by Axler, James
Chapter Eight
They moved out into the corridor, which was deathly quiet. There was no alarm, and no signs of life.
"Same as before," Mildred breathed gently, almost afraid to break the silence.
"Seems to be Wallace's favorite tactic," Ryan commented. "Try to give us enough rope for a lynching."
"To hang ourselves," Krysty murmured, unconsciously correcting the one-eyed warrior whilst suppressing a shudder.
Ryan could feel the tension in her as she followed directly behind him.
"Get any feelings about this?" he asked.
"Only bad ones. But that's all I've had since we've been here, lover—you know that."
"No harm in asking," Ryan murmured. "J.B., what do you think?"
"Wallace's not as stupe as he seems," the Armorer whispered from the rear, covering their backs as they proceeded down the maze of corridors. "Our own nerves'll screw us over in this quiet."
"An astute point, my dear John Barrymore," Doc said at a more normal volume, which, in the exaggerated silence, sounded like a shout. "The good Gen's apparent stupidity in showing us around was perhaps just the pompous pride and illusion of a man who has had his own way too long. He thinks he is invincible, and so has no need for security within the confines of his own kingdom."
"What does that mean?" Dean asked, puzzled. "You mean he's got too confident 'cause he's got no enemies in here?"
"Precisely, young man."
"I wouldn't bet on him not having too many enemies in here," Ryan commented, remembering the expression on Murphy's face when they stood outside the armory.
No one added a comment. The atmosphere was too tense for speech. In the outside, in the mutated jungles and scrub of Deathlands, there was usually some sound, some sign of life. But in here, there was only the oppressive weight of silence, hearing strained to catch the tiniest of sounds, the slightest of giveaways as to what Wallace's plans may be.
With no obstructions they were able to progress rapidly from level to level, taking the elevators.
Jak was unhappy about that. "Bastard stand on roof, we chilled," he commented, shifting his weight uneasily from foot to foot as they entered the empty car.
"Yeah, but it's the fastest way. I'll take a look," Ryan replied. He gestured to the service door in the roof of the elevator with the barrel of his blaster. Krysty moved underneath and cupped her hands. Ryan put one boot firmly in the stirrup she had made, and boosted himself up to the roof. He pushed up hard with the tip of the blaster and flicked open the cover. The black maw of the elevator shaft gave nothing away. Unwilling to waste ammo, Ryan paused, expecting some fire in reaction to the movement…if the roof of the elevator was covered.
Nothing. J.B. glanced at Jak, who nodded and flicked open the knife he had taken from Murphy. With silent grace he vaulted into Krysty's still cupped hands as Ryan hit the floor of the elevator. Before the one-eyed man had the chance to put his second foot on the floor and regain his balance, Jak had lithely disappeared through the opening, his white hair flashing in the gloom as his camou jacket blended into the darkness.
He was gone for only a few seconds, during which time his movements sounded as nothing more than a skittering on the elevator roof.
Just as lithely, just as silently, Jak slid back into the car, dropping to the floor with an almost noiseless impact.
"No." He shook his head.
"Mebbe they expect what we're going to do," J.B. said.
Mildred agreed. "They'll be watching us every step of the way with those damn cameras. It must be obvious. Wallace could lay a trap for us at any place."
"Mebbe we should confuse the stupe and head straight for the outside. He can see us going but mebbe won't have time to change his plans," Dean added.
Ryan shook his head as he hit the elevator button for the level that housed the armory.
"If we had our usual blasters and ammo, then that'd be a good move. But with all we've got? And not knowing what's on the outside of this redoubt? We'd have to be triple stupe."
"Instead of double stupe by going right where he wants us?" Dean retorted.
As the elevator ascended, Ryan glanced sharply at his son. He was the leader by virtue of his experience and by the consensus of the others. If there were to be challenges, then it was the wrong time for divisiveness, especially from his own son.
Dean returned his father's glare with an equally heated expression of his own.
