Child of Slaughter Read online

  When she froze again, they moved no closer, nor did they give up the ground they’d just gained. Krysty was convinced: once she started moving in earnest, the capsule of creatures would collapse inward all at once, doing their worst to her.

  Still, she could think of no better idea. She would have to commit herself to the plan and hope she survived it.

  Slowly, she lowered her hand to the butt of the Glock 18C in the holster at her hip. The piranha-wasps twitched inward at the motion, then stopped when she stilled her hand.

  At that point, at the most, the creatures were two feet away from her. It would not take much for them to make contact.

  Soaked by the rain pouring through the gaps between bugs, Krysty took a deep breath and prepared herself. Her only chance was to once again call on Gaia, the Earth Mother, to come to her aid in her hour of need. She began her prayer, reaching out to the Gaia force in the world around her, triggering the cycle that would light her up like a Roman candle.

  There was a good chance she wouldn’t live through the next five minutes, and she knew it. She made her mental goodbyes to Ryan, and then she threw open the gates within her.

  It was as if the insect creatures could sense the power when it flooded into her. The whine of their wings grew louder as they closed in on her body.

  * * *

  J.B. FIRED BLIND, cranking off shots from the Mini-Uzi in an arc around him. Did a single round make contact with the creature that had been attacking him?

  He couldn’t tell, because he couldn’t see it in the first place.

  Then, suddenly, he realized the creature was still very much alive. Something heavy and rubbery slammed into him, knocking him off his feet and sending the gun flying from his grip.

  “Nuking hell!” J.B. went down hard on the wet sand, then scrambled to his knees. He quickly caught sight of the Mini-Uzi and launched himself after it, determined to regain what little advantage he had.

  But his invisible enemy, whatever it was, swatted him from behind and took him down again. This time, the fall knocked the wind out of J.B. and left him dazed.

  “What is this damn thing?” Sitting up, he shook his head hard, trying to clear the cobwebs. As he did, he heard a hissing sound passing alongside him, and he leaped to his feet.

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention as he looked for some sign of the unseen creature…and found it. Right where he’d heard the hissing sound, he saw the sand compressed in a track like a shallow, rounded ditch, as if something tubular were moving through it. It looked like the kind of trail a giant snakelike creature might make, except for the star-shaped claw-prints pressed into the sand on each side of it. Each print had five sharp points grouped around a circular central pad; the span from claw tip to claw tip was at least ten inches.

  And it was impossible to tell how many feet were making those impressions. From what little J.B. could see, there might be two, or four, or even six. And they provided no real clues about the creature’s anatomy. Was he dealing with a mammal, a reptile, an insect or something else?

  All he really knew was that it was toying with him. From the tracks and the hissing, he could tell it was circling him from four feet away. It had to know it could strike at any moment, and he would be at its mercy.

  Not that he was going to go down without a fight, even against an invisible whatever it was.

  Watching the tracks and listening, J.B. swung around his Smith & Wesson M-4000 scattergun and pumped the magazine, loading a shell in the chamber. When he thought he knew the beast’s location, he aimed at the thin air there and pulled the trigger.

  He was rewarded with a monstrous howl from the same direction. He heard thrashing, saw the wet sand churn and moved to follow up the first tag with another.

  But before he could pull the trigger, something heavy crashed into him from behind, and he went down. As he hit, he heard a blistering roar, saw fresh tracks from another direction and he suddenly realized something that made a chill rush through his body. The game, which had been difficult enough to begin with, had taken a turn for the worse.

  Because there were two invisible creatures trying to kill him instead of just one.

  Chapter Twenty

  When Doc topped the latest in a long line of hills, he found himself staring down through the pouring rain at a ville unlike any he’d seen before.

  It was located in a depression in the sand, a bowl rimmed by tall hills that provided shelter from the rest of the Shift. From above, it looked like a tumble of wreckage, a cluster of corrugated metal and plastic sheets, wooden timbers, broken glass, canvas and cardboard strewed over the wet, dark sand.

