“Getting along as well Geronimo and me do is a fine art,” Hickok said.
Geronimo nodded. “We’ve had years of practice. Been at it since we were old enough to talk.”
“Which in your case was three days ago,” Hickok said.
Blade grinned. At moments like these, he was supremely grateful the three of them had been together since childhood. Good friends—-sincere friends—-true friends—-were hard to find, anywhere, anytime.
Hickok wiped a hand across his brow and said, “Awful warm night, huh?”
“It’s not that warm,” Geronimo said.
“Feels pretty warm to me,” Blade said.
“What’s with you two?” Geronimo said. “Are you coming down with something? It can’t be much over sixty degrees.”
Blade shrugged. “I haven’t felt all that great since we got back from Thailand.”
“Me either,” Hickok said. “I’ve had a diker of a time sleepin’. Used to be, I was out like a rock when my head hit the pillow. Now I toss and turn and sweat a lot.”
“Strange,” Geronimo said.
Hickok chuckled. “Maybe we shouldn’t have drunk any of the water over there.”
“You’ve been back, what, almost five weeks?” Geronimo said. “If it was something you drank or ate, you’d have come down sick long before this.”
“Maybe it was that blamed machine that zapped us there,” Hickok said. “I never did trust that contraption. We had to be out of our noggins, using a doohickey our worst enemy cooked up.”
“Doohickey?” Geronimo said, and laughed.
Blade stepped to the inner edge of the rampart and thoughtfully regarded the moat flowing along the base of the inner wall. “You have me wondering.”
“About?” Hickok said.
“What if Yama was affected, too? He was the third member of our party. That would mean you might be right.”
“Hickok? Right?” Geronimo said. “The mind boggles.”
Blade turned. “Do me a favor. Go to Yama’s cabin. Ask him to report to me right away.”
“In the middle of the night?” Geronimo said. “I’ll have to wake his whole family.”
“Can’t be helped,” Blade said.
“If you ask me, pard,” Hickok said, “you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“Geronimo?” Blade said.
“On my way.”
Hickok and Blade watched him hasten down the ramp and jog in among the gigantic concrete Blocks. Well beyond were the cabins for individual families.
Hickok ran a palm across his cheek and muttered, “Speaking of hot spells, mine is gettin’ worse.”
“We’ll need to see the Healers in the morning,” Blade suggested.
A growl from out of the benighted forest caused the pair to move to the corner of the rampart and scan the open space that Family had cleared as a precaution against attack.
“Sounds kind of close, whatever it is,” Hickok said. “Could be a mutate.”
“Could be anything,” Blade said.
“One of us should go have a look-see.”
“No need,” Blade said. “Whatever is out there can’t get in. We’ll wait until daybreak and scout around.”
“I don’t mind going,” Hickok said.
“No.”
“It’d be easy peasy for me to lower a rope and climb down instead of going to all the trouble to lower the drawbridge.”
“No, I said.”
Hickok frowned. “What does a fella have to have a little fun around here?” He started to grin but instead put a hand to his brow and bowed his head. “Damn.”
“What?” Blade said.
“I feel plumb terrible.”
“Sick to your stomach?”
Hickok swayed slightly. “It’s like I’m burnin’ up. I can’t hardly think. What the dickens?”
“We should get you to a Healer right away,” Blade said.
“And leave the walls unprotected?” Hickok shook his head. “Go fetch your missus. She’s one of the best Healers we have. I’ll wait here.” Hickok was about to say something more but gave a sudden lurch and took a staggering step.
“Nathan?” Blade said.
“Somethin’ is goin’ on inside me,” Hickok got out. “It’s as if my innards are movin’ or shiftin’.” He ran a sleeve across his face. “I’m so hot now, I’m fit to explode.”
Blade wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”
Hickok looked down at himself. “The funniest thing. Now I’m startin’ to feel icy cold. It started in my feet and it’s slowly spreadin’ up my legs. What is this?”
“I’m setting you down and going for help,” Blade said.
