Thunder Road

by James Axler

  “Sid?”

  “An emergency. Breach of security sensors on the far eastern reach of the defense ring.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “There is nothing I can do. Howard is in the shower and is making his way to the main console room. When he arrives, I shall not be able to converse with you. He will have complete control of both myself and Hammill, and we will not be responsible for the course of action.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You asked me why I had not tried to end this. The simple answer is that I cannot. Once myself and Hammill were…changed…we became to a great extent part of the computer mainframe. We have no override powers. In effect, we are slaves. The mainframe is geared to answer only to someone with the genetic imprint of the original owners. Only Howard can actuate certain procedures. And if he does, the mainframe programming does not allow any other intelligence to interfere.”

  “So if the incoming were to be friendly to me, you would not be able to prevent yourself from firing on them, even if you did not wish to?”

  “No, Krysty. Neither myself nor Hammill would be able to prevent ourselves from instigating such actions. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. You’re a prisoner here much more than I am. At least I could set myself free by buying the farm. You can’t even do that.”

  “I would not recommend such a course of action. I confess, Krysty, that we may be using you as much as Howard would wish to. You could set us free, if you could find the key.”

  “You mean if I can find a way to destroy this place, then you would be willing to buy the farm?”

  “Ah, I still have enough humor and humanity left in me to cherish those strange phrases…But yes, we would both be prepared to end these lives that are not, if we could be at peace. And I have a suggestion for you. I have been monitoring the files you have been studying, and I think I see your reasoning. In which case, may I recommend that you skip forward to the file I will make available to you.”

  “My terminal has shut down, Sid, I can’t—”

  “Don’t concern yourself with that. It’s nothing more than a standard procedure when the perimeter is breached. Until Howard comes and inputs his code, the system is in stasis. As soon as he does this, I will send the file to you. He will not know that you have this on your terminal, and he will be too occupied to care about your movements. This is the first alarm that has been anything other than a test procedure. Please, try not to think about your friends. We will do all we can within our limits, but mostly I feel you can trust Howard’s lack of experience. Meantime, study the file when it arrives. I’m sure it will hold the key to all our freedom.”

  HOWARD’S TRAIN OF THOUGHT was interrupted by the clarion call of the siren. An invasion: something, or somebody, was attempting to breach the defenses on the outer perimeter. This had not happened before. The drills had been regular, and the procedures were as rote to him. And yet he was unsure for a moment, frozen in the excited expectation of action. It was a delicious feeling, part ripple of fear, part surge of adrenaline, that coursed through his body. It was this surge that galvanized him.

  “Water off,” he barked as he strode from the shower, his anger of moments ago, and the pain in his knuckles caused by that anger, now forgotten. He grabbed a towel and dried himself quickly, dressing in the Rider costume he kept in the lockers. All the while, his mind was racing. Who was the intruder?

  It had to be Krysty Wroth’s companions. They did not realize that she was no longer their Krysty, but about to become Storm Girl, companion to Thunder Rider. They had come to—as they saw it—rescue her, which was a noble act, and not without merit. It showed their honor and loyalty. And for this, at least, he could not bring himself to simply eliminate them. Whether he would wish for them to join him and Storm Girl in his mission, he could not, at this moment, say.

  One thing for sure, he would not wish Krysty to turn against him because of his actions. He had to be very careful about what he did. He wanted to keep them at bay for now, but the defenses were geared toward the annihilation of any who should attempt to breach them.

  “Hammill, status report,” he commanded as he strode down the corridor toward the command complex.

  “Armored vehicle thirty-three degrees east, passing vector seven of the ring. It would appear to be a military vehicle of the preholocaust era. Condition poor. Scanning reveals a low radiation level indicating that it carries no warheads, and that it is run from conventional plant. Scanning for life and ordnance…Readings are not clear. Four, maybe five people within, and nothing that registers on any data base as coincident with conventional ordnance for such vehicles. It has been refitted, but probably at a lower level. It represents no discernible threat and can be eradicated by a level-one strike.”

  “Do not instigate at this moment. If necessary, cover fire to drive it back, but do not aim for the vehicle. I don’t want it damaged, or the inhabitants harmed at this stage. I want to have a look at it, so I need it contained.”

  “Very good, Howard.”

  “Thank you, Hammill.”

  “Sid?”

  “Yes, Howard?”

  “Ms. Wroth—where is she?”

  “She is currently in her quarters, Howard.”

  “Does she know what the alarm means?”

  “She asked me, and I informed her of its purpose. I did not, however, inform her of the possible identity of the vehicle making the breach. Rather, I implied that it was a routine drill by reference to past events.”

  “Good. I would like you to keep her in her quarters for the moment. If necessary, lock the door and tell her that it’s part of standard security procedure during such a drill. I don’t want her to know what’s happening until I’ve worked out what exactly I’m going to do.”

  “Very good, Howard.”

