Child of Slaughter Page 5

  The mutie with the M-16 drew the blaster back, getting ready to ram the bayonet into Ryan.

  At that moment, the mutie’s head exploded. His body crumpled backward, dead before it hit the ground.

  While the other mutie gaped, Ryan seized his opportunity. Without a heartbeat’s hesitation, he cranked off a shot, putting a round right through his head.

  The mutie looked at Ryan with wide-eyed amazement, making a move to raise his shotgun, but he didn’t quite make it. His body slumped atop the other mutie’s, splattering blood and gore in all directions.

  Thirty yards off, a woman stood between two pillars.

  Even from a distance, Ryan could see that she was more than six feet tall. Her black leather jumpsuit was tight enough to reveal the muscular lines of her body; her breasts were large, but otherwise she was whipcord lean.

  As for her platinum blonde hair, it was tied back in a ponytail, all but for a single black braid that hung from her left temple.

  Even to a man like Ryan, whose heart belonged to his soul mate, this woman was an impressive sight. Equally impressive was the weapon in her hands, though it was pointed in his direction: a Heckler & Koch G-36 automatic longblaster, complete with hundred-round drum magazine.

  Without a word, she started walking toward him. She looked neither right nor left, as if she didn’t fear being gunned down while leaving her cover behind. She just kept her eyes fixed on Ryan with cold and single-minded intensity.

  “Nice shooting,” Ryan said when she got within ten yards of him. “Thanks for the assist.”

  The woman did not say a word as she stalked up to him. Even when she stopped, fewer than four feet away, she remained silent.

  That gave Ryan time to take in her features at close range. Her eyes were icy gray like mist, glittering in a ray of sunlight washing over her from above. Her cheekbones were high, her nose angular, her lips full, dark crimson and pressed tightly together.

  “You.” She was taller than he’d thought—six foot four at least—and looked down her nose at him when she spoke. “Who are you?” Her voice was deep.

  “My name is Ryan Cawdor.” Ryan nodded once, curtly, at her. “And who are you?”

  “Why are you in the Shift?” the woman asked.

  Ryan couldn’t help noticing that she hadn’t lowered her longblaster. “Why are you here?” The less he revealed at the moment, the better. For all he knew, the woman might be in league with the people who’d taken Doc.

  “You brought a team.” She bobbed her head to one side. “You are looking for something.”

  Ryan didn’t know what to think of her. Was that arrogance in her eyes, suspicion or just frosty appraisal?

  “What’s this ‘Shift’ you just mentioned?”

  “You’re slow, aren’t you?” She sneered a little, then moved her head in an arc from right to left, taking in her surroundings. “The Shift is the land of a million changes.”

  Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?” In that instant, he decided he didn’t like her, though he still wasn’t sure if she was necessarily malicious. “Thanks for finally answering one of my questions.”

  The woman cocked her head left like a big carnivorous bird about to pounce. “Union.”

  Ryan scowled. “What?”

  “That is my name. So now I have answered two.” Leaning closer, still with the Heckler & Koch between them, she glared at him. “And you have still answered only one, Ryan Cawdor.”

  Just as Ryan was starting to wonder if he might need to make some kind of deadly move, Krysty screamed again. Jerking to attention, Ryan looked in the direction of her cry.

  At which point, he heard the chattering of weapons somewhere in the same vicinity.

  He pushed forward, and Union backed off. “I need to go,” he said, swinging up the Scout.

  As he charged past her, Ryan hoped Union wouldn’t shoot him in the back, and she didn’t. But he did hear her running after him, her feet flicking through the sand in counterpoint to his own.

  He wondered, as he ran, exactly what she had in mind and which of them was most likely to survive it.

  Chapter Ten

  As Krysty screamed and writhed on the ground, three hostile muties cautiously approached, staring down at her, which was exactly what she wanted them to do.

  This time, her screams were all phony, and she was playing possum to draw them. Until then, they’d been hiding behind nearby spikes, popping off potshots.