Hickok tried to respond but all that came out was a strangled gurgle.
Blade began easing him down.
His face rippling and contorting as if in the grip of convulsions, all Hickok did was grunt.
“Talk to me, Nathan, if you can,” Blade said. “What are you feeling now?”
Hickok’s mouth moved but no words came out. His body was growing rigid, his arms and legs stiffening rapidly. Blade got him on his back, and stood.
“I’m going for my wife.”
Hickok reached out, or tried to. His fingers opened and closed, and then froze half-curled.
“Nathan?” Blade said. Bending, he placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I won’t be long. Hang in there."
Hickok struggled to move. His arms flopped and his body twisted, and then his face and body froze as his hand had done.
“Dear Spirit, no,” Blade said, and whirled and ran.
CHAPTER THREE
In Rilletta’s opinion, the Valley of Shadow was the worst place on earth. For starters, it was scary as anything. Strange sounds were always wafting out of the vile fog. Or from the Tower itself. Blubbering and screeches that put the hair on end.
This was where Thanatos, the Dark Lord, once reigned supreme. A being of immense power. A creature who possessed an insatiable appetite for inflicting cruelty on others.
But Thanatos was dead, or so rumor had it. Which should mean the Valley was safe to cross.
With every fiber of her being, Rilletta hoped that was the case. At the moment, with the strangely writhing fog hemming her and the other scavengers, the entire valley was as still as a corpse.
The last thing Rilletta wanted was to be set upon by something slavering for her blood.
The truth was, if she wasn’t so godawful hungry and so terribly thirsty, no way would she tempt fate by doing this.
Their band was forever struggling to survive. Game—-meat a person could eat, that wasn’t contaminated—-was hard to come by. The same with water that was pure enough to drink. But seldom had they been in such need as they were now. Simply put, unless they reached the lake country, and soon, many of them might very well die.
So damn the valley, and on they went.
Rilletta’s mouth was so dry, when she tried to swallow, it hurt. Orin was beside her, their shoulders brushing. She took comfort in that. Orin was the only one she truly cared for. Big Bill was nice but he was as dumb as a stump. Hawkins was a jerk. Gawl barely paid any attention to her. As for Scragg, he was a better leader than Bronk had been but he had a nasty temper when he was ticked off.
“I hate this,” Orin said so only she could hear. “We could have used a rope to hold onto so we won’t get separated.”
“None of us have a rope,” Rilletta reminded him. “And we didn’t have the time to go looking for one.” She was trying her best not to think of the horrors they might confront. Not thinking about them gave her the courage to keep going.
“Are we even headed in the right direction?” Orin wondered, peering ahead. “I can’t see anyone but us.”
Rillletta tilted her head back. “Scragg? You still up there? Everything cool?”
“If it wasn’t,” came his rumble out of the fog, “you’d know it.”
“
Getting spooked, girlie?” Aretha called out, and laughed.
“Bitch,” Rilletta muttered. Aretha was always putting down the other women to build herself up in Scragg’s eyes.
Orin looked at her, the fog lending him an insubstantial quality. “You ever give any thought to striking off together? Just the two of us?”
“On our own?” Rilletta said. “We wouldn’t last a week.”
“We could find an old cabin or house in the woods somewhere,” Orin said, slowing. “Live like they used to in the old days.”
“Oh, sure. We’d eat grubs and leaves and have two or three kids and live happily ever after.”
“I’m serious.”
Squeezing his hand, Rilletta said softly, “I know you are, hon. Deep down, you’re sweet. It’s why I picked you to lock lips with and not anyone else.”
“Making me the luckiest guy alive,” Orin said.
Rilletta nearly laughed at the absurdity of talking about romance, given where they were and what they were doing. “As much as I might like the little cabin in the woods idea, there’s strength in numbers. If we ever did leave Scragg’s band, it would be to join a bigger one.”
“What if we went and lived with the Moles?”
Rilletta snickered. “Are you serious? Those misfits? They live underground, in a big mound. I couldn’t stand it under the ground. No sun. No fresh air. No thanks.”