  But as Doc peered into the ramshackle mess, he soon saw people going about their business down there—muties with the same crimson skin as Ankh and the other shifters. They moved easily among the ruins, darting in and out of half-buried doorways, clambering over smashed rooftops and into shattered windows, leaping from collapsed stairways and diving into pipes and ductwork.

  There was activity everywhere, in fact. What looked like jumbled wreckage was actually a thriving community, a veritable anthill of mutie endeavor.

  “This is it,” Ankh said. “The ville I told you about.”

  “Incredible.” As the rest of the shifters swarmed past him down the hill, Doc stayed at the crest and gaped with open fascination. “It looks as if it has been destroyed and rebuilt numerous times.”

  “Too many times to count,” Ankh told him. “What you see before you is a record of our people’s struggle to survive the elements. Which is why the place is called Struggle, of course.”

  “Why don’t they rebuild somewhere else?” Doc asked. “In a still zone or somewhere outside the Shift, perhaps?”

  “Because this is home.”

  Doc frowned. “What about moving some of Hammersmith’s equipment here and making this a still zone, then?”

  “We don’t know how to make it work,” Ankh said. “Only Hammersmith could do that.”

  “All this damage,” Doc said. “And all the deaths, past and future. Yet they still will not consider moving?”

  “They aren’t like you.” Ankh sniffed. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Just then, a high-pitched voice broke in from behind them. “Ankh is right.” Exo had slipped to the back of the ranks when Doc hadn’t been paying attention. He approached them now, a fresh red-and-white-striped candy cane protruding from between his lips. “Only a shifter can truly grasp the importance of this place.”

  Instantly, Doc went on guard. The presence of the unpredictable leader of the shifters made his heart race, his muscles tense and the hackles on the back of his neck rise.

  As if sensing the tension, Exo clapped a hand on Doc’s shoulder, making him tense even more. “But you, of all the humans I have known, came closest to understanding.” Exo sank his fingers into Doc’s flesh, clamping down with a grip so tight it was almost painful. “Didn’t you once tell me this place inspired you?”

  Doc wondered if the question was a trap but knew he didn’t have long to consider it. “My memory’s been faulty lately, but this, I remember.” He smiled as he gazed out at the ville of Struggle. “It is very moving indeed. A testament to the resilience of the shifters in the face of great adversity.”

  Suddenly, Exo’s grip tightened, and Doc nearly cried out. Had he said the wrong thing?

  But then Exo merely leaned closer and patted his chest. “You do understand.” He smiled around the root of the peppermint stick and nodded. “We thrive on defeat. We are destined to rise up and rule, no matter how many times we are crushed.”

  “An indomitable spirit indeed,” Doc said. “Your people are to be commended.”

  “Commended?” Exo laughed and let go of Doc’s shoulder, then hauled back Doc’s swordstick and plowed the head of it into Doc’s belly. “Bowed down to, is more like it.” Next, he smacked Doc hard across the face with his open hand. “We will settle for nothing less!”

  Doc stum
bled away from Exo, wanting more than anything to strike back at him and end the abuse once and for all, but realizing that to do so could lead to his death.

  “Enough talk,” Exo said. “We have delayed our arrival too long already.”

  With that, he ran down the side of the hill toward Struggle, on the heels of the rest of the shifters. That left only Doc and Ankh at the top, staring after the departing leader.

  “Why do I always feel like I am on the verge of being killed every time I talk to him?” Doc asked, taking deep, measured breaths to fight the pain from Exo’s strikes.

  “Because he’s always on the verge of killing you every time he talks to you,” Ankh replied. “But if it’s any consolation, he’s like that with everyone.”

  Doc frowned. “Surely you would save me to ensure your future plans.”

  Ankh shrugged. “If it makes you feel better, go right on thinking that.”

  And then the two of them started down the hill toward Struggle.

  * * *

  AS EXO AND his troop of shifters strolled into the ville, their mutie brethren came out of the woodwork to greet them. Crimson muties emerged from makeshift shelters, piles of junk and holes in the ground, scurrying through the rain to surround the new arrivals.

