Axler, James - Deathlands 64 - Bloodfire
Page 25
"Hellfire, look, there's no blood lost between us, outlander, so if we cross paths again some day, there won't be a bounty on your head. Might even be welcome, if enough time has passed."
Ryan said nothing, merely nodding, knowing this speech wasn't for him, but for the man giving it, a way to say things he couldn't say in private. Nothing special about it: wounds needed to bleed before they could heal was all. Exhaling deeply, the Trader went on, "But right now I can't stand the fragging sight of you. Go while you can, and I do mean now."
"Guess I'd feel about the same if you got aced," Ryan said as Krysty climbed onto the rear of the bike. Holding open the door to the war wag, Jake offered a hand to Jessica, and the woman smiled as he climbed inside. The hatch closed with a bang, followed by metallic thuds as the bolts were thrown, sealing it tight. "At least some folks learn from the mistakes of others," Mildred said. "I wish them good luck."
"Amen," Doc rumbled. "Farewell and adieu." Black smoke streamed up from the big diesels, then turned gray and the armored transport started moving away. Watching the two battered wags roll for the horizon, Ryan wished Pete luck.
"Pity you can't ace folks twice," J.B. muttered, revving the engine slightly to clear the carburetor. "If anybody deserved a hard death, it was Gaza. He went far too quickly for my taste."
"But you can do as many times as you wish, my friend," Doc Tanner said, tucking his ebony stick into a saddlebag where he could easily reach it in case of trouble. "I remember in detail the deaths of Cort Strasser and Silas every night before I sleep. Very soothing, indeed."
"Not healthy to always dwell in the past," Krysty said softly.
"Ah, but dear lady, it is always the past," Doc answered, climbing onto the bike. "There is no other time than the eternal memory of now."
Starting his battered motorcycle, Ryan led the others southward toward the closest known redoubt.
STUMBLING ALONG through the desert, Anders tripped on something and went flying, face to the ground. Slowly standing, he saw that it was a leather bag of some kind. Checking the contents, the sec man was delighted to find it full of water, clear, clean water. A godsend!
Drinking deeply from the tip of the bag, he felt giddy with excitement with the find. Then he became drunkenly silly, and he clumsily missed his own mouth, the tainted water stinging as it washed into his eyes.
Cursing in pain, Anders dropped the bag and slumped to the ground, moaning in pain, then soon wailing in madness as the jinkaja poison flooded his body.
Lost in his world of madness, the man never saw the Core members rise up from the damp sands to reclaim the bag and leave again, abandoning the invader to the brutal mercies of the desert.
CLIMBING DOWN the hill, Larry found the two-leg making bubbling sounds as it feebly waved its arms and legs. Coming closer, the little mutie took a rock conveniently nearby and bashed the big thing in the side of the head. The two-leg dropped still, only its lips and fingertips moving to show it was still alive.
Now with gleeful intent, Larry took the precious glass dagger from his bag and began cutting away the clothing of the norm until the flesh was laid bare to the sun. Then he quickly sliced the tendons in the legs and arms so the food couldn't escape and settled in for a good meal, all the while singing the praise of his departed mate and child as he filled his belly with the hot, red flesh.
The screaming lasted for a very long time, and when he was done, Larry slipped away into the growing night, at last satisfied that the anguished spirits of his mate and child had finally been set to rest. But then, the desert always found a way to balance the scales of revenge, and death.