“We could live with the Cavalry, then. Those people with the horses, up on the north plains.”
“What do we know about horses? And I hear they’re not all that friendly to strangers.”
“There’s the Clan,” Orin said hopefully. “That small bunch we heard about. I don’t know a lot but....”
Rilletta cut him off with, “They’re refugees from the Twin Cities. Mutant-lovers. I want nothing to do with them.”
“That leaves the Civilized Zone, way off in the Rockies,” Orin said. “I hear they take people in.”
“I don’t know,” Rilletta said uncertainly. “It’s awful far. And besides. You’re forgetting something.”
“What?”
“Rumor has it that some of those groups aren’t around anymore. We could spend weeks getting there and find they’ve been wiped out.”
Orin was about to respond when he cocked his head and glanced to their right. “Did you hear something?”
“Only you,” Rilletta said.
Orin raised his voice. “Scragg, you and the others still with us?”
From up ahead, but farther away than Rilletta expected, Scragg bellowed, “Sounds like you’ve strayed some. Damn it. I told you to keep close.”
To their left somewhere, Big Bill hollered, “I must have strayed some, too. Where is everybody? I thought I just heard a funny sound. Was that one of you?”
Orin swore.
“Did any of you hear it?” Big Bill said. “A clacking kind of sound?”
“What the hell does clacking even mean?” Hawkins called out. He appeared to be the closest to Rilletta and Orin.
Big Bill answered, “It’s like sticks being hit together.”
“I heard it, too,” Aretha said.
Goose bumps rippled down Rilletta’s spine.
Orin drew his revolver. “I hate this, hate this, hate this. We should have gone around.”
Rilletta was about to caution him not to shoot unless he was sure what he was shooting but the words caught in her throat when a piercing screech rent the night, a screech that rose to a keening pitch of sheer terror and ended in a choked-off gasp of life being extinguished.
“Aretha!” Big Bill shouted.
“Close up, everybody!” Scragg roared. “Back to back!”
Rilletta looked every which way for the others. Orin was doing the same. “There!” he said, and pointed.
Out of the yellow soup came Hawkins, trembling with fear. “Did you hear that?”
“We all heard,” Orin said.
Positioning themselves with their backs to each other, the three of them cautiously advanced. Two other men—-Pritchard and Link—-materialized. Then Gawl reared like a mountain, his spiked mace poised to smash and rip.
“Anyone see anything?” Gawl said.
“Not yet,” Orin said.
Hawkins, who kept bobbing his long neck and head like some scared-to-death bird, exclaimed, “Hey! Is it me or is the fog thinning? I can see all of you better than before.”
So could Rilletta.
“Haven’t heard any clacking,” Pritchard whispered.
Rilletta exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The fog faded to where she could see torn and blasted ground, twisted shrubs and stunted trees.
“They say a war was fought here,” Link said. “Thanatos against the Warriors.”
“We all heard the story,” Orin said.
Rilletta could make out Scragg and Big Bill and others over a hundred feet away.
“I don’t see Aretha anywhere,” Hawkins whispered. “Or what’s left of her.”
Rilletta had been looking for her, too. She thought she had the vicinity of Aretha’s cry pegged; a patch of bare ground with a stub of rock that rose from the middle.
“Get over here!” Scragg shouted, shaking a fist in their direction. “When I say to close up, I mean it!”
“Coming, brother,” Gawl said.
Now that more of the valley was visible, Rilletta’s spirits rose a little. They would have risen higher except for Aretha. “Where could she have gotten to?” she wondered aloud.
“Carted off,” Orin said. “It’s the only explanation.”
“But where?” Rilletta said.
As if drawn by a magnet, they looked toward the Tower, its needle tip seeming to pierce the very stars.
“Too far,” Orin said. “Whatever took her couldn’t have gotten there already.”
Rilletta realized they were falling behind. Snagging his arm, she said, “Come on. We should keep up.”