  They treated Exo and his forces like conquering heroes, showering them with garlands of what looked to Doc like feathers and crumpled newspaper and colored cotton balls. They hugged and kissed the shifters and chanted Exo’s name, dancing as they did so with arms upraised.

  But when it came to Doc, the locals kept their distance. As he entered the ville, they fanned out around him, staring and whispering. One of them threw a rotten vegetable, which bounced off his frock coat and left a smear.

  In this place, Exo was the hero, and Doc was the unwelcome outlander. He would find no relief from his captivity here; he might actually be in greater danger than ever.

  For what could have been the millionth time, he looked at his swordstick in Exo’s grasp and the LeMat revolver holstered at his hip. Doc was certain that Ryan or Jak or any of the others would have taken them back by now, or at least tried. Sometimes he wished he was more of a man of action like them, more of a physical threat to the savages of the Deathlands. But he was so nonthreatening, apparently, that the shifters hadn’t even bothered to restrain him.

  And taking on Exo to get back his weapons was a fight Doc didn’t think he could win, especially in a crowd of Exo’s followers. If Doc wanted a way out, he would have to find it by another avenue.

  Another mutie tossed something, a tomato, and Doc stepped aside just in time to avoid being hit. An angry murmur began to build, and Doc felt nervous sweat trickle down his back.

  Ankh, who had gotten a little ahead of him, suddenly turned back and grabbed Doc’s arm. “You need to keep up. Here, you are considered an enemy outlander.”

  “I had not noticed.” Doc’s sardonic tone belied his deep worry in the face of the mob. He thought it might be worse to be torn apart by the assembled muties’ dozens of claws than beaten to a pulp by his own swordstick at Exo’s hands.

  “The changing landscape of the Shift has not been the only cause of their suffering,” Ankh stated. “Bands of marauders have been known to come through these lands, raping and pillaging as they go…at least until the Shift’s transformations take their lives or drive them out.”

  “These people,” Doc said. “The shifters of Struggle. Can they read the Shift like you and your people?”

  “Yes. Even better.”

  “Then, why do they not use their foreknowledge to prepare to face the changes?” Doc asked. “To construct countermeasures or reinforce structures to withstand the transformations?”

  “The transformations often arise too quickly,” Ankh explained. “We don’t always have time to plan and act as you suggest.”

  “I see.” As Doc continued through the wrecked shantytown, he marveled that much of it was still standing. Half-collapsed walls leaned at precarious angles, propped up by lengths of rusty rebar and splintered utility poles. Sheds built of sheet metal and plastic tarpaulins sagged and tipped from the weight of the rain. Stacked plywood crates with privacy flaps made from tacked-up old black trash bags teetered in the wind, even as mutie shifters clambered up and down and in and out of them.

  It was like one big house of cards, just waiting for the right tremor or gust of wind to knock it down. Yet, somehow, the residents kept it from complete disintegration in what had to be one of the most unstable regions of the Deathlands. It would be worth closer study, to determine what techniques they were using to ensure the ville’s survival.

  If Doc had had the time to study it instead of just trying to stay alive, of course.

  “At least it’s a quiet day today,” Ankh said. “So far anyway.”

  Doc nodded, watching as a shack built from cardboard and duct tape fell apart twenty yards away, collapsing inward. Its two occupants had to dig their way out, cursing in high-pitched voices as they pushed aside cardboard sheets that were soaked through from the rain.

  Just then, a shrill whistle from up ahead captured Doc’s full attention. Looking in the direction of the sound, he saw a crowd gathering around a cobbled-together platform at the end of the muddy street through the middle of town. The street held dozens of shifters—Exo’s men plus Struggle residents—but there was only a single figure on the platform: Exo himself, waving Doc’s swordstick in the air.

  “Let’s go.” Ankh tipped his head toward the action. “Show’s about to start.”

