sleep out. Running in the dark is triple stupe. Junie ain't lighted for night running."

  Ryan turned on the man, fixing him with his one-eyed glare. "You do it or I do it. Either way, it gets done." Worrying about Krysty left him even more short-tempered than usual about having his decisions questioned.

  "I'll do it," Morse said, "but I ain't gonna like it. Gotta get my boys to use poles as we go along. And running slow speed with the wind strong like this is triple hard."

  Ryan ignored the man's comments with effort. If Morse and his knowledge hadn't been necessary, he'd have heaved the man overboard.

  ELMORE LOOKED UP as Ryan approached, squinting through the darkness that had blanketed the river. Now that the sun had fully gone down below the western rim of the world, the temperature had cooled, drawing up a thick gray fog that surged restlessly in the pale moonlight.

  "What do you want?" Elmore demanded. He'd re­mained taciturn since they'd left Idaho Falls, acting more like a prisoner than a freed man. Of course, it hadn't helped that Dean had kept such a close watch on him.

  Ryan stopped in front of him, out of reach of a quick effort if Elmore decided to attempt to seize a weapon and take his chances overboard. "You never did say where we'd catch up with Donovan."

  Elmore shook his head. "You're asking to take a peek at my hole card."

  "No." Ryan stood with the Steyr canted on his hip. He and Jak had already spotted a dozen large amphibians crawling into the water in the boat's wake. Neither of them had been able to identify them properly, but they'd felt they were a mutie strain of raccoon. The creatures had possessed fur and the familiar mask of a raccoon, but they'd been nearly four feet long and had no problem going under water for long periods of time. "Heading up north the way we're going, things are liable to get dicey. Be good to know where we can look for Donovan." He paused. "In case."

  "In case I get chilled?" Elmore asked. He laughed bit­terly. "You're a hard man, Ryan. Got no reason to expect any sympathy from you. Nor even a fair shake."

  "Wouldn't give it," Ryan said honestly. "Sympathy's a waste of time, a down payment on getting a ticket for a seat on the last train to the coast. A fair shake's out of the question when your needs conflict with mine or those of my friends."

  "So as long as your woman's afflicted, I'm necessary?"

  "Not even then," Ryan answered. "We got a general idea of where the Heimdall Foundation is. We could find it. So looking at it the way you are now, we don't need you to get there. What you can do is save us time. You need to keep that in mind."

  "If you don't need me, then why not let me go?"

  "I don't need you," Ryan pointed out, "but we're going to use you. You know Donovan by sight. Mebbe he'll listen to you long enough to get him to listen to us. People we bumped into that were with the Heimdall Foundation weren't real popular where we were. I reckon that's about the way it is anywhere up here." He gave the man a crooked, mirthless smile. "Baron Shaker's men gave me that impression, too."

  "There are a lot of people who don't hold with where it comes to the Foundation," Elmore said. "But they're doing important work up there. Work that will mebbe answer some questions that happened during the nukecaust."

  "What happened then doesn't mean a t
hing to me," Ryan told him. He stared hard at the man. "In case some­thing did happen to you, where could we find Donovan?" A sour look filled Elmore's face. "This time of year, he'll be up north and east of the compound. On the east side of the Rockies near a ville used to be called Anaconda. They call it Condaville these days, and it's a frontier boom-town of sorts. Got some people there who've used the river to make a big mill, and there's river trade along the Clark Fork River. People bringing in wheat they grow to be ground into flour. Not a big place, but one where you can get some things."

  "What's Donovan doing there?"

  "The Foundation's landlocked and it's in the moun­tains," Elmore said. "Best place for an observatory. And you can see folks coming for miles. Place is buttoned up tight, underground. You wouldn't know it was there—un­less you knew it was there. Water supply gets to be a prob­lem. Donovan's the guy that solved that problem. And that's where you'll find him. Along the Clark Fork River."

  "Where? River's big."

  "Don't know. Just somewhere along in there. We run into somebody we know, mebbe we'll find out more." Elmore's eyes darted nervously. "People you run into, they'll be more likely to talk to me than a stranger."