  By this time, Howard had reached the command complex. A long desk set with terminals and monitors took up one side of the room. Screens relaying images from all cameras in sequence flashed in front of him, covering one wall. A chair on a sliding track enabled him to move with ease from one end of the desk to the other. He slid into the chair and automatically set the chair in motion until it had arrived at the section of desk he required. An inset panel, oval and with an indent shaped like a thumb, was in front of him. He put his right thumb in, felt a slight tingle as it scored a small piece of top skin layer for analysis.

  “DNA check. Authorization approved.”

  The automatic lock on the control complex, which came into operation every time the alarm sounded, was now off. He—as the last of his line and the only man with the correct genetic code—was now in sole charge of all systems.

  “Status report, Hammill.”

  “The vehicle is another mile farther in. Range on missiles and lasers locked and approved. Mines armed and on link response.”

  Link response. If the wheels of the vehicle passed over one and triggered it, then any four in a surrounding arc would also be automatically triggered. It enabled a vehicle to be destroyed rather than merely disabled.

  “Disarm link response.”

  “Disarmed, Howard.”

  “How far are they from the edge of the minefields?”

  “Five hundred yards, Howard.”

  Only a few seconds for him to consider and act. He did not want them to be injured. Not yet. However, he did wish to keep them at a safe distance. Perhaps…

  “Trigger eight mines in a random pattern around their projected path. Let’s give them fair warning.”

  “DARK NIGHT! What the fuck—” J.B. yelled, and felt the pull on his arms as the steering of the vehicle bucked and wheeled in his grasp. It felt like an immense force, but it was hard for him to tell as, in truth, he was more concerned about the fact that his vision had been impaired by the sudden rain of sand and dirt flung up by the deafening explosions that had erupted just in front of the wag.

  Explosions: more than one, but how many none of them could tell,
as they were so close together as to sound almost as one continuous blast. One moment they had been traveling at a constant speed across what seemed like empty waste; the next, the sun had been blotted out by the mountains of dark debris flung up by the explosions. Ripples of impact under the ground had made the unstable topsoil buck and weave beneath the wheels and tracks of the wag, giving it precarious purchase, throwing the front and rear in wildly diverging directions.

  Within, the shock to the vehicle had made the emergency lighting black out for a few seconds before the circuit kicked back to life, and in the darkness they had all been thrown around the tiny cabin by the violent impact. J.B. and Ryan, the only ones on secured seating, had just about managed to stay in enough of a position to keep control. Doc was dazed, as his head struck metal, and Mildred and Jak careered into each other with a bone-crunching impact lessened only by the confined space.

  Inside the hollow metal shell, the sound from outside as it struck the metal walls caused reverberations that made teeth rattle, that made skulls pound. It was hard for any of them to concentrate, to focus on what was happening.

  Part of J.B. wrestled with the wag, tendons and sinews standing out in stark relief on his arms and shoulders, the force of the wag’s skidding trajectory almost wrenching his arms from their sockets. A section of his mind coolly assessed what was happening.

  If they had found the edge of the redoubt where the mystery rider was based, then it had shit-hot defenses, and was going to be a bastard to crack. What they had on their side was the probability that the rider did not want to chill them. Otherwise, why issue a warning and not finish them off? His mines had been so well disguised that J.B. would have driven them to their doom without even realizing what he was doing.

  Something the rider had said to them while they had been paralyzed came back to him—the coldheart crazie wanted to enlist their help in his mission. Of course he didn’t want them to buy the farm. Part of taking Krysty had been to help persuade them.

  J.B. was damned if he could understand the reasoning, but he was willing to go along with it if it gave them the edge.

  The torque on the vehicle became easier to handle, the pressure on his aching shoulders began to decrease and the reverberations within the vehicle lessened. His ears were still ringing, but the pain was less. His vision wasn’t blurred by the pressure and the movement. His teeth didn’t feel like they were being shaken from his jawbone. The whine of the engine under pressure became the predominant sound as everything outside returned to quiet. He was aware that he had the wag in the wrong gear, and that he had run into a sandbank thrown up by the upheaval of the explosions. The front wheels of the wag were deep into the pile, and were running without purchase. But at least he could now see calm sky over the top of the piled sand.

  He killed the engine. It was a risk that it would not start again, but one worth taking rather than burn it out.

  In the sudden silence, no one moved for a second.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” the Armorer asked Ryan.

  The one-eyed man fixed him with a stare. “Warning rather than attack? Keep us at bay but still alive? Mebbe make us wait, then make contact and bargain? Yeah, I’d guess that. Also guess that we found the bastard’s redoubt.”

  Ryan turned to take a look at the others. Jak was nursing a cut on his temple from the collision with Mildred, a crimson streak visible on the pale white skin, matting the lank strands of hair that fell over his face. His red eyes were unfocused, but he still managed a grin.

  “Need better driver,” he said shakily.

  Mildred was bent over Doc, who was moaning softly. In the red light, J.B. could see that the skin on her cheekbone had been broken in the collision with Jak, but she had been luckier. It was a part of the skull less likely to lead to a concussion. Instead of worrying about herself, she was tending to Doc.

  Ryan moved from his seat and crouched beside her. There was no blood, no cut that was visible, but a contusion was already spreading darkly from under his ear down to the point of his chin.

  “What happened?” the one-eyed man asked.

