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  “Hot pipe,” Dean breathed, “that should have taken out its brain.”

  “Who says it has one?” J.B. replied sharply. “We need to hold it back while Millie gets away.”

  Even as he spoke, the Armorer raised the barrel of his Uzi, flicking to rapid fire and bracing the stock against his body, his legs spread to anchor himself to the floor. He sent a stream of hot metal into the body of the beast, spraying it so that it rippled with the wave of impact. It thrashed its head, moving slightly backward and enabling Mildred, still scrambling toward them, to get some distance between her and the giant mutie.

  Jak and Dean, equipped with handblasters that would need reloading more quickly than J.B.’s Uzi, took their shots with more care. Dean aimed for the end of the creature with the open maw, looking to place more shots within the beast. Jak took the end that disappeared into the tunnel wall, looking to rip holes in it with the slugs from the .357 Magnum Colt Python, the shots roaring from his revolver.

  The creature showed no sign of emotion, made no sound, but was clearly enraged by this attack as it reared back under the initial impact, then ignored the repeated hits about its body and began to slither toward the group of four, Mildred now joining them on her feet, directing shots from the ZKR toward the beast.

  J.B. wondered if a gren tossed into the maw would disable the creature, but had no idea where Ryan, Krysty and Doc were on the other side of the beast. The last thing he wanted was to bring down part of the corridor along with the mutie, thus blocking them off.

  On the other side of the creature, Doc had regained his feet and had retreated a few steps to be nearer to Ryan and Krysty as the mutie moved in the opposite direction. Although it blocked all view of anything on its far side, the noise of the blasterfire and the direction of its movement made it totally clear what was happening.

  “I fear that the creature will be impervious to bullets,” Doc said quickly, “and if it is a mutation of the species I believe it to be, then the worst thing John Barrymore could do would be to use a gren.”

  “Why?” Ryan queried.

  Doc looked astonished. “But my dear boy, a whole host of worms rather than one?”

  “But smaller, Doc,” Ryan replied. “Easier to chill and drive off. Anyway, too risky to use a gren. Could bring down the corridor.”

  “Then what?” Krysty exclaimed. “We can’t leave them.”

  “No, but we can distract that bastard, mebbe drive it back into its hole if it doesn’t know where to turn,” the one-eyed warrior said, holstering the SIG-Sauer and unslinging his Steyr.

  Krysty and Doc both agreed, and as Ryan loosed a round from the rifle, Krysty began to fire steadily with her Smith & Wesson revolver, while Doc gave the creature a charge of shot.

  Attacked on both sides, its flesh irritated and torn, the confused giant mutie worm began to turn toward the group headed by Ryan, before another wave of fire from the other side made it swing around again.

  Each side poured round after round into the creature, cursing it for the waste of every precious shell, but knowing that there was no other way to defeat it.

  Still turning from side to side, the creature began to slither back into its hole, its maw the last thing to disappear. Its speed was the greater for it only having to slide back through the empty rock, its last cast some distance back.

  The companions ceased fire as the corridor gave a little shudder and tremor at the passing of the creature back into the rock from whence it had come. Finally, both sides could see each other once more.

  “Shit, don’t want that sort of trouble too often,” Mildred said, still shaking her head to clear it. “Bet you’re pissed at losing all those rounds, John.”

  The Armorer gave her a grim smile. “We’re not too bad. I kinda hope whoever’s been here hasn’t cleaned out the armory, though.”

  Jak inclined his head. He spoke softly after a few seconds. “Mebbe know sooner than want—hear someone on move.”

  Chapter Three

  “How far?” Ryan asked of the albino.

  “Two levels up—coming fast now,” Jak replied, his eyes shut tight as he listened carefully for noises that the others couldn’t detect.

  “And I don’t think they’re particularly friendly, lover,” Krysty added softly. A swift glance from Ryan to the woman confirmed this, as her sentient hair was closing to her neck and scalp, detectable even as he watched.

