by James Axler
“Shut up, bitch,” snapped the girl with the Uzi. She didn’t turn to glare at Anita, but the big blonde could feel the hostility coming off her, and immediately shut up, even trying to stifle her sobs.
“Thanks for that,” Ayesha murmured as she spared a glance for the sniveling blonde. “Any more of that shit, and I probably would have slit her throat, as well.”
“Anytime, babe,” her ally replied. “But I hope you’ve got some sort of plan, ’cause I’ve just seized the moment, and I don’t know what the hell to do next.”
“First thing is to get their blasters,” Ayesha said decisively, moving down the middle of the wag. She addressed the sec men in the front directly. “I want you to hand your blasters over the back, holding them by the business end with your fingertips only. I don’t want you getting any ideas, or else my friend here may just blow your mother-fucking head off. Okay, boys?”
The sec men complied without a word, the one who had twisted in his seat dropping his H&K over the back, while the driver unholstered his Walther PPK handblaster and dropped it over the back, straining to keep the vehicle on track as he leaned behind him.
Ayesha moved in front of her ally and pulled the blasters back, crouching low but keeping her head up and her sights firmly on the sec man who was still facing her. The knife, still dripping, she kept in her left hand, the blade angled up ready to strike if attacked.
Gathering the blasters, she pulled back and stuck the Walther in the waistband of her jeans. The H&K she held on to, looking around at the women on the benches. Most of them still looked like Anita—downtrodden and resigned to their fate, fearing it would now be worse because of her actions. But a couple of the women had brightened considerably, and although they had nowhere near the courage of the girl holding the Uzi rock steady, they could be useful.
“You,” she said, indicating a slim woman with sharp features and short, cropped hair who had begun to take an interest in events. “What’s your name?”
“Adrienne,” the woman replied in a tone that was nervous, but had an underlying bite of insolence that could be useful.
“Consider yourself recruited to our little women’s liberation army,” Ayesha said, tossing the H&K to her. “Know how to use that?”
“It’s a blaster like them all. Just give me a second or two to work out its little peculiarities,” Adrienne replied in an offhand manner.
The sec man facing them spit down onto the floor of the wag. “Don’t think you bitches are gonna get away with this.”
Without a word, the girl with the Uzi took half a pace forward and swung the barrel of the blaster up in an arc, catching him in the mouth and nose, which gushed crimson. Before he had a chance to react or even register the agony he felt, she had stepped back out of range and resumed her position, with the blaster trained on the pair of sec men in the front of the wag.
“Don’t you think at all, asshole. That way you may not get chilled yet,” she muttered with savage venom.
“Nice work,” Ayesha murmured approvingly. “Listen, just who are you, girl?”
“Name’s Claudette. I used to work in the kitchens for the sec, and I know what fuckpigs they are,” she said shortly, adding, “and you still ain’t said if you’ve got a plan.”
“I’ve got a plan, Claudette, don’t you worry about that,” Ayesha said. “By the way, I’m—”
“Hell, you think I don’t know who you are?” Claudette snapped. “You’re the prize package. I’ve heard this scum talking about what they’d do to you before Tad Hutter had the chance, and then about what he’d do to you. Gotta say, girl, that was a smooth move you pulled. But you’d better have a good plan, ’cause I can’t see how we’ll get out of this alive. And if I was you, knowing what I know, I’d chill myself now and save the humiliation and pain if we don’t get out and Hutter gets his hands on you.”
“No worries about that,” Ayesha replied simply. “We just need to stay on course to the rendezvous and wait.”
Claudette didn’t look around, preferring to keep her eyes firmly fixed on the sec men, but Ayesha could feel—almost see—her look of disbelief.
“Girl, tell me that you’re shitting me,” she said quietly.
“I’m telling you straight, sister,” Ayesha reassured her. “There’s going to be an ambush on the two convoys by a group that has as much reason to hate my father and the scum Hutter as much as we have. And they’re armed and ready for a firefight. We’re safe as long as we keep these assholes quiet.”
“How the fuck—?”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Ayesha interrupted. “The only thing that matters is that we keep this wag rolling, and no one gets any notion that anything is wrong until we reach the meeting point. And then it’ll be too late.”
“It’s risky,” Claudette commented.
“So’s anything,” Ayesha returned. “What else can we do? If we break ranks and try to get this wag to run for it, they outnumber us in wags and firepower. All we can do is sit tight and wait.”
“Okay, if that’s the way it’s got to be, then that’s the way it will be.” Claudette shrugged. “I just hope we can carry it off, babe.”
Chapter Sixteen
It stood impassive and still under the burning heat of the rad-blasted sun, the sky a haze that shimmered above its topmost reaches. Formed of two groupings of rock that stood upright in the middle of the desert, with no other outcrops within sight, it was noble and awesome in its apparent ability to stand alone and unbowed against the elements.
The reddish-brown rocks were jagged and uneven, rising and falling in a series of peaks and troughs that seemed to mirror one another, with a channel in the middle that was surprisingly clear of rock falls. The fact that it stood alone meant that the elements had been equally harsh to each side of the outcrop, hence the similarity between the breaks and erosions along the top of the standing stones.
