Sins of Honor Page 27

  As the fumes abated, the companions scrambled into the gloomy basement of the old police station. The coal bin was empty, long abandoned in favor of a hulking gas furnace that sat inert on the other side of the tiled expanse. Completely finished, the basement had a terrazzo floor, wood paneling and a drop ceiling. A row of comps was situated at a long table alongside a row of green file cabinets, and behind a locked steel gate were rows of shelving filled with neat lines of lumpy objects sealed inside airtight plastic bags.

  “This is the evidence room!” Mildred whispered in delight. Pulling a knife, she forced the lock, then slashed open a bag to extract bottles of multicolored pills and stuff them into her medical kit.

  “We can loot the place of pharmaceuticals later, madam,” Doc said, grabbing her wrist.

  Mildred bridled at that, then nodded.

  “On the other hand,” Krysty said, lifting a bundle of long red sticks from a shelf.

  “Dyno?” Fife asked. “If that’s sweaty...”

  “Dry as a bone,” Krysty replied stuffing them into a pocket of her bearskin coat.

  Everybody else spread out, searching for anything useful among the orderly stores of confiscated items. Most of it was tiny vials filled with white chunks, purses, cash and other useless items. But there were also several hunting rifles and revolvers, the ammunition bagged right alongside the weapons.

  Checking the closets, Ryan paused at the totally unexpected sight of a vanadium steel door. The smooth metal was unmarked, appearing to be brand-new, and there was a small keypad set into the jamb. Without a doubt, this was the entrance to a redoubt. Nothing else used a vanadium door. The companions had found similar redoubts before, usually hidden inside a government building.

  However the question was, what to do? The companions could now easily escape from the APC outside, but that would involve taking Fife along. Ryan didn’t even have to ask to know the colonel would never leave his ville undefended. There might be weapons inside the armory of the redoubt, but that would mean revealing the existence of the underground bases to the man, and again, Fife would almost certainly give that information to his baron.

  Survival and honor briefly struggled within the man, then a grim Ryan closed the door and turned away. If Fife died, the companions would escape into the redoubt. If not, they’d fight by his side until the end. There was no law in the Deathlands, there were only men who kept their word, and those who didn’t.

  “Find anything useful?” Fife asked, thumbing fresh rounds into an empty magazine for his assault rifle.

  Ryan recognized the bullets as armor-piercing rounds. “Nothing as good as that brass!” he said with a straight face.

  Furrowing his brow, Fife looked hard at the other man, as if sensing that something was wrong.

  Outside, something loudly exploded.

  “I’ll check the offices,” Ryan said, heading for the exit.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Going up the stairs, Ryan was careful to place his boots on the extreme edges of each step to not make the old wood squeak. He had no idea if the APC had a mike for detecting distant sounds, so it was wise to play it safe. Reaching the ground floor, he went directly past a holding cell and carefully separated a venetian blind to look outside.

  Still smoldering, the APC was now parked directly in front of city hall. From inside the smoky APC, a heavy machine gun began chattering, and cars parked along the street began wildly jerking from the arrival of the .308 armor-piercing rounds. White-hot tracers made the passage of the stream visible in the daylight, and soon a there was a score of small fires scattered along both sides of the street.

  In short order, the air was thick with swirling smoke, the APC only a dimly seen silhouette in the billowing clouds.

  Charging out from behind a ragged hedge, four cannies sprinted down the street, keeping far away from the collection of burning motorcycles, as they headed straight out of town.

  “Think they’re going to try to circle around?” Krysty asked. “Attack us from behind?”

  “I think they just boarded the last train west,” Ryan said simply.

  Almost immediately, the cannies began to twitch and stumble, then slap at themselves as if being attacked by stinging insects. Moving ever slower, they began wildly scratching all over, their fingernails leaving bloody furrows.

  Several of the cannies paused as the seat of their pants turned a dark red. Staggering along, soon all of them were leaving behind crimson footsteps. Drunkenly, the cannies staggered, beginning to weave aimlessly while coughing. They were almost at the end of the roadway when a young woman bent over and loudly vomited blood.

  At the splashing noise, the laser on top of the APC swung around fast. With a low hum, the scintillating power beam swept across the dying cannies, slicing them neatly in two.

  “Thank Gaia, it was fast,” Krysty whispered. “But it makes me wonder how they got into the city without using the road?”

  “Some tunnel that led directly into the sewers,” Ryan said. “They were probably told it was the only safe way into the town.”

  “Guess they weren’t smart enough to figure out that also meant it was the only safe way to leave.”

  “Well, now that they’re gone, we still have to stop a bastard predark tank with our bare hands.”

  “Not quite,” J.B. said, setting down a handful of gallon cans. The man reeked of smoke, but was smiling widely.

  “How is house paint going to help?” Mildred asked with a scowl.

  “It’s not paint,” Ryan said, drawing his panga. Using the tip of the eighteen-inch weapon, he pried off a lid to reveal a fine silvery powder inside.