  J.B. had been pondering as this exchange took place, and turned to Ryan. “If this redoubt is like the others, then the armory and dispensary are two floors up, and the next level is where the dorms and showers are.”

  “And the kitchens,” Ryan added, nodding his agreement.

  “Great.” Mildred grimaced, allowing a shaft of blackened humor to penetrate the conversation, “at least we can try to beat them to death with a cooking pot.”

  Ryan snorted. “Yeah, great option. How much ammo we got, J.B.?”

  The Armorer looked into the canvas and leather bag he had habitually slung over his back. The bag contained the companions’ spare ammo and grens.

  Ryan knew what the set look on the Armorer’s face meant before the man even mouthed the words.

  “I’d say we’ve got enough, in a decent firefight, to last us about five minutes before it’s all used. We need to find an armory of some kind…or else chill those coldhearts up there with every shot counting.”

  “But we’ve still got the grens,” Dean said. “What d’you reckon?”

  J.B. looked up at the ceiling of the tunnel, turning his head with a slowness that seemed somehow overly luxurious when an enemy was so near.

  “Can’t risk the grens down here,” he said decisively. “There’s too many cracks already in the walls, and if there have been a shitload of those worms crawling through here, then the whole area could be shot through like wormwood. One gren in the wrong place and the only chilling there’ll be will be our own.”

  “Guess that settles that,” Ryan said. “The amount of firefighting we did with that mutie worm bastard, they’re gonna know we’re down here. This has got no cover at all, so let’s get going. Shape up, people.”

  Blasters ready, they fell into formation and moved forward. Ryan took the lead, with Jak moving up to join him and keep his senses alert for the location of the enemy. Krysty came next, with Doc just behind, reloading the LeMat as they moved. Dean and Mildred followed, with J.B. bringing up the rear, switching from the Uzi to the M-4000. He had more cartridges packed with the deadly barbed-metal fléchettes, and figured that they could inflict more confusion and damage at close range than Uzi fire. Besides, in such a situation he would have to switch the Uzi to single shot rather than rapid fire.

  The curving corridor was doglegged as it moved upward, enabling the incline to be relatively gentle and for the slope to need less space underground, allowing rooms and units to lead off it. It was good for the companions, as it didn’t make great demands on their calf muscles, sapping strength. But the downside was that it had more than its fair share of blind corners, and Ryan kept the pace slow as they moved up. He kept his eye firmly on Jak, who would indicate with the briefest shake of his white mane that the enemy was still on the descent, and not around the corner.

  It was a race against time. Ryan wanted to find a position that provided cover before the descending enemy came either head-on into them or was able to establish a position of cover first, and be able to pick off the approaching companions.

  At each corner, the sinews and cords in the one-eyed man’s neck tightened and bulged as he concentrated every muscle, every instinct, every reaction to be ready for the onslaught. But the expected attack didn’t come. Ryan’s gut feeling was that whoever was in charge of the approaching force was of the same opinions as himself, and was playing odds on whether the oncoming companions were to rush straight in, or establish cover.

  “Slowed down,” Jak whispered hoarsely to Ryan. “Not far.”

  The one-eyed warrior assented. They had reach
ed the next level of the redoubt, the incline on the slope leveling out onto a flat floor. Ahead of them a sec door was open, its red coloring just showing at the side of the wall, disappearing into a concrete pillar that also contained the housing for the sec door release mechanism.

  On this side of the door, to their right, lay a dormitory, a shower room to the left. Both doors were closed.

  Ryan signaled for the companions to slow, indicating the concrete support that arched across the circumference of the tunnel. They were to split into two groups. Ryan took himself, Krysty, Jak and Doc to the left, while Dean, Mildred and J.B. split off to the right, assuming positions that kept them close to the wall, taking advantage of the scant cover provided by the concrete pillar.

