Zero City

by James Axler

  The wind noticeably lessened as they moved to the lee of a bowling alley, and Ryan and Krysty paused to examine a dead man embedded in the ground, his mouth packed solid with sand. The body was flayed to bones in spots from abrasion, and a smashed muzzle-loader that lay nearby showed he was from Alphaville. Tightening their own masks, the pair moved on.

  Suddenly, there was a tremendous crack and a billboard flew by overhead, tumbling end over end as the winds tore it apart. As if renewed by the destruction, the storm rose in power until the whole world seemed on the verge of shattering. The pair was forced flat against the wall, helpless to take a step in any direction. Then the winds diminished, dropping to a soft breeze. The lightning and thunder also eased, then died away completely. For a few moments, the companions stood listening to the blood pound in their ears as they adjusted to the unexpected silence. Then the tempest returned, but not as strong as before.

  "Almost over," Ryan shouted, using a knuckle to rub the windblown grit from his eye.

  "Too fast!" Krysty replied. "We need another hour!"

  "We aren't getting it! Better hurry."

  A single strand of her fiery hair flying free, Krysty gestured onward with her cloth-wrapped hand when a figure walked around the corner of the building. The man was dressed in military fatigues, with a handkerchief covering his mouth and an M-16 assault rifle in his grip.

  Instantly, Ryan raised his swaddled hand and fired, the silenced SIG-Sauer coughing once inside the big shoe box, the rags outside muffling the noise to almost inaudible. But the wind shifted his aim and the sec man staggered, only wounded in the shoulder.

  Snarling in pain, he pointed the M-16 and savagely pulled the trigger to no results. The dirty autofire was hopelessly jammed. Lunging forward, Krysty stabbed the sec man with the stiletto knife in her free hand. Dropping the blaster, the sec man fell backward clutching his gushing throat.

  Kneeling, Ryan finished him with a slash of the panga. Reloading their blasters was impossible until out of the storm, so every bullet counted. Which meant no mercy shots for the merely dying. Checking the body for any explosives, Krysty found none and the companions moved away from the site.

  "Fireblast, we better watch that wind shear," Ryan cursed, lowering his arm so the hot shell rolling about in the shoe box didn't rest on his bare skin. "I almost chilled the both of us with that."

  "Got you covered, lover," Krysty said, nudging him with an elbow.

  He grunted in reply. No matter how good you were, mistakes happened to everybody. But mistakes got you chilled in the Deathlands.

  A few blocks later, the pair froze and retreated into a recessed doorway. Standing in the middle of an intersection and making no attempt to hide was a sec man holding a bolt-action rifle, a towel tied across his mouth. His hair a wild frenzy, the red-faced guard bowed under the gusts of wind, but stayed right there, squinting against the dust and sand.

  "Perimeter guard," Ryan said, his hand double-checking that the safety was off his blaster.

  "We're close," she agreed grimly, making sure her own MAC-11 was set on single shot. "Double-team him?"

  "On the next upsurge. Check."

  Lightning flashed, and the storm increased for a few moments, blinding the sentry completely. Covering his face with an arm, he rode out the buffeting until the wind eased. Dropping the arm, he recoiled as a mummy charged out of the dust clouds. He raised his blaster and white-hot pain took him in the kidneys, then the throat. A terrible cold washed over the sec man and he dropped to the ground, pumping out blood. The dry soil absorbed the fluid on contact, the storm covering the crimson fluid and the dying man with ruthless efficiency.

  Systematically, the companions moved sideways along the picket of guards, traveling from man to man, until finally reaching where they started.

  "None of these men were large enough," Krysty said, wiping the gore off her stiletto.

  "So let's find more," Ryan replied.

  Two more guards were encountered and dispatched, along with a lieutenant found asleep in a telephone booth, before they reached the sloped ramp that led to the tunnel.

  Moving toward the embankment, the companions reached the tumbled entrance to the underground tunnel, the jagged pieces of concrete and twisted steel beams already partially buried under a softening blanket of sand. Four men struggled to haul away some of the smaller pieces of rubble, while a burly sergeant with an M-16 wrapped in a sweater stood guard. That was the right idea, but it was nowhere near enough protection for the weapon against the billowing sandstorm. However, the scuba mask on the sergeant's face gave him an unobstructed view through the stinging dust clouds, and that was trouble.