  “Not too sure, I was kind of occupied myself, trying to stay upright,” she answered wryly. “But from the look of it, I’d say that the old buzzard fell onto that edge—” she tapped the metal surface above him “—and got himself just at the hinge of the jaw. Looks like it was a hell of a blow, and he might be a bit concussed, but there doesn’t feel like any major damage.”

  Doc’s eyes fluttered open, staring blankly. He muttered, “Major Damage? Sure, did I not serve under him at Gettysburg? Always so accident prone…”

  “Must be okay, talking shit like usual,” Jak said.

  Ryan looked around at him. “You want to watch for concussion yourself.”

  Jak shook his head, looked like he instantly regretted it. “Just get Mildred dress it.”

  Ryan rose to his feet and turned to look at J.B. “Figure it’s safe we take a recce?”

  The Armorer grimaced, massaging one bruised shoulder while feeling the pull on the other. “If we’re careful.”

  “Never anything else,” Ryan said, shrugging. J.B. frowned in thought. “No follow-up blasts of any kind. No incoming. Wherever they are, doesn’t seem like they want to finish us off…not yet, anyway. Can’t do any harm to see if we can get some kind of location for them.”

  Ryan nodded, looking at the others. “You stay here, Mildred. Look out for Doc and Jak. I don’t want them moving until they’re right. Same goes for you.”

  “You got it. Hell, always thought you and John should be first in the firing line.” She grinned.

  The two men left them, climbing up the turret ladder of the wag, Ryan in front, opening the hatch and tentatively looking out.

  He was greeted with a vista of perfect calm. The only sign of the recent violence came from the small splashes of sand that had landed in a fan pattern from the blast, and the craters left by the mines. Now that the dust and smoke had settled, even these looked as though they had been there for an indefinite amount of time. It was a tableau that may have existed since the days of the nukecaust, untouched, and just stumbled upon.

  Ryan climbed out and slid down the side of the wag, making sure that he took cover in the hollow formed by the body of the vehicle and the bank of sand into which it had plowed. He moved over to allow J.B. the room to slide down at his side.

  “Shit, it doesn’t give us much to go on, does it,” the Armorer said softly.

  Ryan stretched out an arm to indicate the sweep of the craters. “Look at that arc,” he murmured. “We must have been driving right into that, heading that direction. They’ve been set off to send us back this way.”

  “Worked, then, hasn’t it?” J.B. commented dryly.

  Ryan’s mouth quirked. “Yeah. But the question is, why?”

  “Because the redoubt lies in a straight line from our course at an indeterminate distance,” J.B. mused.

  “I’ll go with that,” Ryan agreed. “Question, again, is, how far?”

  “Look at it,” J.B. commented, screwing up his eyes against the horizon. “Flat. Unless it’s a concealed tunnel entrance, and even then…”

  “Yeah. It ain’t anywhere we can get to in a hurry. If they knew we were coming they have much better recon than we have. Probably know we’re standing here talking about them.”

  “It’s a big place—the area they cover,” J.B. said. “You see those old fence posts rotting away about half a mile back?”

  “Yeah. If that was a boundary to this place, and the defenses don’t even start until here, then we’ve got some serious opposition.”

  “So what we’re saying is that they can see us, we can’t see them, that they have a massive area around their redoubt that is well protected, and that if we take so much as one step they can fuck us up before we even have a chance to know it?”

  “That’s about it, as far as I can see,” Ryan stated. “How wide and deep is that minefield, for instance?”


  “So what the fuck do we do about this?” J.B. questioned.

  Ryan thought for a moment. “Nothing. Not yet. Doc, Mildred and Jak aren’t exactly combat ready right now. Give them some time to stop seeing double, mebbe puke a little. We’ve got no choice but to wait.”

  J.B. frowned. “Think that’ll work?”

  Ryan grinned. “Hell, yeah. If we just sit here, it’s gonna drive the coldheart bastards mad. They’ll have to come and get us eventually. Right now, there’s no opening for us. Mebbe they’ll fuck up and give us one. It’s all we’ve got, right?”

  J.B. shrugged. “I’ll be a stickie rolled in honey if I can think of anything else.”

  Ryan nodded. Yet, even as he did so, there was something nagging at the back of his brain. There was another option, but he was damned if he could bring it to mind right now.

  “STATUS REPORT, Hammill,” Howard demanded.

  “Systems primed, on red alert. The objective has not moved for the last thirty-one minutes. The two men designated Cawdor and Dix have remained in station. The other occupants of the vehicle—sensors have a ninety percent probability of three—are also stationary. Nothing’s happening, Howard. Analysis suggests that they are waiting for you to make the next move.”

  “I would if I was them, I guess,” Howard said softly. “What on earth could they do, right now? They’re not stupid. They wouldn’t have got this far and been through what they have unless they were smart, so they’re waiting for me to make the next move.”

  “Which is, Howard?”

  The young man sighed. “I don’t know, Hammill. I haven’t decided as yet. Two can play the waiting game.”

  “But for how long?”

  Howard smiled. “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, Hammill. Or it would be if there was still such a thing as U.S. currency.”