  But now they were out in the open, surrounding their prey, never imagining that they were her prey.

  Krysty twisted in the sand, kicking and thrashing. She let out one more howl of agony, an earsplitting shriek that made the muties wince.

  Then she suddenly fell still. She let herself collapse, becoming inert as if she were dead.

  Keeping her eyes open but motionless, she lay there as the muties leaned closer, sizing up her condition. They were wondering what to do, if their job was done in this case or if they needed to finish her off.

  One of them poked her hip with his toe. The long nail on it jabbed her, but she forced herself to remain still.

  Suddenly she exploded into action.

  Lashing out her left leg, she drove the heel of her boot into the bare ankle of the mutie who had kicked her. As he squealed in pain, Krysty sprang to her feet.

  From that moment on, it was no-holds-barred combat. Krysty was tall and muscular, and could hold her own in any combat situation. She had holstered her Glock for the ploy, and couldn’t draw it before one of the muties would get off a shot.

  In a whirlwind of motion, she danced among them with arms and legs flying, chopping them down like a scythe through wheat.

  Enraged, one of them came back fast, springing from the ground where she’d thrown him, but his frantic swings were no match for her rock-solid defense. Krysty dodged every blow he attempted, then knocked him back hard with a high kick to the face. This time, he didn’t go down, but she could see he’d blacked out with his eyes open. She followed through with a blow to his chest, and he toppled backward, as straight as a tree.

  Just like that, the tables were turned. Instead of three muties staring down at her, Krysty was staring down at them. Every one of them was out cold, and she was still fully alert and ready for more action.

  Ryan charged out of the forest of spikes.

  “I knew you’d be fine.” He grinned as he reached her.

  “I certainly hope you didn’t think I needed help.”

  Ryan snorted. “I know better. By the way, we’ve got company.”

  A tall blonde in a black leather jumpsuit strolled out from behind a stout pillar.

  “She calls herself Union.” Ryan turned and watched as the woman strode toward them. “She helped me out with that automatic longblaster of hers.”

  Krysty got an eyeful of her big blaster and nodded once. “Good for her.”

  “According to her, this place is called the Shift,” said Ryan. “Though she didn’t tell me much more than that.”

  Krysty narrowed her eyes. “Whose side is she on? Did she tell you that much?”

  Union looked and sounded aloof to the point of arrogance. “Whoever isn’t trying to kill me, I suppose.”

  “And we’re just supposed to trust you?” Krysty asked.

  Union shrugged. Krysty could have sworn she was stifling a yawn. “Just don’t try to kill me, and we’ll be okay.”

  Krysty doubted it but shrugged in kind. “Sounds like a plan,” she said, though it didn’t, really. She didn’t imagine for a second that Union was worthy of her trust. She didn’t think the woman had any intention of allying herself with them.

  But Krysty and her team were in the shit as always, and their options were limited. Trust her or back away—those were the only two choices she could think of at the moment.

  “All right, then.” She slumped and rested her hands on her knees. “Let’s table the buddy-buddy stuff until after we put down the mutie army. Agreed?”

 
Union shrugged as if she couldn’t care less and raised the H&K. “Go time?”

  “Suit yourself.” Ryan shrugged, too, then shot a wink at Krysty. “Whatever floats your boat.”

  Even weakened as she was, Krysty managed a chuckle at that one.

  Just then, footsteps scuffed through the nearby sand. Ryan and Union whirled with weapons at the ready, but it was Jak, not a mutie, who marched out from between spikes.

  “Back off the trigger,” Ryan snapped, dropping the Scout’s barrel. “He’s with us.”

  Scowling, Union hesitated, then slowly lowered her weapon.

  “Who this?” Jak asked.

  “I was just going to ask the same question,” Union said coldly.

  “Jak, meet Union,” Ryan said. “Union, this is Jak.”

  “Union Jak.” Jak’s smile had its own touch of frost. “Have ring to it.”

  “Whatever.” Union sighed loudly. “If this is how you people kill muties, it’s no wonder your backs are up against the wall.”