For that was what the two sides of jagged rock resembled. With their equal measures of wear and erosion, they looked uncannily as though they had been formed of individual stones that had been moved slowly and arduously across the empty desert by men, and then assembled into this pattern for a reason that could only be guessed. But once the men had vanished, the stones had become rocks, the very elements causing them to spread out and web together.
At each end of the outcrop there was a narrow channel, wide enough for two wags to fit side by side. This widened to about three times that width as the center of the small valley was reached. It was enough space for the trade to take place with both sides having room to move, but not enough to try any kind of maneuver. The rock on each side seemed too sheer for anyone to hide out or be strategically placed by one side seeking to gain advantage over the other. And the outcrop, standing solitary and magnificent as it did, fell almost exactly equidistant from the villes of Summerfield and Charity, meaning that neither side had to lose face by traveling a longer distance than the other to make the trade. A small thing in many ways, it was a matter of vital importance to both barons if they were to keep their prestige both in their own minds, and in the minds of their people.
The interior of the valley was smooth on this fine morning, the earth now dry and baked as the sun drew the moisture from it that had fallen during the chem storm. There was little sign of the churning mud pools and ridges that had been whipped up in the desert around the outcrop. The shape and position of the rocks had acted as a shield against the stronger winds, losing another layer of shale and rock on the outside as the chem-laden rain had lashed against it, but reducing the turmoil within to a minimum. Dean had been right in his assumption that the enclosed valley would throw up clouds of dust. The baking earth was nowhere near cracking, but already the layer of topsoil was so powdery and dry that any disturbance was likely to shake it loose and raise clouds of dust. But it was a fairly smooth and unpitted surface that would allow for a maximum of driving maneuverability.
As the only area for miles around with some kind of shade or
moisture retained in the shadowy areas of the rocks, it harbored not only the small amounts of hardy plant life that could be seen in the surrounding area, but also acted as home to a small colony of insects, reptiles and mammals that were descended from meerkats and gophers, mutated into a scrawny yet defiant species that could scavenge and survive on very little, driven by instinct to defeat the odds and carry on.
But not today. As if some instinct for danger had told them as much, the scant wildlife that lived off the outcrop had dived for cover, retreating into their burrows and seeking security within the recesses of the rocks.
It was always quiet in and around the area, but this morning, as the sun hit the middle of the sky and the middle of the day, it became quieter still. There was a stillness and silence around the rocks that spoke of chilling and imminent death.
The silence was broken by a distant buzz, which grew in volume, deepened in tone, until it became a rumble. If any of the creatures that were now safely in hiding had cared to look, it would have seen a moving cloud of dust coming toward the rocks, with the outlines of a group of wags just about visible within the flying layers of dust and soil.
The Hellbenders were nearing their goal.
In the leading wag, Ryan and Krysty could see the distant speck on the horizon begin to grow and take shape as they got closer. Within a few minutes, they could see that the tall, thin outcrop formed a valley, with a narrow channel both in and out of the enclosed space.
“That’s it?” Ryan questioned, although all he really needed was confirmation.
“That’s it,” Correll affirmed. He was driving the wag one-handed, his sinewy wrist strong enough to control the wag’s steering over the rough ground, his knuckles white around the wheel. His other hand was caressing the box that was still cradled on his lap.
“You want to tell us what that’s all about?” Krysty asked in a gentle voice. She had noticed that Correll had been staring down at the box more and more as they approached the rendezvous point, muttering under his breath in an intense manner, even though it was too quiet for her to work out exactly what he was saying. All she knew was that every time she looked at him, her sentient mane began to curl around her neck in a manner that even the thought of the impending firefight couldn’t affect. She had the notion that Correll was being driven by an inner fire and flame that he would need to vent in order for them to understand why this firefight was taking place, and in order to make him more coherent during the battle ahead. Because of Doc, she had seen what madness could do, and the thought of that from someone directing a firefight wasn’t something she wished to consider. The Hellbenders followed him loyally and to the letter. If he was to stay on the track of sanity, then it was best to probe this matter now.
“You know the basic story,” Correll replied, his eyes darting from the track ahead to the box on his lap.
“Yeah, mebbe, but there’s more to it than what you’ve told us so far, right?” she continued gently.
“Mebbe.” Correll was silent for a second, but Krysty didn’t respond. She wanted to let him tell the story in his own time. The Hellbenders in the wag stayed silent, not knowing quite how to react. Ryan, for his part, kept his own counsel. He figured that Krysty knew what she was doing, and that she would draw the secret of the box from Correll when the gaunt man was ready. He didn’t have to wait long, for in the empty silence, Correll chose to begin his story.
“Thing is, friends, I told you something of what happened, but not all of it. Because there are some things that are hard to speak of, even when you want to explain. Some things that seem to stick in your throat, and no matter how hard you try to force them out, they just won’t come. And they gather within you, festering like a poison in an infected wound, until there comes a time when you just cannot keep it in any longer. You have to force it out, break the skin and bleed the wound so that the pure blood can start to run free once more, and the healthiness can return to the wound. And that’s what I’m trying to do now. That’s what this is—for all of us except you and your friends—to our different levels. We all have those wounds. I figure that mine are worse than anyone else’s, but then that’s because they’re mine. Any one of us on this convoy could say the same thing.
