Thunder Road

by James Axler

  J.B. and Jak were, in their own ways, cold and dark with impotent rage at what had happened. It was their watch, and they had failed. More than that, they were both now on the ground, twisted at odd angles because of the speed with which the gas had taken effect while they tried to rally the group, both struck down within yards of each other. J.B. could see Jak’s legs, above his head now that he was horizontal. Both could see the bike approach, and cursed the mystery rider. Coldheart bastard could do what the hell he liked with them and they would be unable to take revenge or even put up a fight.

  Chapter Five

  The motorcycle ate up the distance. Thunder Rider had carefully dismantled the grenade launcher, packing it away in the pod and securing it. The surveillance equipment he had also packed away. The nerve gas was such that he knew there would be no further need for it. As he’d mounted the bike and kicked the starter, feeling the powerful engine rev up beneath him, he’d known that he had turned a corner in his fight for justice. He would have one ally before the night was through. He would take her back to base, show her the extent of his operation, persuade her that his fight was her fight.

  How could she not be won over by his persuasive arguments? She would obviously want to join in his fight, and stay by his side.

  Strange. He had not really considered that before. Not seriously. But the more he considered it, the more obvious it became. Of course she would persuade her companions that it would be in their best interests to form an alliance with Thunder Rider, and to use their knowledge and ability along with his technology in the fight to bring justice back to the land. But why, then, would she want to rejoin them when she could be at his side, his partner…He felt the surge of the engine between his thighs and a tingle of excitement ran through him. The beginnings of a dynasty of crime fighters, perhaps?

  No. It was too soon to think of that. To think of anything at all, other than the matter in hand, was inadvisable. If there was one thing that he had learned in the short time since his mission began, it was that his ability to stay focused was in need of honing.

  No. It was too soon.

  He shook his head to clear his mind, looked ahead of him. Through the infrared of the goggles he could see that the nerve gas had taken effect. The six members of the group were arrayed around the fire, twisted into contorted positions, trapped by the gas in the attitudes in which they had fallen. As he neared them, he could see that the albino and the Armorer were closest. Their eyes were open, and even at this distance he felt sure he could see the hostility in their glares.

  He couldn’t blame them. In their position he would have felt exactly the same. The only thing he could do was to hope that when they saw the complete picture, they would understand that it had to be this way.

  He slowed the bike, steering its thick tired wheels between them. Farther on, he could see the black woman and the old man. The one-eyed man—named Ryan Cawdor if intel reports were correct—was just to one side of them. He was facedown…could be dangerous. Thunder Rider could not let this man perish in such an ignominious manner. He would attend to it shortly.

  But first, his eyes sought his prey…

  There she was, on her back, staring at the night sky. He walked over to her, leaned over and looked into her eyes, seeing only incomprehension by the light of the campfire, not fear. That he would have expected, in such a situation. Good. It showed her toughness.

  Leaving her for a second, he went over to where the one-eyed man lay on his front, face in danger of being buried in the sand by its own weight. Thunder Rider leaned over him, grasped him firmly by the shoulders and heaved him over onto his back. The man was no fool. He should realize that Rider was saving him. Not that he would expect him to be grateful. No, he would still be angry. But perhaps he would wonder why Thunder Rider had done this, and it would give him pause for thought.

  Thunder Rider was surprised by the feel of the man’s body as he turned him. The skin of his arms was leathery, the muscle and sinew beneath the clothing was hard and compact. So different to Thunder Rider. He had trained hard, or so he’d thought. Yet compared to this man he was soft and flabby. That was something he would have to attend to, and soon. A bout of more rigorous training in the gym would be in order.

  As Ryan Cawdor fell onto his back, his single orb glared up into Thunder Rider’s face. Despite his own righteousness, Thunder Rider was for a moment glad that he was wearing goggles and that Cawdor could not see into his own eyes. For the single orb held such barely contained fury, such malevolence and anger, such desire for revenge, that it sent a shiver down his spine. A small, quavering voice at the back of his mind told him that this man would take much in the way of placating and explanation before he would understand the mission, or even be willing to understand.

  He left the one-eyed man staring malevolently up at him. Backing away, wondering if it would be of any use to offer placating words, he opted to deal with the real reason for his actions. She lay, still breathing with a gasping shallowness, a few yards away.

  He had to collect her and take her before the others began to recover movement. Without a word, he leaned over and gathered her inert frame in his arms, lifting her effortlessly off the surface of the desert. She was lighter than he had expected, although in part her body was as hard and toned as Ryan Cawdor’s. Other parts of it were softer, and this was a sensation that he found appealing. For a moment, it almost distracted him again.

  He looked down into her face as he lifted her, and could see confusion writ large in her expression. Perhaps it was time to offer a few words of comfort. He spoke, keeping his voice low for now.

  “There is nothing for you to fear, Krysty Wroth. Yes, I know your name. I know who you are. I know who your companions are. I have a mission for you. One that I think I share with all of you. But I am only just come into this world, and so have no alliances. I want you to be one of those alliances that I seek, but I would understand your mistrust. The weeds of crime and injustice grow rank on the surface of this world. Their fruits are bitter for those who taste them. Together, you and I—and those who are your fellow travelers—could make a difference. But I know that you would not trust me without proof. And I know that you would not give me the chance to prove myself of your own free will. I understand this. So I have been forced to adopt measures that may seem to you to be intrusive and villainous. For this I can only apologize, and hope that you will soon come to understand the reasons for my actions.”