Ryan's anger retreated into amusement. The boy could have been him. There was so much of Ryan Cawdor in his son that he would have to watch him in a few years. The lad would want to assert himself.
But that could be dealt with when the time came. Right now they had to get the hell out of this fireblasted pesthole.
Ryan grinned. "You know I'm right. You said it yourself, son. Heading for the armory is only double stupe. That's one less than heading for the outside."
Dean shrugged. "Mebbe you're right," he said grudgingly.
The elevator shuddered to a halt at the right level. As the door slid open, the levity of a few seconds earlier was forgotten. Split into two, the friends flattened themselves against the sides of the car, taking advantage of the scant cover provided by the control panel and intercom on each side of the elevator doors.
The corridor in front of them was empty.
Moving out in formation, falling into position with familiarity, they headed down the corridor.
When they reached the unguarded armory, they received a shock that was more jolting than a surprise attack. The doors to the armory had been left open, and after J.B. had run an expert eye over them to check for any booby traps, Jak made his way inside while the others surveyed the corridors.
Jak reappeared with a baffled expression.
"What is it?" Krysty asked.
"Better see for self," Jak replied.
J.B. and Krysty entered the armory.
"Well, what can you make of that?" Krysty whispered, bemused.
J.B. shrugged. "Not worth thinking about—just act on it."
He moved forward to the collection of objects that had been the cause of their bemusement. The walls and floors of the armory were, for the most part, stripped bare—with the exception of a small pile of blasters and ammunition that lay in the center of the floor.
J.B. hunkered down and poked at them with the end of his blaster, in case there was any hidden trap. As he had expected by now, there was no catch. The pile consisted of the weapons they had possessed when they entered the redoubt.
"What is it?" Ryan whispered, glancing over his shoulder at the armory.
"Expect the unexpected," J.B. replied cryptically.
Ryan furrowed his brow and looked at Doc, who shrugged.
"John Barrymore—as elliptical as ever," Doc told him.
The Armorer ignored the comments from outside and concentrated on the blasters in front of him. Ryan's weighted scarf was neatly coiled, and the SIG-Sauer and panga were gleaming, while the Steyr SSG-70 had been greased and loaded. His M-4000 was similarly overhauled, and the Uzi was ready for action. His knife was gleaming and freshly whetted. Best of all, his minisextant, which he had thought lost, was in the pile. He pocketed it before proceeding to examine the rest of the blasters—Mildred's ZKR, Krysty's Smith & Wesson 640, Doc's lion's-head swordstick and LeMat blaster, Dean's Browning Hi-Power, Jak's .357 Magnum Colt Python and—best of all—the full collection of leaf-bladed throwing knives, all freshly whetted.
J.B. allowed himself a small smile, knowing how the taciturn Jak would be pleased to have these returned to him, but wouldn't show much sign of his pleasure. He called over his shoulder.
"Wallace's up to something strange. All our blasters are here, all cleaned and loaded. Come and get them."
They collected their weapons one at a time, gradually gaining confidence as the guard in the corridor increased in firepower. Yet at the same time they were all puzzling over the central problem—what was Wallace's intent in leaving nothing
but their own weapons in the armory, all in full working order.
It was almost as though he wanted them to escape, despite the noises he had made about needing Doc.
There had to be some kind of warped thinking behind it all, but it would have been foolish not to take the opportunity to get their blasters back. J.B. finally emerged from the armory when everyone had collected his or her weaponry.
"Feels better," Jak grunted, adjusting to the change in weight the knives made in his patched jacket as it hung on his lean frame. Like the others, he had discarded the weapon he had acquired earlier.
They all agreed with Jak, but saved their breath, concentrating instead on staying razor keen for the slightest indication of Wallace's plans.
Whatever they may be…
"REMEMBER WHAT the good book says, Sarj—never shoot till you see the whites of their eyes, or eye in Cawdor's case. It's all metaphorical, of course."