  "I know."

  "Just thought you might want to keep that in mind."

  Ryan was more concerned about the distance involved, knowing that the companions were in for some hard trav­eling. It wasn't something they weren't accustomed to, but he had to wonder how much Krysty could take.

  He left Elmore sitting against the railing and went for­ward into the prow. Sandy and Bud used long poles to feel for the river bottom as their father cut their speed to a crawl. Lanterns hung off stout supports from the prow, but the light did little to beat back the darkness.

  "Cove!" Bud yelled, pointing.

  Ryan looked ahead, following the direction of the boy's arm. There, nearly sixty yards ahead, he saw a jog along the riverbank that was almost hidden by low-hanging tree branches and brash.

  Morse adjusted the sail, and Junie slowed a little more and pulled to starboard. "Drop anchor!" he called.

  Sandy tossed the tripronged anchor over the side and started paying out the line. Bud joined him, and the boys wrapped the line around one of the prow cleats, paying it out grudgingly to slow the sailcraft still further. Their ef­forts were fluid and obviously practiced. In minutes, the boat butted into place in the shallows near the bank beneath low-hanging trees.

  "Got a deeper draw here than you'd expect," Morse called, tying the wheel fast.

  Ryan nodded, staring at the twenty feet of water sepa­rating them from the riverbank. Under the overhanging boughs, though, he could see the scars of past campsites, the vines and creepers not quite overgrowing the areas where campfires and pallets had been pitched. They had some work to do before they settled in for the night, but his chron told him it was only half-past eight. Dark still came early in the northern climes this early in the year.

  "Gonna have to do some wading if you're gonna sleep on the bank," Morse said. He sniffed delicately. "Course, I don't see that it's gonna hurt them clothes none."

  Ryan agreed. The thing that bothered him most was what the river might hold. Then and later.

  "FUCK!" DEAN BELLOWED as he pushed himself out of the water and up on the other side. He pulled up a shirtsleeve. "Leeches! Bastard bloodsuckers!"

  Ryan pulled himself up to wading distance, cutting through the water as quickly as he could while helping Krysty. He could already feel the leeches moving through his clothing, as well, tiny whispers of damp, cold movement that wouldn't be denied. The woman, Mary, screamed that they were crawling in her ears, which caused some consternation on her husband's part. The couple flailed in the water as he tried to ease her panic and check her ears.

  "Dumb fucks," Jak commented, looking out at the pair. He'd brought their boy ashore after Ryan had assured Mary the albino could swim like a fish and would be safe with him. Neither Mary nor her husband, Jim, could swim well, and it showed. "They fuck around, drown." He put the boy on the ground and started stripping him out of the wet clothes.

  The boy tried to squirm away.

  Jak grabbed his young charge by the hair of the head and forced him to his knees. "Stand still, stupe!" the albino ordered. "Run into brush, might end up in something's belly. Get leeches off before make sick."

  Reluctantly, obviously giving in to the pain, the boy stayed on his knees and didn't fight Jak.

  The albino slipped out one of his leaf-bladed throwing knives and slid the point under one of a half-dozen leeches attached to the boy's back. He flipped them away with prac­ticed ease, tossing them into the dirt and stamping them to death under his boot heel. He made occasional forays across his own body, flicking away leeches that came out into the open.

  Mary and Jim finally had to be towed in from the water by a rope Bud threw to them. Sandy and Dean pulled them in, then used it again to draw Doc and the orphaned little girl across as quickly as possible.

  J.B. came across with Mildred, dragging an oilskin pouch after him that Ryan felt certain contained the blasters he'd found. Morse ordered his boys into action, getting them to help him tie down the sailboat. Her rigging pinged metal­lically against the masts.

  "Noise is going to give us away," Ryan said to Morse. He started skinning out of his clothes, Krysty stripping down beside him. Modesty was cheap in the Deathlands, and the companions didn't have a problem with it even in front of strangers.

  The sailor grinned. "Might draw some of the two-legged varmints that ply these waters sometime, but it'll chase the four-legged kind."