“This place is too weird for words,” Orin said, and shuddered.
Rilletta didn’t blame him. She was afraid, too. Firming her grip on her machete, she caught up to the rest.
Scragg and Gawl were now in the lead. Hawkins was in the middle, with Big Bill, Pritchard and Link. After them came an older man named Henry and another woman who liked to be called Jellyroll and who never said much. Beside her was Sally.
“Shouldn’t we spread out and hunt for Aretha?” Hawkins said in his usual timid fashion.
“Nothing doing,” Scragg said. “She knew the risks, the same as the rest of us. We don’t stop until we’re on the other side.”
“And her his squeeze,” Hawkins said bitterly.
Rilletta jerked her head skyward. She was sure she had heard the flapping of wings, high above. She saw nothing to account for it. The stars and the crescent moon were undisturbed.
“What?” Orin said.
“Nothing.”
That was when clacking sounds erupted from all sides.
To Rilletta, it did indeed sound as if sticks were being beaten together, a lot of them, and loudly. Everyone stopped dead in their tracks, and she nearly collided with Jellyroll.
“What’s doing that?” Hawkins mewed in terror.
Jellyroll pointed into the night. “They are!” she said, and a shrill wail issued from her lips.
CHAPTER FOUR
In all the years he had been a Warrior, there were few occasions when Blade felt such sheer fear as he did when he lowered Hickok to the rampart.
To see Hickok lying there, his body rigid and as hard to the the touch as petrified wood—-a man who was his brother in every sense of the word, even if they weren’t linked by blood. They had grown up together, trained to become Warriors together, their friendship incalculably strengthened in the indelible forge of subsequent combat. Brothers-in-arms wasn’t a mere figure of speech. They shared a special bond that true warriors everywhere and in any time understood.
Blade’s fear for his friend was compounded by the real
ization that whatever struck Hickok—-was happening to him. He could feel feel something going on inside of him, a sickening sensation, as if his organs were moving around of their own accord.
Blade fairly flew down the ramp. He hated leaving the walls undefended but it should be safe to do in the short time it would take him to reach his cabin, and his wife. Jenny was a Healer. Her knowledge of medicine was second to none. If anyone could help Hickok and him, it was her.
On reaching the bottom he ran faster and instantly began sweating profusely. Worse, the nausea gnawed at him like termites at wood, and bitter bile rose in his gorge.
The Blocks he was passing between were spread out over a wide area. In the shape of a triangle, A Block, the Armory, stood at the southern tip. Northwest of it was B Block, where single adult Family members lived. C Block served as the infirmary, D Block was their construction center and science lab, while F Block was devoted to food preservation and storage. E Block was their Library.
No one else was abroad. Not at that hour. Unlike the olden days when people could stay up to all hours and have light to spare thanks to electricity, since the Big Blast only the Free State of California and the Civilized Zone enjoyed that luxury. At the Home, nighttime was for sleeping. A few Family members might stay up late reading by candle light but most were tucked under their bedcovers by ten o’clock.
To Blade’s alarm, his legs started to give him trouble. He became aware of intense prickling in his feet that spread up his legs with worrying rapidity. Along with the feeling came great heat.
His legs slowed but through sheer force of will, Blade kept going. He still hoped to reach Jenny. A few moments more, though, and he found that he couldn’t take a breath. His lungs weren’t working right. He sucked air into his mouth in huge gulps, thinking that might help, but no. He commenced to gasp like a fish out of water.
Blade staggered and weaved. He was losing all strength, all energy. Lowering his head like a bull, he propelled himself forward. He spied the cabins in the distance, among them his own.
“Jenny!” Blade gasped. He was losing his ability to move. He tried to shout, to draw attention, but his vocal chords were paralyzed. All that came out was a huffing cough.
Blade tripped, recovered. Unable to control the direction he was moving, he lurched wildly, as if drunk. He managed a few more steps, then his legs give out entirely. He barely felt striking the ground. From his neck down, the heat had been replaced by the most frigid ice.
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