  “That is aluminum oxide, and this is ferris oxide,” J.B. said proudly, setting down another can. “They’re used to change the tone of latex paint. But if combined correctly, along with a few ordinary household products—”

  “They make thermite,” Krysty finished, eagerly opening another can. “J.B., there must be fifty pounds of mixture here!”

  “Easily,” he said with a grin.

  “Never heard of thermite,” Fife stated.

  “Burns hot, melt steel,” Jak said, replacing Ryan and Krysty as a guard at the window.

  The tank was no longer on fire, and was now shooting the laser randomly, setting more houses ablaze in a desperate search for the companions. “Laser soon here,” he warned brusquely.

  “Thermite, right.... Look, Krysty found some dyno,” Fife began tolerantly. “Mebbe we can blow off the tires and flip that tin can into a ditch. What do ya think?”

  All conversation stopped as the laser sliced across the second story of the police station. There was a tremendous rush of heat from above, followed by a lot of assorted crashing. As dust sprinkled down from the ceiling, the companions raced back into the basement.

  “Give me your pipe bombs,” Ryan said, yanking his out and twisting off the top.

  Digging into their backpacks and clothing, the group produced eight more pipe bombs.

  While Ryan carefully emptied all of the guncotton into a neat pile, J.B. got busy with a plastic bucket from the janitor’s closet. Using a rolled-up arrest report as a crude funnel, he got busy mixing things in the bucket, then refilled each of the lead tubes.

  “That should do it,” J.B. said, hefting a pipe bomb. “Now, I don’t know how hot these will burn cut with dynamite. There was no time to mix them properly, so once the charges ignite—”

  “Run like hell,” Doc finished in his deep bass. “We understand, John Barrymore. Fizzle or flare, we must be ready for both.”

  “Will this help?” Ricky asked, dragging over a large sheet of plastic. “I got it from the front desk.”

  “Laser go right through,” Jak said with a frown.

  “How about these?” Mildred asked, her arms full of blac
k PVC pipes. “I ripped apart the plumbing in the shower room.”

  “Not need more,” Jak said, then smiled. “Yes, do!”

  “Yeah, this’ll work fine,” Ryan said with a brief smile. “Cut them up into sections the same size as the real bombs.”

  “Dummies?” Fife asked with a thin smile. “A little distraction never hurts.”

  Everybody got to work fast. The job was just barely completed when there was a loud crashing from above and the ceiling bulged.

  As Ryan glanced upward, Fife shoved him aside and a chunk of terrazzo dropped through to slam into the floor where the man had just been standing.

  “Thanks,” Ryan panted, touching a bloody scrape on his cheek.

  “Anytime,” Fife said with a wink, heading for the coal chute.

  Returning to the alley, everybody took a couple of fake bombs, along with the real ones.

  “Better load them with dirt, or we’ll never get any decent range,” Ryan suggested, scooping up a handful from the ground and pouring it into an empty tube.

  When that was accomplished, the group spread out until finding a house with a clothesline. Grabbing the line and slicing it into short lengths, they tied them to the pipes, making petards.

  “Just don’t get hoisted on your own,” Doc quipped.

  Mildred snorted. “Funny. You’re a funny guy.”

  Issuing smoke from every window, the burning police station started to collapse as the group went across the backyards, staying as low as possible until nearing the APC. Crawling on their bellies through some rosebushes, they reached a wooden fence and carefully stood, braced for the deadly flash of the laser.

  “Give me Ryan, and you can live!” Angstrom called, her booming voice over the loudspeaker no longer even trying to sound sincere.

  Lighting the fuses, the group got the pipes spinning, then let them fly. Even as the first salvo was airborne, they started on the next, and then the third.

  Down the block, the laser paused in destroying the town for a moment as the clattering rain of plastic and lead pipes fell on the nearby street.

  “What, these toys again?” Angstrom said shrilly, a touch of madness in her voice. “Why not try begging for your lives? Or better yet, ace Ryan in front of me, and I will let those who chill him escape!”

  There was no reply.

  “Last chance!” Angstrom growled over the loudspeaker.

  Just then, one of the pipe bombs burst apart, sending out a spray of lumpy chunks that rolled along the pavement hissing and spitting.

  Mocking laughter came from the loudspeaker, then another pipe bomb violently exploded, showering the APC with a fine spray of thermite. Flaring into incandescence, the allotropic mixture burned across the armored chassis, the loudspeaker, gren launchers, machine gun pintle, and all of the minor fixtures, turning a bright cherry-red before simply falling away.

  Screaming obscenities from an air vent, Angstrom swept the laser along the street. As the beam touched a pipe bomb, it instantly melted, revealing there was nothing inside but dirt. But the next pipe exploded, sending out another burning wave of thermite.

  That ignited two more pipe bombs, then all of them. In only seconds, the APC was coated with white-hot flames that steadily increased in temperature, the thermite actually using the metal itself to fuel the hellish inferno.

  Briefly, the bulletproof tires smoldered, then exploded off the rims, and the APC dropped two feet to the road in a thunderous clang. Next, the black box sagged, and the laser slashed in a zigzag across the town one last time, randomly destroying anything it touched before abruptly winking out.