  "I must confess," Doc hollered as he pulled off his frock coat, "that those creatures that stalked us earlier have been somewhat worrisome on my mind."

  "Wharf rats ain't nothing," Bud called out as he shinnied out of his clothes. "Purely come out at night. And they see the first sign of light, they go away. Put up a campfire, they stay away, too. Seen them eating dead things, but never attack nobody could take care of their self."

  Stripped down, Ryan used a small knife to pluck the leeches from Krysty's fair skin, taking time to remind his lover with his touch that he hadn't forgotten about her. Everybody paired up, with Dean and Jak taking care of the two youngsters, then trading off on each other. Doc paired up with Elmore, while Morse had his sons strip him clear.

  "Leeches are particularly bad this time of year," the sailor said. "Just into the breeding cycle for them, and ain't been any good floods yet to wash them away. Expect them anytime, though."

  Ryan took charge of the camp, dividing the chores among the group. J.B. stayed at the campsite and cleared the brush so they'd have a defensible position and nothing would interfere with their line of sight. Ryan marked the area he wanted cleared with the panga, slashing through the heavy growth and small trees. Morse had brought over three machetes in his equipment, as well as ring pulls to cook with. He and his boys joined J.B. in clearing the un­dergrowth around the camp's perimeter, though the old sailor was vocal in his opinion that it wasn't necessary. One look from Ryan, though, and he'd gone straight to work.

  Morse had also brought the bows and arrows from the boat. Ryan took the bows, keeping one for himself, then passing the others out to Jak and Dean. J.B. was good in the brush, as well, but he wanted the Armorer on hand in case Elmore or Morse decided getting the hell out of the area was in their best interests.

  Doc busied himself with scavenging the local flora and fauna to add to whatever supper Ryan, Jak and Dean were able to bring down. Self-heats hadn't sounded good to any­one after they'd had them earlier in the day, and Ryan wanted something solid to put in Krysty's stomach to keep her strength up.

  The others, under Krysty's and Mildred's supervision, were put to work gathering firewood.

  Satisfied, Ryan led Jak and Dean into the thick forest surrounding the river. The bow wasn't his favorite weapon, but it allowed them to conserve the precious little ammo they had left and not announce their presence for miles.
>
  Bud and Sandy had informed them that the local game included rabbits, quail, frogs and turkeys. Bears lived in the forest, as well, and a small type of mountain cat.

  Ryan went naked except for the SIG-Sauer and panga belted around his lean hips, his boots, and the Steyr across his back. Mosquitoes were a problem, but Morse had a foul-smelling concoction in his kit that kept them away. After wearing dog shit for hours, the mosquito repellent was easy to put up with, although it left a greasy film that shone in the moonlight.

  Jak and Dean were naked, as well, moving through the shadows like savages. Ryan was proud of his son; he was used to Jak not making any noise, but even Dean was soundless.

  Less than five minutes into the brush, Ryan spotted a young tom turkey that probably dressed out near to fifteen pounds. The bird lurked in the shadows thirty feet away, only the bobbing of its head and the light band across its wings attracting Ryan's attention. The one-eyed man squat­ted beside a tree and nocked an arrow, breathing shallowly as he steadied himself for the shot.

  Before he could release the bowstring, an arrow plunged through the night and burst through the turkey's head. The force of the shaft dragged the turkey's head sideways, pin­ning it to the side of a nearby tree.

  The turkey beat its wings as it died, making only tiny noises because the shaft evidently lodged in its throat as well. Other sudden movement erupted around the turkey as more birds ran through the brush and tried to take flight.

  Marking the other archer's probable location from the angle of the shot, Ryan loosed his shaft at a turkey hen leaping for a low-hanging branch. His arrow caught her in midflight, nailing one of her wings to her body. She screamed in pain as she fell, then flopped on the ground.

  Dean slipped out of the shadows and squatted beside her to slit her throat with his knife, stilling her mournful cries. "Lot of noise, Dad," he admonished. "Should have aimed for the head."

  Ryan grinned at his son, feeling proud. "I'll try to re­member that in the future."