  As Doc and Ankh drew up to the rear of the crowd, Exo was in the middle of a rousing speech about making the Shift a mutie paradise. The audience responded to his shouted pronouncements and dramatic waving of the swordstick with enthusiastic cheers and wild applause.

  Then, when Exo caught sight of the newcomers watching from the back, he focused on Doc. “You! Come up here!” Exo gestured for Doc to join him on the stage. “Let’s tell our friends about the future of the Shift!”

  All eyes locked on Doc, and he smiled nervously. “Wonderful,” he muttered. “What can I say to avoid getting bludgeoned in front of a hundred shifters?”

  “Improvise,” Ankh said.

  “You have been so helpful,” Doc said sarcastically.

  With that, he started for the platform. The gathered shifters parted to make way, glaring and whispering as he passed.

  “At least no one is throwing rotten vegetables,” Doc said to himself. “Not yet anyway.”

  Smiling halfheartedly, he ascended the unevenly stacked cinder block steps to the platform, which consisted of several sheets of plywood supported by cinder block pillars. As Doc walked across it, he felt the plywood bounce a little under his feet. It wouldn’t take much, he thought, to make the whole setup collapse.

  “Here he is!” Exo stomped over to meet him, making the platform bounce even more. “This is the man who will make our glorious new destiny possible!” He threw his arm around Doc as if they were best friends. “Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. William Hammersmith!”

  The crowd clapped with limited enthusiasm. Doc smiled and nodded, as stiff with tension as a steel girder.

  “This man!” Exo touched the head of the swordstick to Doc’s chest. “This man is our hope for tomorrow!”

  The crowd clapped with slightly more interest, and much of the grumbling ceased. Exo had their attention.

  “Dr. Hammersmith has developed a technique for harnessing the power of the Shift!” Exo looked around, meeting the eyes of several shifters in the crowd as he let his words sink in. “With his help, we will control the transformations of this place! The forces that have made our lives a struggle for survival will finally be within our grasp!”

  The crowd liked what it was hearing. The clapping got louder, and scattered cheers arose.

  “We will use this power against our enemies, to drive them from our lands!” Exo said. “We will use it to reshape the land to suit us! And we will stabilize it so places like t
his will never again undergo random disasters!”

  That part really got the crowd excited. This time, they applauded long and loud, and the cheering was widespread.

  Not everyone shared the spirit, though. Casting his gaze to the rear of the crowd, Doc saw Ankh standing with his arms folded across his chest, his expression one of cool detachment.

  “Not only that!” Exo’s voice kept getting louder and higher as he keyed on the crowd’s growing excitement. “Not only that, but we will expand our power beyond the bounds of the Shift! We will use it to change the world outside to our liking!”

  As Doc listened, he wondered if Exo’s outsize promises had any basis in reality whatsoever. Hammersmith had theorized some form of control over the Shift, apparently, but had he found a way to extend the Shift’s transformative qualities to locations beyond the Sandhills? Such a capability would give the shifters a very formidable weapon indeed…if there had been such a theory, that is.

  And if Hammersmith had still been alive to implement it.

  “With the power of the Shift at our command, we will carve out an empire,” Exo went on. “We will never fear or suffer or go hungry again, for the world will be ours for the taking!”

  That did it. Finally, Exo had pushed the audience over the top, sending them into a flurry of wild exuberance. They clapped like maniacs, shrieked with delight and danced ecstatically, causing quite a scene of unbridled support. Instead of glaring at Doc, they beamed and waved at him; some of them even chanted his name, or what they thought was his name. “Hammersmith! Hammersmith! Hammersmith!”

  For Doc, it was an unreal moment. Even as he smiled back at the capering muties, he felt as if he was in some kind of strange dream in which he’d swapped bodies with someone else and was praying that no one realized the deception.

  “William! Doctor Hammersmith!” With a flourish, Exo tapped Doc’s shoulder with the swordstick. The muties calmed and quieted as he spoke. “Please say a few words to these people whose lives you’re about to make so much better!”