  Quickly, tactics were discussed, then the companions moved. Approaching from the direction of the wind, Krysty took out the sergeant first with the stiletto between the ribs, twisting the blade to enlarge the hole and deflate his lungs. No pressure meant no sound.

  Ryan grabbed the blaster to stop it from hitting the ground, as the sec man sighed out a warning and died. Laying the useless blaster aside, the man and woman simply walked behind each of the armed workers and shot them at point-blank range.

  Removing the jackets of the two largest men, Ryan and Krysty bundled the garments into an empty bag and took refuge behind one of the searchlights. A few handfuls of sand rubbed out most of the blood spots. Trying the jackets on over the camou wrappings, Krysty's fit perfectly in spite of her top-heavy figure. But Ryan's was too small in the shoulders, and he had to leave the jacket unbuttoned. Hopefully, nobody would notice.

  Now resembling sec men, they crawled out from behind the searchlight and studied the buildings on either side of the access ramp. Several windows were gone, probably from the concussion of the rockets. It also removed those places from the list of possible campsites for the baron and his men. A liquor store with an iron grating over its front window seemed a good location until they noticed a sandbag wall that closed off an alleyway, alongside a massive granite building on the corner. Boards covered the windows on both stories.

  "That's their base," Krysty said, tucking a loose strand of hair away, only to have it immediately fly free again.

  Ryan agreed. "Wags must be in the alley to cut the wind."

  Just then, light flared inside the liquor store directly across the street from the bank, then it was gone.

  "And there's the guard station," Ryan said, sounding disgusted. "Some fool is smoking on duty."

  Without a comment, Krysty started to crawl that way, but he stopped her. "Wags first."

  Rising, they darted across the street, hitting the wall, and waited for a response. None came. But now they could faintly hear the strains of a badly played harmonica. Moving to the sandbags, they climbed over to find a dozen vehicles draped with window curtains and carpeting. Krysty stood guard while Ryan opened the gas cap of each vehicle and slid a thin block of C-4 into the gas tank, the tiny timing pencil sticking out of the top like the wick on a candle.

  Crossing to the bank, Ryan stood guard while Krysty dug a small hole in the sand in front of the front door, placed a wrapped package gingerly inside, then smoothed the sand again. This process was repeated four times as they crossed the street.

  Reaching the sidewalk, the companions straightened their jackets, boldly walked over and knocked on the door to the liquor store. Nothing happened, so Ryan knocked harder to be heard over the gusting winds. There hadn't been any lightning for a while, and that was making the man anxious. If the storm died now, their attack would completely unravel. Without the masking effect of the dust clouds to hide them, this was a suicide mission.

  "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," a male voice said, and the door swung aside, showing a sec man with a napkin around his throat and holding a can of spaghetti with a spoon sticking out. "What the fuck is it now, Sarge? Rotation ain't for another hour."

  "Thanks for the info," Ryan said coldly.

  The SIG-Sauer coughed, and a hole appeared in the man's forehead. The corpse tumbled off to the
side, and they pushed their way into the store.

  The wall shelves and refrigerated cases were empty, along with the racks and displays. Not a speck of food remained anywhere. Even the cash register was broken, apparently from a sledgehammer blow judging from the damage.

  A fast recce revealed a back room with a couple of folding chairs, a table piled with supplies and a snoring man in an old Army cot against the far wall.

  "Wake up," Ryan said loudly, kicking the cot.

  The sec man awakened and froze at the sight of the strangers. His hand darted for his belt and found the empty holster at his hip. His gaze flicked to the table, then back to the masked people standing with a wad of rags swaddling their right hands.

  "Who the hell are you gleebs?" he asked, the ragged edge of sleep blurring his words slightly. "What's with the bandages—you hurt? Burned?"

  "Not important," Krysty snapped.

  "Talk to us about the baron, and you can live," Ryan added.