  Jak laughed. “You funny! All talk, no action!”

  Union glared, then suddenly stomped toward him. “I don’t have time for this.” She paused beside him, her cold stare locking with his bright red eyes. Then she flashed a sexy smile. “So what do you say we go mow down some mutie scum, big boy?” She sashayed past him, her longblaster swaying in perfect counterpoint with her shapely buttocks in the tight black leather jumpsuit.

  Ryan watched her go, suitably stunned by the change in demeanor. He glanced at Krysty, who frowned back at him, then turned his gaze to Jak.

  The albino shrugged nonchalantly. “What can say?” He raised his eyebrows. “Guess Jak irresistible.” Then he spun and followed Union, disappearing into the forest of spikes.

  Ryan stared at his retreating back, hoping like hell that he hadn’t made a mistake in bringing Union back to the group.

  Chapter Eleven

  Somebody slapped Doc so hard across the face that he woke instantly from the depths of a dream and instantly wished he hadn’t.

  In the dream, he’d been spending a quiet Sunday at home with his wife, Emily, and their children, Rachel and Jolyon. He’d felt perfectly content in a way he never did anymore, utterly relaxed and at peace with his life and times.

  Now, after that wicked slap, he was fully back in the Deathlands again, face-to-face with the current author of his misery—Exo the candy-loving mutie.

  “Wake up, Dr. Hammersmith.” Exo’s high-pitched voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard to Doc. “Time to go, my friend.”

  Doc scowled and sat up, becoming aware of throbbing pain all over his body. It took him a moment to remember that he’d been asleep only because Exo had beaten him into unconsciousness. “Go where?”

  “Same place we were going before your little nap.” Exo pulled a purple lollipop on a thin white stick out of his mouth and waved it over his shoulder. “The core of the Shift, of course. The place where you’ll finish your mission.”

  Gingerly touching a bruise on top of his head, Doc thought about Ryan and the rest of his comrades. “What about my…kidnappers? You said something about teaching them a lesson.”

  Exo laughed. “We put a hurting on them, all right.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Had them running scared, that’s for sure.”

  “Then what?” Doc asked. “How many of them did you kill?”

  Exo’s eyes flicked to one side, and he hesitated. It was then Doc knew that no matter what the mutie told him, Ryan and company had acquitted themselves well, as always.

  “We put them in their place,” Exo snapped. “They’ll think twice before coming after us again.”

  Secretly, Doc exulted. He knew Ryan and the others well enough to know that if they were still breathing, they’d never stop coming after the muties who’d kidnapped their friend.

  “Now get up.” Exo stuck the lollipop back in his mouth and waved Doc’s swordstick overhead. “Stop sitting there like some kind of whipped dog.”

  Doc struggled to his feet. When he got there, he felt wobbly and paused to steady himself. “It is hard not to, when one is whipped to the point of unconsciousness.”

  Exo glared at him, and Doc thought he might get beaten again, but then the glare turned into a broad grin. “Ha!” Exo clapped Doc hard on the back. “You really know how to make me laugh, Doc! Even with a faulty memory, you still crack me up.”

  Doc winced. Exo had struck his back on a particularly sore spot. “Glad to hear it.” Though Exo had beaten him with a vengeance just a short time ago, Doc made an effort to behave in a congenial way. Trapped as he was, weaponless and without allies, he knew it would be better to play along with the moods of his captors instead of resisting.

  Just then, another mutie—part of the rank and file—ran up and chattered in Exo’s ear. Exo nodded without smiling and waved him aside. “Let’s get moving.” He met the mutie messenger’s gaze and gestured in Doc’s direction. “You’re his babysitter, starting now.” A sneer curled his lips. “Anything happens to him, you die.”

  As Exo walked away, the new mutie stepped up to Doc, looking tense. “So.” He had a longblaster slung over his back on a leather strap; when he swung it around, Doc saw that it was a Winchester. Unlike most of the weapons carried by the hodgepodge mutie army, the Winchester was in pristine shape. The walnut stock gleamed as if it had just been polished. “I’m not happy about this.”