"Yes, sir," Murphy answered, wondering what on earth the fool was babbling about. He thought that Wallace's idea to let the others go by making them believe they were escaping and then snatching back Tanner at the last moment was a complete crock of shit. The Gen might believe that he was the cleverest man in the whole of Deathlands because of some insane hereditary right, but Murphy was sure that the outsiders wouldn't be fooled for a second. They were too battle scarred, too clever to fall for it.
It galled him immensely that he had let them escape from their dormitory cell—even more so that he had lost a perfectly good man in the process. Of course, the most galling aspect was that they had taken the initiative before he had had a chance to effect his own fake escape opportunity. There was no way that he had intended to put his own man at risk, let alone himself. His head still ached, but not as much as his wounded pride. Given half a chance, he'd wipe out that one-eyed bastard and his bunch of muties and scum—the old fart included.
But the work had to continue. The machine demanded a sacrifice.
Murphy and Wallace stood in front of a bank of monitors in an anteroom to Wallace's office. The Gen wore his prized .44 Magnum pistol with the eight-inch polished barrel. It was a family heirloom and spent most of the time locked away in the safe that hid behind a picture of Elvis on the wall behind his desk. It was only worn in times of the most intense redoubt activity.
The anteroom was the only part of the redoubt that wasn't covered by a sec camera—even the Gen's own office had a camera to survey what went on inside. The anteroom was also the only part of the redoubt that had monitors for every single camera. The sec operations were concentrated on three monitor rooms that had some overlap between them, but didn't cover the entire compound.
Murphy had spent many a sleepless night pondering this when Wallace first showed him the anteroom. In the end he decided that it had to have been a preskydark directive to concentrate base power entirely in the hands of the Gen. After all, he who knew everything had ultimate power.
And now he was standing here, watching the outsiders make their way toward the doors that stood between the redoubt and the outside world.
The room was completely dark, lit only by the flickering images on the banks of screens. Third row down, fourth screen along, the outsiders made their way into the frame. Their body language was tight and intense.
Wallace's face was illuminated by the screens, his jowls cast into shadow and the pudgy flesh under his eyes lit almost white.
"They're getting closer," he said, almost to himself, pointing to the screen. "A remarkable facility for remembering direction there, boy. It's a pity we've got to let them go."
"Why can't I just chill them?" Murphy asked, looking at the Gen rather than at the screen.
Wallace turned sharply. "You questioning my orders, boy?"
Murphy winced at the way the man's eyes bored into him. "No, sir, just curious."
Wallace sighed and spoke in the tone of voice he used for the severely mutated and inbred maintenance techs.
"Tanner is extremely important if the mechanism is to survive and prosper. The other outsiders could be extremely dangerous if allowed to stay. In order to separate them, it is necessary that the outsiders be allowed to escape. Any attempt at chilling them could lead to a last stand, and the possible elimination of Tanner. This would be an extremely bad thing. Do you follow me, mister?"
Murphy chewed his bottom lip. There was a screwy logic to what Wallace was saying, but there was still a good chance that the old fart could get chilled. He was sure that if that happened, he'd be next.
The outsiders moved across one screen and disappeared onto another, third on the right on the next row down. They were nearing the exit ramp.
Wallace nudged Murphy in the ribs.
"Go get 'em, boy," he said softly.
Murphy managed a sickly smile.
DEAN PUNCHED IN the code on the last automatic door. It opened smoothly. They were still alert, still expecting sec men behind every door.
But there were none. All that lay ahead of them was the gentle incline of the exit ramp, leading up to the reinforced doors of the redoubt.
"Too easy," Mildred murmured, "just too easy."
"I hear you, Millie," J.B. replied quietly.
Ryan didn't bother to ask Krysty what she was feeling: just one glance told him. He signaled to Dean to raise the door while he went flat to the floor, covering the gap at the bottom of the door as it began to rise.
A blast of warm air, swirling with dust and grit, hit him as the door began to rise. He screwed up his eye against the stinging spray and shouldered the Steyr, ready to pick off any enemies as soon as they appeared.