  "Whatcha gonna do, hit me with your bad hands? Fuck this," he snarled rising off the bunk. "Hey, Sal! Sal!"

  Ryan moved closer. "Sal is dead. Shot through the head."

  "With invisible blasters?" The sec man laughed.

  "Our blasters are protected from the storm."

  "Yeah? Show me."

  A head shake. "Takes too long to wrap them."

  He smiled tolerantly. "Of course." And with that, the man darted across the room toward a table covered with clothing and equipment.

  "Stop or die," Ryan warned, raising his shoe box.

  The man shoved an arm into the pile, and as he started to withdraw something, both companions fired. The sec man buckled under the double assault and fell, sprawling to the floor.

  "Never considered the possibility he wouldn't believe us," Ryan said, sounding annoyed. "Stupe."

  Spotting an Uzi on the table, Krysty checked it over to make sure it was a 9 mm, then slid the spare ammo clips in her bag for J.B. Ryan slid his panga into its sheath and took the Uzi itself.

  "Well, we can't uncover," the woman said. "It would take forever to get the strips right again. Want to try and capture another one alive? Mebbe we'll have better luck with the next guy."

  "Don't believe in luck," he said, awkwardly setting the Uzi for full-auto with one hand. "Besides, we can't risk it. The baron or a sec boss has got to notice that something is odd soon, and then it's show time."

  Moving to the front of the store, they took positions near the front door and watched the street and corner. Dust devils danced along the gutters, a steady stream of sand blowing past them. It was like looking at a river.

  "Gaia!" Krysty said, spinning on the man and staring at his face in frustration. "We are idiots!"

  "What's wrong?" he asked. "Everything is going according to plan."

  "Your eye."

  Ryan touched his good eye, then scowled under his mask. "None of them have patches. They'll spot me for a phony immediately."

  "Just a minute." The redhead went into the back room, then came out and checked behind the counter. "Ah, knew there had to be some in stock. Here."

  He took the item and unfolded them. Sunglasses. They would cut down his vision, but it was their best bet. Sliding them on, he tucked the ends under the wrappings and shook his head violently.

  "They're not coming off," Krysty said, brushing back her loose strand of hair again.

  "Good." Peeling back the rags on his wrist, Ryan glanced at his chron. "Too long. They're taking too long."

  "Prime the pump?" she asked, raising her shoe box.

  "Use this," he said, giving her the Uzi. "You shoot, I'll do the rest. Haven't seen any women guards yet."

  "Agreed." Stepping outside, Krysty fired a burst into the air, and Ryan yelled as if gut shot. Then the woman peppered the front of the bank with the rest of the clip, and they ducked back inside the store.

  Seconds later, armed men poured into the street by the dozens. Some hit the ground while others spread out in a defensive pattern.

  "A lot more than we bargained for," Krysty whispered, dropping the exhausted blaster.

  "The more the better for this job," Ryan countered grimly.

  "What the hell is going on?" demanded a sec man in bare feet.

  "Where are the sentries?" a sergeant asked gruffly, cradling a longblaster. "Phil, Kaja, check the tunnel!"

  The couple jogged over and returned just as fast.

  "They're all dead, Sarge!" Phil reported.

  "Shot and stabbed," Kaja added.

  Suddenly, the door to the liquor store swung open, and out came two sec men with cloth covering their faces as protection from the storm.

  "Hey, guys, see anything?" a sergeant shouted over the noise of the storm.

  "No, sir," replied the big guy in sunglasses. Then a tremendous blast filled the alleyway and sandbags cannonballed out, slamming into the stores across the street, smashing windows.

  "Rockets!" a sec man shouted, and he started to fire wildly at the rooftops. A dozen more joined in shooting at anything and everything. But the weapons jammed constantly, and frantic hands struggled to clear the clogged mechanisms. But opening the breeches only made matters worse.

  Deadly calm, Krysty and Ryan moved through the shouting crowd, their shoe boxes softly chugging. Sec men fell over, clutching their chest and bellies, blasters dropping.

  "Snipers!" the corporal cried as a dead man collapsed at his feet. "Brewer, get on the roof and kill anybody you find!"