  “Jak, think you can take out that room, see if we’re alone here—and quick?” Ryan asked.

  Jak nodded, a grin splitting his scarred and pitted white visage.

  On the other side, J.B. had guessed exactly what Ryan was telling the albino, even though the one-eyed man had deliberately kept his voice low, in case the rooms were, in fact, occupied. The Armorer turned to Dean and Mildred.

  “We need to see if those rooms are free. Ryan’s sending Jak into the shower room. I’ll take the dorm.”

  “I’ll do it. I may be quicker,” Dean said, his dark eyes glittering with the fire of battle. It took the Armorer less than a fraction of a second to decide. With a nod, he indicated to Dean that he could take on the task.

  Dean and Jak glanced at each other across the breadth of the tunnel. Jak held up a white hand, skin almost pearlescent in the fluorescent overhead lighting. Three fingers were erect. Jak curled one, then two, and then the third, bunching them into a fist.

  Dean caught the count immediately: three…two…one…and now.

  As one, the two young men sprang from their stations behind the pillar, their companions ready to cover them should any fire be drawn by their sudden action.

  There was none. Within seconds, each youth was in front of the room he had to recce and secure.

  It was bizarre that many rooms in redoubts that didn’t house comp equipment or supplies like the armory or the dispensary hadn’t been fitted with sec doors. Perhaps, in the distant days before skydark, this was the result of a bureaucrat penny-pinching on the black budget of the Totality Concept. But all that it meant for Jak and Dean was that they didn’t have to punch in a sec code and wait for the door to creep open at the slow speed usually favored by the creaking and worn-out systems.

  Jak didn’t bother with the smooth knob of the door in front of him. Raising one combat-booted foot, he used every ounce of strength in the wiry muscles of his calf and thigh to crash his foot into the area of the door just below the chromium. The thin metal of the door crumpled, the fragile lock, which was a simple Yale in design—giving under the sudden stress. The door flew back, slamming hard against the wall with a crash. If anyone had been waiting behind it for Jak to enter, then the force of it would have stunned them.

  Not that the albino cared about that at this precise moment. Even before the door had reached the wall, he had adjusted his balance and taken a flying leap into the darkened shower room, somersaulting in the air and making himself a hard target to hit.

  The fact that there was no light within the room was of no hindrance to Jak. In dim or darkened conditions his pigmentless red eyes were better adjusted to the gloom. He had spent much of his early youth in the bayou hunting by night, and his instincts had evolved to the point where it was possible for him to become almost at one with the shadows.

  The shower room itself resembled a locker room, where it was possible to dry off and change clothes, the towels and soap being kept in freestanding metal cabinets. Through a narrow channel was the tiled shower area, where the actual showers were a series of self-contained cubicles.

  Plenty of places for an enemy to hide, but also plenty of places for Jak to take cover.

  The .357 Magnum Colt Python blaster was in his fist as he emerged upright from the somersault, his trigger finger resting lightly on the guard. He adjusted it without thinking, so that he was ready to squeeze off a shot if necessary. In his other hand, which he held palm up, lay one of his razor-sharp leaf-bladed throwing knives. As he shifted, weight forward on the balls of his feet to facilitate rapid motion, a shaft of light from the corridor outside caught the blade, its edges glittering. Without even registering that he had noticed this, Jak shifted the angle of his hand so that the light no longer caught on the blade.

  The room was silent, and Jak couldn’t detect any sign of an enemy, not even the merest whisper of breath. He scanned the room, his eyes taking in the shadows. They were constant; nothing was moving in here. Satisfied that the room was empty, but still keeping triple alert lest the opposition be as skillful in the art of hunting as himself, Jak moved lightly and quickly to the shower cubicles themselves.

  Normally he would have taken each in turn, opening the doors and investigating each. But time was of the essence, and at this juncture he had to marry speed with stealth, a marriage that was not always satisfactory to the equal use of both.