The door rose higher, and the wind became a gale, became a virtual hurricane. One thing had rapidly become clear: it was a bad time to mount a recce on the world outside the redoubt. It was about to get worse.
ONE OF THE SIDE EFFECT of the shift in topography that had followed the early days of skydark was that many new valleys had been formed. This was one of them. The shifting of tons of earth, rock and clay had damaged some of the lowest levels of the redoubt, but had generally left the structure untouched. If nothing else, that was a tribute to the skills of the engineers who had designed the military complexes.
However, there was one thing that had happened as a result of the earth shift: A small series of honeycombed caves had been formed that had intersected with the air ducts and bore holes that had been engineered for the redoubt. For several years these had been closed off, but when the air was clean enough for them to be opened once again, the military personnel had soon discovered the uses to which they could be put. Guarded by a set of sec cameras, they acted as a useful secondary route out of the redoubt for any raiding parties. This had been of particular use when early outside settlers had laid siege to the main door of the redoubt.
Although such tactics hadn't been necessary for some time, Wallace was a keen student of history.
Murphy cursed this aspect of his commanding officer's personality as he led the small troop of sec men through the narrow maze of tunnels. The dust hanging in the air was choking and bit at their eyes. Some of the men were coughing heavily, and Murphy suppressed the urge to vomit as the dust caught in his craw.
It was typical of Wallace to think of such a labyrinthine plan. Let them raise the outer door, then ambush them from above, making sure to pick them off or drive them away while separating Tanner.
Murphy kept up his stream of invective as the troops reached the mouth of the cave, suspended on a ledge over the entrance to the redoubt. He indicated to his men to fan out onto the rocks on either side.
He heard the door start to rise above the howl of the wind. It was a metallic sound as the edges of the metal door caught on the reinforced-concrete-and-steel frame.
Murphy lifted the barrel of his Uzi and kissed it for luck.
Chapter Nine
"Fireblast! This is the last thing we need!"
Ryan's angered roar was lost in the howling of the dust storm as it hit them full for
ce. J.B. jammed his fedora firmly on his head and inched toward Ryan, every step impeded by the sheer force of the dust and grit as it whipped around the lenses of his glasses and hit him in the eyes, drying and scratching them.
"Can't go back now," he yelled into the one-eyed warrior's ear. "Have to fan out and take whatever cover there is."
Ryan nodded his agreement, although without any degree of enthusiasm. J.B. was right, but Ryan knew that the Armorer was suggesting this course of action for the same reason that he would adopt it: there was no option.
He gestured with the Steyr, and the group moved out with the ease and practice that came with long survival in the chilling fields of the Deathlands. Ryan went first, squinting against the dust storm to identify any kind of cover. He saw it in the form of a small hummock of earth with a sparse covering of grass. He headed for it, waiting for an attack from any source.
The swirling dust made everything disorienting. Ryan rolled behind the hummock, taking cover and sighting over the spare blades of grass with the Steyr.
There was nothing.
Looking back toward the entrance of the redoubt, he could see that it had either sunk into the earth, or the earth had risen around it, so that they were in a small enclave that rose at a fairly steep gradient. He had guessed as much from the pull on his calf muscles as he ran.
Despite the opaque air, filled with dust and grit, it was possible to see that a bright sun burned down on the enclave despite the cooling effect of the wind. It illuminated the dust in rays of light and enabled Ryan to get a better view of the rock face that lay above the redoubt entrance.
While he had been scanning the area, Mildred and Jak had moved out to seek cover. He lost sight of them in the shadows and frowned. It wasn't good practice not to know where his friends were stationed.
The storm was so noisy that he couldn't call to them if necessary. Krysty and Doc moved out, then Dean and finally J.B., bringing up the rear. They should all be undercover, in a rough V shape, radiating from the entrance to the redoubt. From there, they'd move together at the head of the enclave and group together.