  "Sir!" But the sec man took a single step before he also fell.

  With the wind howling, another blast ripped apart the alleyway, spewing out chunks of vehicles, a flaming wheel rolling through the crowd of sec men. Stepping out of its way, Krysty shot the corporal in the throat to stop his commands.

  Killing four more, Ryan reached the bank and kicked open the door. There were only a few people inside, and behind a teller's cage was the youth from the platform in the ville. Only now he was dressed in a clean black uniform dripping with weapons, but it was his carriage and bearing that showed he was in charge, the new Baron Strichland. Their gazes locked for a moment. Registering shock, the teenager frowned and reached for his fancy blasters.

  "Goodbye, Leonard," Ryan said, firing three times.

  But the bullets slammed to a stop in midair directly before the startled teenager, a spiderweb of cracks radiating from each impact point. Ryan cursed and retreated outside fast. Fireblast, this was a bank and the kid had been standing behind a sheet of bulletproof glass. His one chance to end this matter permanently had gone to hell.

  Only a heartbeat behind, sec men burst out the door, and Ryan shot the ground at their feet. The buried charge went off, blowing them to pieces and showering burning gasoline across the front of the building. The desert winds fanned the flames, but instead of extinguishing the blaze, actually seemed to feed the fire with every gust.

  Retreating amid the enemy, Ryan knew that was a specialty of J.B.'s, mixing thermite with a Molotov to create an unstoppable chem fire that lasted for minutes even underwater. Nothing but time could kill those flames.

  Just then a section of the road exploded, harming nobody, merely throwing sand at the sky. Everybody moved away from that location and the street under them now erupted in a series of blasts, pieces of bodies flying everywhere.

  "Rockets!" one man cried, dragging a broken leg. "Run!"

  "Land mines!" yelled another, clutching a bleeding arm. "Nobody move!"

  Right on schedule, the alley thundered again as lightning flashed, and Ryan and Krysty moved through the shouting men, their weapons chugging steadily, bodies dropping in their wake like harvested wheat.

  A corporal standing too near realized what was happening and turned his blaster on the pair. He got off a hasty shot, missing Ryan completely and hitting one of his own men. The one-eyed man chilled the corporal and met with Krysty on the far corner away from the burning bank.

  "I've got six rounds," the woman said.

  "F
our," he replied. "Time to go."

  "Check."

  Placing their last few shots on just officers, Ryan and Krysty backed away from the baron's army, and paused to stand directly on a smooth patch of sand between a bare metal mailbox and hydrant.

  "Hey! The sniper ran this way!" Ryan shouted, waving to the sec men. Several caught the call and passed along the news to the others. Soon a crowd of the men was coming their way.

  "This way! Hurry!" Krysty added, waving.

  As the sec men got near, the companions took off fast at a run. Thinking they were chasing the sniper, a dozen sec men charged and reached the smooth section of sand almost exactly as the big ticking bomb buried there detonated.

  The men on top of the explosive charge simply vanished, the thunderclap and fireball knocking the rest to the ground covered with flames. Shrieking, the human torches dashed about amid their brethren, setting others on fire, spreading terror until the troops started firing on one another in confusion.

  Dropping their stolen jackets, Ryan and Krysty disappeared unobserved into the dying storm.

  SMASHING HIS FIST onto the Plexiglas shield of the teller's cage didn't dislodge the jammed rounds, and Leonard savagely turned upon his troops.

  "Boxes! They used boxes!" the young baron shouted. "I saw it! Blasters inside boxes with strips of cloth to hold them in place!"

  "Smart," Sergeant Jarmal grumbled, bandaging a wound in his arm. He had a good suspicion it was from his own men, but that was a matter for later. The sec men had just gotten their butts kicked and were burning for revenge on the faceless enemy.

  "DeLellis, what is the death toll?" Leonard snapped, pointing at the man with a clipboard.

  "Sixty-four, my lord," the corporal reported, brushing sand from his face to read the hastily scribbled list of names. "Mostly officers. Which leaves us thirty."

  "Wounded?"

  "Nothing serious. Only minor flesh wounds. The snipers killed damn near everybody they hit."