Deathlands 075: Shatter Zone Read online

  However, guncotton was perfect for making pipebombs. Any further invasions of stickies could easily be handled by simply blowing the infested building into a million pieces with a wooden barrel of the homie explos. The precious knowledge had bought the companions three magnificent horses—in addition to Mildred’s three—and all of the food they could carry. Plus, a full bag of the new pipebombs.

  Formerly a teacher, Doc had been inspired by that event. Since paper was unknown, the scholar spent a rainy day sanding a plank smooth and then carving the alphabet into the wood. Surprisingly, the baron’s wife had picked up reading relatively quickly and promised to pass along the knowledge of “the marks of sound” to every child in the ville.

  As the word of these deeds spread, the rep of the companions grew, and so Krysty took this opportunity to instruct the greenhouse farmers about crop rotation, and how to get a maximum yield from the greenhouses. The farmers seemed highly doubtful of the idea that less work would deliver more food, but reluctantly agreed to give it a try. The rists knew old tech that bordered on magic. Old coins, boiled water and bed sheets had been used to make the stuff called guncotton. Mebbe rotating crops really would work!

  Knowing how to make shine from his days on the bayou, Jak had gone with Cauldfield to visit the distillation unit for the fuel, but found nothing there that could be improved. That made Cauldfield furious, and the man had demanded advice, thinking the youth was holding out on him for some reason. A heated argument followed, and Jak was about to draw down on the fool when the baron interfered and forced them apart.

  “Some folks born knowing nothing,” Jak muttered afterward, “and get more stupe every year.”

  While tending the wounded from the ferocious battle, Mildred had shown the midwives and healers everything she could about basic medicine. They had absorbed the information and started setting most of it to rhythm so that knowledge could be easily remembered. Quickly seeing the logic of this in a world where reading and writing were unknown by most folk, Mildred used some radio and television commercials from the twentieth century to offer musical suggestions. The catchy jingles were gratefully accepted. But later, the physician had to stop herself from laughing at the sight of the somber healers chanting about basic hygiene, birth control and battlefield surgery based upon advertising slogans.

  “Madison Avenue at its best.” Mildred chuckled in remembrance, and started humming famous chewing gum lyrics while checking the lashing on the saddlebags.

  “How do you double pleasure, Millie?” J.B. asked, puzzled, leaning over in his saddle.

  “I’ll show you later,” the physician promised with a chuckle, climbing onto her horse. The Appaloosa gelding nickered softly as she settled into place, and stomped the sandy ground, making a chomping sound with its hooves.

  “Let’s get moving, people,” Ryan directed, awkwardly grabbing the saddle horn and swinging a leg over the stallion to settle into the hard leather saddle. “Mount up! I wanna be far from these ruins when nightfall comes.”

  “And may Gaia guide us along the way.” Krysty sighed, a small bandage covering a wound on her cheek from a stickie spear that had come too nuking close for comfort.

  The day was warm, and the redhead had her bearskin coat tied about her waist, the S&W revolver riding high on her gunbelt in front, and the MP-5 hanging in the middle of her back. The rapidfire held a single full clip of predark brass, and there were no more spares. After that, Krysty would be down to the revolver and a few pipebombs.

  Privately, she also would have preferred to stay in Two-Son ville for another week, and teach the locals how to convert black powder into gunpowder. Then J.B. could have made reloads for the MP-5, and they could go north packing heavy iron. But there was no holding back Ryan. The companions all rode with him, or the man would have gone alone.

  “Well, if I can’t change your mind,” Stirling said, walking over. Hitching up his gunbelt, the sec man offered his left arm. “Good luck.”

  Without hesitation, Ryan reached down and the two men shook. Then Stirling did the unexpected and squeezed with all of his strength. Ryan frowned at that, then did the same back. A minute passed with the two maintaining the grip, until sweat appeared on Ryan’s brow and a red stain started to spread on Stirling’s bandaged shoulder.

  “Cut that shit out, right now!” Mildred snapped, startling her horse. It whinnied in surprise, starting a chain reaction of snorting from the other horses in the stable.

  Finally, the two men let go, each trying not to show how much pain he was experiencing.

  “Nuking hell, Ryan, your healer did a terrif job on the stitching, but that arm isn’t completely healed yet,” Stirling stated bluntly, ignoring the throbbing ache in his shoulder. “Your blaster hand is stiff, and nowhere near as fast as it used to be. Let it heal for fuck’s sake. Wait another week! What difference can that possibly make?”

  “Can’t.” Ryan grunted, casually resting his right arm on his leg. “Folks are getting aced to get my attention. I’ve got to stop it.”

  “Fair enough. But why not wait a while longer? What’s the damn hurry?”

  Tugging his gloves on tighter, Ryan really didn’t have the words to explain why. It certainly wasn’t because of pride, or honor. It was something else, something impossible to explain. This was just something he had to do, even if it wasn’t a smart move. When a man looked in a mirror, he damn well better like the fellow staring back, or else he might as well just eat his blaster. Life was more than a matter of survival at any cost. There was more. Traveling with the Trader, a young Ryan had learned that the hard way over the years. Would he have died to save his son, Dean? Hell, yes. What about J.B. or Krysty? Sure, without pausing for a tick. So what about himself? Now that question took some deep thinking, but the answer came back the same. He had to ride north, and as soon as possible.