  Saying no more, Thunder Rider carried her over to his bike. Her form was inert, but with a slight stiffness and inability to bend, her muscles tautened in paralysis by the effects of the nerve gas. So it was with slightly more difficulty than he had anticipated that he maneuvered her onto the pillion of the bike, using synthetic fiber ropes to secure her in an upright position, using her own inertia and balance against her.

  Feeling slightly more awkward than he would have wished, he turned away when he had finished and, raising his voice slightly, addressed the others as they lay motionless. It seemed strange to talk to people who were so apparently unresponsive, even though he knew that they could understand his every word.

  “People, I regret the measures that I have had to take. And I apologize for the seeming abduction of your companion. I realize that this may seem to be an act of hostility, but I hope that in the long term you will understand my reasons for acting as I have, and will realize the necessity if my aims and plans are to be implemented swiftly.

  “Although you are all currently immobilized, and have been for the past hour or so, the effects will begin to wear off after a maximum of three hours. By this time, I will be too far away for you to trail me. Rest assured that I will contact you when I—and Krysty—are ready. You will experience no ill-effects from the gas, and will be able to move and act normally within a very short while.

  “I will leave you now. Krysty is in no danger. Nor are you. I hope, I say again, that you will understand shortly why this was necessary.”

&
nbsp; Without pause, feeling that he had said all that he could, Thunder Rider turned and mounted his machine. Tying Krysty’s arms around him, for extra balance, he kicked the engine into life and slowly piloted the machine out of the fire’s glow and into the darkness of the desert night.

  He did not look back as he opened the engine and roared across the sandy soil. The feel of the redheaded woman against him was satisfying yet also disturbing and confusing.

  It was a feeling that he enjoyed.

  ALTHOUGH SHE WOULD NOT HAVE cared to share their suffering if she had known the mental torture, at that moment Krysty would have given anything to have been there rather than here. Still paralyzed, her nerve endings feeding her nothing, she was reliant only on what she could see, hear and smell, and on the workings of her own mind.

  Where was this triple-crazy stupe taking her? And what did he intend to do with her when they got there?

  She felt like she could vomit. The effects of the gas had left her with little strength, and it was only because of the way that the mystery rider had secured her that she could be sure she would not fall off, even if she passed out. And, frankly, consciousness was flickering in and out as she saw the sun rise. The words the man had spoken to her, and then to the others, whirled around her head, and she tried to understand them. This was a person who had a completely different way of looking at the world.

  She knew that if she was going to survive, if she was going to bide her time until she was in a position to effect an escape, then she would have to understand that way. It was crucial to her survival.

  Survival.

  She wondered, with the last thought before she passed out, if the others would survive long enough to try to follow her.

  J.B. FELT IT FIRST, A TINGLING at the extremities, spreading with a warmth that soon turned to agonizing cramp. It came to rest in the chest cavity, where it felt as though it had gripped his heart and lungs like a vise at full screw.

  He gasped, yelled and sat bolt-upright, clutching at his chest. It was only after he had gulped down several lungfuls of air and the pain had started to subside that he realized he was able to move once again.

  He tried to get to his feet. It took him falling back down three times before he made it on the fourth. He felt weak and defenseless still, but he was on his feet at the very least. Staggering, he made his way over to Mildred. She was still immobile, but behind him he heard Jak scream as the cramps started to spread through his body.

  “Millie…It hurts like fuck, but once…” He could read incomprehension in her eyes. Then she, too, screamed in a high-pitched wail, her torso coming up at an odd angle, her head cracking against his, bright lights going off in his brain. He fell once more, a wave of nausea sweeping over him, bile gagging in his throat. He hawked and spit it out. He was quicker to recover his equilibrium this time. Mildred was on her feet, as unsteady as a newborn foal. She clung to him for support.

  By the time they were both able to stand unsupported, Ryan and Doc had also experienced the intense agonies of the gas wearing off. The five friends were now tottering around the dying embers of the fire, not knowing what they were doing; what they should be doing. The pain, the weakness, the disorientation. It felt in some ways as though they were more vulnerable now than they had been when they were paralyzed.

  Gradually, it subsided. No one spoke, each wrapped in his or her own thoughts. What to say and where to begin? Come to that, no one yet had the strength to talk. They drank to rehydrate, ate for the salts and sugars they had lost during the paralysis and the rising of the sun. Eventually, after what had seemed like the longest few hours they had ever lived through, Jak finally spoke, quietly but with an unmistakable venom.

  “Catch bastard, chill slowly. Enjoy it. Not want hurt us. Lucky night critters not interested.”

  No one had any real argument with that. A lengthy silence ensued before Mildred spoke.

  “What did that half-wit think he was talking about? Why the hell did he take Krysty away?”

  Ryan shook his head. “Figure you’d know better than me. He was using language like I’ve only heard in predark vids. Tell you something, though. He’d better not harm Krysty.”