  Already a cherry-red in color, parts of the APC chassis began drooping, when a glowing hatch slammed open and Angstrom rose into view. Half of her face was gone, the flesh charred to the bone, and her clothing writhed with smoke, little flames licking along what remained of her hair.

  Screaming, Angstrom threw something away just before combusting into flames and dropping from sight back into the melting APC.

  Bouncing merrily along the dirty pavement, the smooth metallic sphere came to a rest near a rusty stop sign, then gave off the oddest musical tone.

  “Implo gren!” Ryan yelled, throwing himself backward. Frantically, everybody scrambled for a handhold, and braced for the coming holocaust.

  A split second later the device activated. Instantly, an intense gravitational field of unbelievable force created a roaring hurricane and everything was sucked into the subatomic vortex.

  Rapidly escalating in force, a violent maelstrom rushed inward, carrying along leafs, tree branches, corpses, spent brass, roof tiles, street signs, sidewalk slabs...even the sizzling APC itself was dragged into the powerful reverse explosion. Desperately digging their fingers into the ground, the cringing companions were brutally pelted with hurtling debris of all sorts and types. Then the very ground started to break apart, chunks flying away, and the companions began to slide helplessly toward the raging gravitational whirlpool.

  Then as fast as it had been created, the vortex vanished. Already in motion, the winds continued to sweep along the streets, loose debris and trash swirling around aimlessly until finally settling back down to earth.

  “Son of a mutie bitch...” Ryan coughed, releasing his grip on a fence post. All of the slats were gone, sucked away by the violently implosion, only the deeply driven posts remained, all of them dangerously tilted.

  “What in the name of holy heaven was that?” Ricky panted, stuffing the pockets back into his clothing.

  “An implo gren,” J.B. muttered, pulling the crumpled fedora from inside his jacket. “Dark night, when I saw that baby bouncing down the road...”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Krysty agreed, giving a humorless chuckle. “Never been so close to becoming one with the Earth Mother before.”

  “Indeed, madam,” Doc wheezed. “For a moment, I could have sworn that I heard St. Peter call my name.”

  “Me, too,” Mildred admitted, swinging around her medical bag to its proper position.

  “Wrong direction, madam,” Doc said, then smiled. “But I am glad you are still here.”

  “Ditto, you old coot.”

  Shuffling forward, Ryan paused at the curb. Only a few yards away was a huge hole in the pavement. Easily fifty feet wide, the interior was mirror-smooth, a mathematically perfect half sphere.

  “Where’d everything go?” Ricky asked in confusion.

  “Still here,” J.B. said, slapping his hat back into shape. “Just compacted to the size of dust.”

  “Even the APC?”

  “Most of it,” Ryan replied, pointing a finger.

  A short distance down the street, a small fiercely glowing puddle of molten steel stood where the APC had been. Wisps of black smoke wafted in the artificial breeze, carrying the disturbingly sweet smell of roasted pork.

  “Long pig,” Jak said, making a face. “Hate smell of cooking human, even enemy.”

  It took Ricky a moment to understand, then he slapped a hand over his mouth and struggled not to breathe.

  Just then, a low moan came from the rosebushes.

  Hurrying over, Ryan pulled away the thorny branches to reveal Fife lying tangled in the exposed roots. His clothing soaked in blood, the deathly pale man was gasping for air, a jagged piece of aluminum siding sticking out of his head.

  Shoving the other companions aside, Mildred quickly knelt beside the trembling man, and expertly ran her fingertips along the ghastly wound.

  “L-ive...?” Fife asked, fighting for breath.

  “No, it’s too deep,” Mildred whispered with a catch in her voice. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  “F-figured...d-don’t feel any p-pain...bad sign...” Fife coughed. “Ryan?”

  “I’m here,” the man said, slowly drawing the SIG-Sauer.
<
br />   “O-owe m-me,” Fife whispered, blood flecking his lips. “P-pay now...”

  “In full,” Ryan promised.

  “B-bury me...in ville.”

  Startled, Ryan paused. “What?”

  Suddenly, Fife reached up, a bloody hand grabbing his arm. “Take me home!” he gasped, blind eyes looking at infinity. “Bury in ville...take me home! Let baron know the ville is safe.” With a ragged sigh, the man went still and the hand fell away.

  Listening to the gentle wind, none of the companions spoke for a few minutes.

  “There’s the door to a redoubt in the cellar of the police station,” Ryan said, holstering the weapon. “Once the fire dies away we can easily get inside and jump out of here.”

  “Yes, I know,” Krysty said. “We all saw it.”

  “Besides, Concord is a day away on a bike,” J.B. said, tilting back his fedora. “On foot, it’s a week, mebbe more.”

  “A very long walk, indeed,” Doc stated, brushing back his silvery hair.

  “Cannies, muties, along way,” Jak added, checking the load in his Colt Python handblaster. “Triple hard go both ways.”

  “Agreed.” Bending, Ryan lifted the body of the sec chief and slung him over a shoulder. “We better find something to wrap Cam in and get moving then,” he said, starting down the long street to what remained of the town.

  * * * * *

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