  In reply, Ryan shrugged, unable to put the complex emotions into mere words.

  Frowning, the sec chief sighed in resignation. “Well, at least don’t take any chances with those cold-hearts,” Stirling advised sternly. “Just ace them on sight. Or better yet, shoot them from behind. Savvy?”

  “I savvy,” Ryan replied, turning his horse toward the open doorway of the corral and kicking it into a trot. The rest of the companions followed.

  Shaking his head, Stirling closed the swing door to the corral and went to check the other animals.

  As the companions rode their horses through the ville, the civies came out to line the street and wave goodbye. A couple of young girls blew kisses at Jak, and several woman bowed slightly as Mildred passed.

  “You know, I can’t remember the last time we left a ville and were still friendly with the reigning baron and his sec force,” J.B. said, adjusting his fedora. “Heck of a nice change, I must admit.”

  “Well, at least Front Royal in the east, and Two-Son here in the West,” Krysty added, her hair flexing and waving. “That makes two.”

  “Two villes out hundred,” Jak snorted, brushing back his snowy-white hair. “Not much.”

  “No, indeed, Mr. Lauren, it is not,” Doc rumbled, squinting at the sec men standing on top of the approaching wall. The armed guards were also smiling and waving. “But then, at least this was a safe haven.”

  “For once, I agree with you,” Mildred said, rolling her hips in rhythm to the animal between her thighs. Two villes out of a hundred. Not much at all. But the desert ville offered them a vital fallback position, someplace to use as a retreat if the hammer fell. Retirement was an unknown word in this dark time, but Mildred had been taught to look ahead, to plan for the future, both good and bad. Deep down in her heart, she had already decided that if something ever happened to the others, this is where the physician would make her new home. A place to write down her medical knowledge for future generations, a journal of what she had seen, and done in her travels with the companions. She’d jotted down a few ideas already, but there was so much more to record.

  Plus, there was alway
s the nearby redoubt, Blaster Base One. Given enough people and supplies, Mildred felt positive it would be possible to dig through the collapsed tunnel and reclaim the redoubt with its cornucopia of weapons, medicine, electricity and food. With those supplies, Two-Son could become the capital of a new America. A land without slaves, warlords, cannies, or death areas.

  “Millie?” J.B. asked, riding closer. “You okay, honey?”

  The woman dried the moisture off her cheeks with a sleeve and nodded quickly in reply. “Just some sand in my eyes,” she lied as the vision of the future faded away into a dream. But the physician knew that dreams were important. The wheel was born in a dream, the radio, penicillin, plumbing, the Magna Carta, the Constitution… Even after everything else was cold ashes blowing in the wind, dreams still survived.

  Approaching the front gate, Ryan could see there were several folks waiting for them near the firing wall. Baron O’Connor was standing with his wife and son, as well as Jan and Simone Stirling and a scowling Cauldfield. Only Catherine was missing, and Ryan really didn’t give a damn. That bitch was going to be real trouble someday.

  “I see that Steven couldn’t change your mind.” Baron O’Connor’s voice boomed.

  “Nope,” Ryan said.

  The baron waited for more, but when it wasn’t forthcoming, he shrugged. “Well, can’t say that I really blame you,” O’Connor admitted. “Come back if you can. You’ll always be welcome.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” Cauldfield muttered softly.

  “Good luck,” Daniel said, stiffly rising.

  Ryan nodded. “Same to you,”

  “Open the gate!” the baron commanded, and the guards rushed to obey.

  As the companions rode out of the ville, Ryan tensed as the alarm bell began to ring. He reached for his blaster. Then he eased his stance at the realization that it was just the baron’s way of saying goodbye. Son of a bitch, that was certainly a first! A royal farewell.

  Starting across the shatter zone, Doc cast a brief glance backward, and saw the huge gate ponderously swing closed. Then a light began to flash from the Citadel, and he smiled. Doc didn’t know their mirror code, but he understood the message. Good luck. Come back alive.

  Shielding the toy compass with a hand, J.B. checked the swinging needle. “North is that way,” the Armorer said, pointing.

  “Okay, get razor-sharp, people!” Ryan shouted, leading the way through a gap in the row of K-rails. “It’s a two-day ride to the next ville, and the coldhearts know we’re coming. They might attack us from anywhere along the way.”

  “Then why are we heading due north, straight into their arms?” Krysty demanded. “You planning a suicide charge?”

  Adjusting his eyepatch, Ryan gave a half smile to the woman as he kicked the rump of the stallion with his boot heels, and the animal responded by breaking into a full gallop.

  STANDING ON TOP of the wall, the sec men of the ville watched as the companions moved into the ruins and out of sight. A corporal then faced into the ville and made a chopping motion.

  “Are you sure about this, Father?” Daniel O’Connor asked, dropping back into his chair. The young man was still very weak. “This not our way.”

  “There is no other choice,” the baron replied, the folded cloth of his empty sleeve flapping in the breeze.

  Suddenly there came the sound of galloping horses, and Daniel turned to see Sec chief Stirling come riding up with five mounted sec men. All of them were armed with longblasters, crossbows, quivers of arrows and bags of the new pipebombs.

  At a gesture from the baron, the massive gates rumbled aside once more, and the grim pack of riders galloped out of the ville heading into the desert on their dark mission.

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-7339-2

  SHATTER ZONE

  Copyright © 2006 by Worldwide Library.

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