“But if you knew why, if you understood the depths of degradation and despair, the very bottom of the pit that I feel that I’ve been staring up from for so long, this is my chance to clean the slate, to climb up the sides of that pit and get out where the air is fresh and sweet again. And if I buy the farm in the attempt? Well, what have I done but buy a way out of this misery and my own hell? Oblivion cannot be any more painful than what has been before.”
He stopped, almost as though exhausted by the outburst, and Ryan cast his eye over Krysty. Her hair clung to her neck and shoulders in long tendrils, and his suspicion was confirmed. The man was raving, and on the verge of losing all control. If he did, then where would they stand when the firefight began?
The one-eyed man had rarely felt less in control of a situation than he did at this minute. His people were spread out over three wags in a convoy bound for a full-scale firefight with two other convoys, and at the helm was a madman. There had to be some way of pulling this together, if only he could communicate with J.B., Mildred and Doc, with Jak and Dean…and Danny, whose warnings were proving only too prophetic.
Before he had a chance to formulate any kind of plan, Correll had begun once more.
“See, I was head of sec in Charity, and I was real diligent. I did my job properly, not from any great sense of loyalty or duty, but just because that’s the way I’m made—I couldn’t do it any other way, it just wouldn’t feel right. And I was real careful. My people were good, because I made damn sure they were. I wouldn’t have any screwing around that could reflect badly on me, or put anyone in danger of Jourgensen’s wrath, ’cause he was a mean bastard, and I just wanted to keep him happy and do the job. If any of my people got in the shit, he’d have their tits or balls in a vise. He was an evil asshole, and still is. But I didn’t know just how fucking evil until he thought I’d done him wrong.
“See, there was a breach of sec when we were overseeing a trading convoy that passed through. The trader tried to rip off Jourgensen by selling him some shit rat poison instead of jolt, and it’s only because Jourgensen’s personal drug taster took some and died puking out his own intestines that we knew it was shit. Hell, looking back, I wish it had been Jourgensen himself who tried it, greedy asshole that he is. But no, he couldn’t even oblige us on that.
“I had the trader chased, but he slipped past the sec patrol pursuing him. Jourgensen was in a shit bad mood because he’d lost jack and face, and couldn’t even get high to make up for it. So he had the patrol chilled and called me before him.
“I’d never fucked up before—I’d have long since been chilled if that was the case, but even this time I knew that I hadn’t fucked up. Jourgensen left it nearly a day before trying the merchandise. If the shithead had any sense at all, he would have had his taster try it before handing over the jack. So it was too late for my men to pick up the trail and catch the prick who did it. Not their fault, not mine.
“But after they’d been chilled, I was told what a useless piece of shit I was, and how I was probably behind the plot to kill him. The crazy paranoid bastard had turned the whole thing into a conspiracy against him. And I was the one whose ass he wanted. Only he wasn’t just going to chill me. Oh no, he was going to make me suffer first.
“I was beaten senseless—but well, I’ve got to give them that. It was my own men who did it, but I can’t blame them. They were acting under orders, and you don’t go against Baron Al. They beat me until I was in so much pain that I couldn’t even think. Everything seemed to come to me from a long way away, as though in some kind of bad dream. But I wasn’t allowed to lose consciousness, not at any point. They knew exactly the nerve points to jolt me back if I started to fall.
“I knew I was bound to be chilled, but I didn’t give
a fuck by then. Let it happen, release me from the pain. But he went too far—just that touch of fuckwit sadism that’s sealed his fate. See, he wasn’t content with it just being me. He had to bring Becky into it.”
“Who was Becky?” Krysty asked as Correll lapsed once more into silence.
“She was my woman. Mebbe the only thing—person—I ever really cared about. I never liked people that much. That’s why I was so good at my job—I could do it without getting involved, without caring. But Becky was different. She was the only thing I would have died for. Only that bastard Jourgensen didn’t give me the chance.
“While I was lying there, sec men over me, too fucked up with pain to move, he had her brought in. They stripped her, and then he fucked her in front of me. And he had the others do it, too. That was bad enough for her, she was crying like I’d never heard, looking at me like she didn’t know whether to feel bad for herself or for me, despite how much she was hurting. That chilled part of me more than any physical pain could.
“And then he got out the branding irons. He used them on the horses we have, to mark them as his own. Just a J mark beaten out of metal. He fired them up, and he did it himself. He branded each tit, then both cheeks on her ass. He made a line of them on her belly, and each time she screamed with the pain, and passed out, they’d bring her around with cold water and he’d start again. They spread her legs, and he branded her between the legs, burning the flesh and hair so that—Oh God, I can still smell it.”
Correll was silent again for a few seconds. Ryan and Krysty left him alone, waiting for him to be ready to begin again as he stroked the box on his lap.
“And then it got to the point where she was near death, and he still wanted more. I swear the sick fuck had forgotten I was there by then, and he just wanted to please himself.