  “What is your name?” Doc lifted an eyebrow.

  “Ankh.” The mutie jabbed the point of the Winchester at Doc. “And if I had my way, I’d just as soon shoot you on the spot and leave you here.”

  Doc frowned. “And why is that, if I may ask?”

  “Because I know.” Ankh jabbed again. “Out of this whole gang of morons, I seem to be the only one who knows.”

  “Knows what?” Doc asked.

  Ankh leaned closer and lowered his voice. “That you’re no more Dr. William Hammersmith than I am.”

  Doc swallowed hard. He had the distinct impression that the only reason he was still alive was that the muties thought he was Hammersmith. If Ankh had an inkling of his true identity, how much longer could Doc expect to live?

  “That’s right,” Ankh said. “I can see right through you.”

  Doc toyed with various options and decided to play dumb, at least for now. “I do not understand. Perhaps you are the one who’s mistaken.”

  “Do you want to escape Exo and never come back, whoever you are?” Ankh asked.

  “Call me Doc. And yes.”

  Ankh nodded. “Then, we both want the same thing.” He looked both ways, then leaned closer. “And if you don’t force me to kill you, mebbe we’ll manage to get what we want.”

  Doc locked eyes with Ankh, taking his measure. Ankh’s eyes were dark brown, almost black, and very steady. Whatever his true intentions might be, he seemed reasonable on the surface. Doc decided he might just be his best chance for survival and escape.

  “Never let it be said that I prefer, as a rule, dying over living another day.” Doc bowed his head slightly. “You have my attention, friend Ankh.”

  “Friend? I have no friends. Not anymore.”

  Doc nodded.

  “I can turn an alliance with you to my advantage,” Ankh said. “But make no mistake, I can turn your death to my advantage, as well.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It was late afternoon by the time Ryan and his companions ended their sweeps of the area, satisfied that the muties had moved on. Whatever the muties’ objective, other than slaughtering the outlanders, they seemed to have given up on it.

  The companions—and Union—gathered at a predetermined rendezvous point a mile up the lava channel. The forest of spikes was thinner there, giving them a clearer view of the surrounding hills and flats.

  From what Ryan could see, at the moment, there wasn’t a mutie in sight. He and the others knew better than to think they could truly relax, but at least they could take a breath, reload their weapons and assess the
situation.

  “Too bad muties gone,” Jak said. “Was just getting started.”

  “Speaking of, where in the nuking hell did they go?” J.B. took off his fedora and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “Place was swarming with them, and now they’re all gone.”

  “Just like before,” Mildred added. “When they took Doc.”

  Ryan, who’d been checking on Krysty, looked in Union’s direction. Though she’d brightened up briefly once before, when she’d gone off with Jak to shoot muties, she was back to her taciturn self. Though she stood at the edge of the group, close enough to hear every word, she didn’t react or participate. She just kept staring into the distance as a light breeze fluttered loose strands of her blond hair.

  “Union.” Ryan said her name loudly to get her attention. “You seem to know something about this place.”

  Union’s eyes slid toward him for a moment. She made a movement that might have been a shrug, but it was hard to say for sure. Then she went back to staring into space.

  Ryan shook his head at Krysty, then turned away from her. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” He walked over to stand in front of the woman, blocking her view of the landscape. “How about helping us out here?”

  When she looked at him, her eyes were glacial. “I already did, didn’t I? Or don’t those muties I killed count?”

  Ryan let the remark pass without comment. “You seem to know a few things about this place. The Shift, you called it.”

  This time, her shrug was plain to see. “What about it?”

  “For starters, where did the muties run off to?” Ryan asked. “It was like they just disappeared.”

  “How should I know?” Union smirked as if his question had been a stupid one. “They could be just about anywhere.”

  “How so?” Ryan asked. “Some kind of underground tunnel system, maybe?”

  “I can’t say. The Shift never stays the same for long, and the shifters anticipate its every change.”