  With a yelping screech that he knew, from past experience, would both frighten and surprise anyone lurking in the shower cubicles, Jak threw himself forward into a series of rolls, straining every thigh and calf muscle on the upward thrust in order to propel himself forward without losing impetus, and also to throw out one combat-booted foot and crash open the door to each shower stall as he passed it. All the while his Colt Python stayed focused and aimed at the stalls and cubicles as he passed them, finger loose on the trigger to prevent accidents, but the tendons like coiled springs that would squeeze on instinct within a fraction of a second.

  If intruders were hiding in any of the cubicles, the force of the door being kicked back in their face, and the sudden appearance and noise that Jak had caused, would have been enough to cause them to attack.

  Jak came up against the wall, landing in a squatting position with his back to the wall, his blaster and knife swiveling toward any point of attack.

  There was nothing. It would seem that the stalls were empty. Rising swiftly and easily to his feet, Jak skipped back past the stalls, turning to face each as he passed, the Colt Python trained on the empty space, lest there was a lurking enemy with the patience and cunning that he possessed. But there was nothing except empty space.

  Jak ran from the cubicle, sidling up against the wall until he reached the concrete pillar that provided shelter for Ryan and Krysty.

  “Clear,” he said simply.

  Meanwhile, Dean had been tackling the dormitories.

  The younger Cawdor didn’t have Jak’s speed and sharpened hunting instincts, but he did have the quickness of youth and a sense of battle that he had inherited from his father, which had been sharpened by the time he had spent with the companions.

  Dean’s approach to the closed door was more subtle than Jak’s. He didn’t have the acrobatic skill to attempt a similar kind of entry, so he opted for a different approach. Flattening himself against the wall to one side of the door, Dean closed his hand around the chromium doorknob and twisted it, flicking his powerful wrist so that the door was also propelled backward. Before the lock had even clicked, his hand was back across his chest, safe from any fire that may have greeted the first movement of the door.

  Nothing came forth, and the door opened on a darkened room—not that he was aware of this. He hadn’t, as yet, taken a look. Instead, he took three deep breaths, concentrating his attention on the task ahead. He knew the layouts of these dorm rooms from previous redoubts. If the room had been changed by the inhabitants, then he had a problem. That was just a chance he would have to take.

  Dean swooped low, turning and throwing himself into the room at an angle, his body crouched low. The trajectory would make him difficult to hit, and he knew where he was headed.

  Luck was with him. Whoever inhabited the redoubt either hadn’t moved anything in the dorms, or never used th
em. Because the metal storage locker—in which spare bedding was usually stored—was exactly where he had guessed it would be, offering him some degree of cover as it rested almost snug to two walls. Almost. The gap was enough for him to squeeze into, covering him on three sides and enabling him to take in the rest of the room.

  The dormitory was a large space with beds running in rows, small lockers between each bed. The beds themselves were high, with narrow metal shafts for legs that gave plenty of room underneath for any enemy to use as a crawl space. The room was rectangular, with no other nooks or crannies for anyone to secrete themselves.

  From his position, Dean was able to take in the room at a glance. It seemed to be empty, and where the open door let a shaft of light pour into the room, there was an illumination that aided him immensely, casting a light over any enemy position while keeping him still in shadow.

  Though it seemed empty, there were still a few pools of shadow where the light had failed to penetrate. These would have to be dealt with.

  Dean left his position and dropped to his belly, the Browning Hi-Power blaster held in front of him. Using his feet, he pushed off from the wall and started to crawl under the beds, using his shadow cover to surprise anyone he might come across. Despite every sense telling him that the dorm was empty, he had to make certain.

  It was a swift process. Dean moved through the shadows and light with ease, encountering no obstacles. The dorm, like the shower room, was empty.

  As Dean reached the last of the beds, he rose fluidly to his feet and slipped out of the room, staying close to the wall as he moved back to where J.B., Doc and Mildred were waiting.