  “She can look after herself,” J.B. commented.

  “Mebbe normally, but not if she’s as fucked as we are,” Ryan muttered.

  “I suspect that she may be all right, at least for the time being,” Doc said with some reflection. “If I understood our enemy correctly, he thinks that we are his friends—or at least, could be. I surmised that his intention is to convert Krysty to his cause, and use her to persuade us of the rightness of his.”

  “But why, for God’s sake?” Mildred exploded.

  Doc gave a sad smile. “Because, my dear Doctor, I fear that like so many of us, he may not be exactly of sound mind.”

  “Crazy. Great.” Jak snorted.

  Doc’s smile broadened. “I think you may have missed my point, dear boy. If he has this one aim in mind—that Krysty become converted to his cause in order to convert us—then he will do all within his power to keep her alive and well. It is in his best interests. And, of course, he is unwittingly buying us time to find and destroy him.”

  Ryan nodded. “I think you might be right, Doc. The question is, how long have we got, and are we in any fit state to fight?”

  “Maybe not now, but we’ve no injuries to recover. Just the remains of that damn gas to get out of our systems,” Mildred mused. “And that can be happening while we’re on his trail.”

  “Besides, he’s going to be looking for us sooner or later, right?” J.B. pointed out.

  “Exactly, my dear John Barrymore,” Doc agreed. “The irony is that he has mistaken our pragmatism for a sense of spurious justice, and faith in a law that no longer exists. A misunderstanding that will lead him straight back to us. In a sense, we have no need to chase him. He will come to us.”

  Ryan’s face split into a grin for the first time in hours. “Guess you’re right, Doc. But let’s give him a little surprise. Let’s go after the coldheart bastard anyway, and meet him halfway. Full-on.”

  Chapter Six

  Unconsciousness had at least given her a respite. To be dragged from it and thrown into a world of pain and confusion was not how she would have chosen to have surfaced. She was still on the bike, still secured to the mystery rider, and the wind chill from their speed was freezing bones that had only just regained the sense to feel.

  And how. The cramps that the others had felt on their recovery were intensified for her by the weakness she still felt, and by her restraints. She was unable to move with the spasms, and did not have the energy to fight against the painful contortions of her muscles. The agony ripped through her head in a welter of flashing lights behind her closed eyes, like synapses exploding and splattering her brain against the insides of her skull. She opened her eyes, hoping that light and the sense of where she was would somehow still the waves of nausea that welled up in her throat, pressing against the sore hollow of her breastbone.

  Her eyes were immediately hit by brilliant sunlight, strobed by the movement of the rider’s broad back as it moved on the saddle in front of her. The movement also broke up the wind that whipped over and around the man. He sheltered her from the worst of the buffeting, but this only had the effect of making what did hit her seem all the harder. It sucked the breath from her mouth and nose, making her gulp for air when all she wanted to do was to take a deep breath.

  The convulsions caused by the cramps made her twitch uncontrollably on the pillion of the huge bike. She was grateful for its size as, even though the rider still had to adjust to the way in which she momentarily threw his balance, her convulsions would have thrown them from a smaller machine.

  She knew she was going to puke. If she did it all over his back it would stink, maybe even splash back on her face, which would make her puke some more. Frankly, she doubted that she had the strength in her to heave more than the once. She was more likely to choke herself.
If she had to go out, she wanted to go out fighting, not choking on her own spew while she was tied to a captor.

  She hung her head out to one side, hoping that the convulsions wouldn’t be so strong as to overbalance her, throwing her from the bike. The wind from their speed blew her hair out behind them like the clouds of dust that rose in their wake. The chill was such that the heat of the sun didn’t even register for her. She could have done with it at that moment, as a cold shiver swept through her, the sweat on her back like ice.

  She opened her mouth, surrendering to the reflexive cramps in her stomach that rippled up her esophagus, forcing bile into her throat, deep poison following…

  Her stomach felt like it was turning over and over, trying to flip itself inside out as she emptied everything inside her in a stream that trailed out behind them, the wet sound of it hitting the desert dirt lost in the roar of the bike and the distance that was eaten up at great speed.

  She hawked and spit the last remnants from her mouth before righting herself. The sour taste was unpleasant, and she could feel it running down her chin, the stench drifting up to her nose. But the cold sweat had passed, and the muscle cramps were subsiding. A little taste and smell she could take for a while.

  She was weak, like a newborn. She felt physically defenseless. But she knew that would pass. There were other ways of defending yourself. Like being prepared.

  She tried to piece together what had happened. She felt as though she had once had a grasp on it, but now it was foggy. She tried to pull the pieces out of the mist, tried to make sense of it.

  She could remember the confusion before the incoming gren. The numbing paralysis. The man at whose back she now traveled, speaking words that made sense and yet did not. And then passing out…

  Shit—the others. Unable to move, it occurred to her that they may have just bought the farm before they’d had a chance to regain use of their limbs. There were so many dangers they had been left open to, yet that had not seemed to be the rider’s intent. Alongside her fear for her friends, Krysty’s brain registered that her enemy may not have the wit and intelligence he would have wished for.