Deathlands 124: Child of Slaughter (12 page)

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 this 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!”

Doc looked out at the crowd and wondered what he could say that might be appropriate without being a groundless claim. The shifters waited quietly, all eyes glued to Doc as if he was some kind of graven idol they were all worshipping dutifully.

Doc cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, thank you.” He nodded and smiled, reaching for inspiring words like the ones Ryan often came up with in times of trouble. “My friends.” He cleared his throat again. “Your hearts are my heart. Your pain is my pain.” He paused. “Your dreams are my dreams.”

The audience rippled with applause and a scattering of cheers and whistles.

Doc kept talking. “We are bound together by this place and its unique properties. It has shaped our lives in the past, and we will shape
its
destiny in the future.”

Loud whoops and cries and chants told Doc he’d struck a chord with the shifters, though he hadn’t really said anything of substance.

“Will you join me in shaping that future?” Doc asked. “Will you all help me to create a brighter tomorrow here in the Shift?”

The crowd roared in approval; the continued rain could not dampen their high spirits. The shifters, including Exo’s own troops, jumped up and down and howled with unconditional support.

The waves of their appreciation washed over Doc, giving him a thrilling shiver. He’d forgotten how good it could feel, performing in front of an audience.

As another shiver coursed through him, he opened his
mouth to continue his speech and was cut off by Exo, who stepped up to drown him out.

“Do you see how inspiring this man is?” Exo waved the lion’s-head top of the swordstick at Doc. “He was sent to us for a reason. He was put here to unleash our true greatness. And we will do everything in our power to live up to his great expectations!”

That did it. Everyone in the crowd except Ankh went crazy, whooping and hugging and spinning and singing in the rain. It was a scene of absolute jubilation, ecstatic enough to move Doc’s own heart, though he was a prisoner with no stake in their celebration and no hope of escape.

This time, Exo didn’t try to interrupt the party with more pronouncements. Grinning, he walked to the front edge of the stage, shaking hands with the audience below. When he wasn’t doing that, he was pumping his fists in the air and getting the “Hammersmith” chant going again.

As for Doc, he just hung back and kept smiling, though his situation was completely out of control. Those cheering muties… What would they do when they discovered he was an impostor? How would they react when he failed to produce the results that Exo had promised?

Doc’s eyes flashed across the crowd to Ankh, who seemed as close to an ally as he was likely to find. Ankh had his own dark motives and secrets, but perhaps he could keep Doc alive long enough for Ryan and the others to liberate him.

Just then, Doc felt his stomach tighten. It bothered him that yet again he was relying on the kindness of others to save him from a scrape. How often had he faced a similar dynamic, in which he wasn’t able to rescue himself for one reason or another and someone else had to pull his fat out of the fire? It was not an uncommon occurrence, though it didn’t usually bother him to this extent.

Now that he was on his own amid the shifters, his lack
of self-reliance was eating at him. He was starting to feel as if it was high time he stepped up and saved himself for once. But he couldn’t, for the life of him, see a way to do it that lay within his capabilities and limitations.

Suddenly, Exo pranced back to him, grabbed his hand and reeled around in a giddy dance. Doc would have preferred to trip him and send him sprawling on the plywood, but instead he played along…a little. He let Exo turn him one way and then the other as the crowd clapped out a sprightly rhythm. He even bobbed his head a bit to the beat, trying to seem like a good sport to the assembled shifters.

Finally, Exo stopped, turned to the crowd and thrust Doc’s hand in the air. The muties shrieked and shook their own fists overhead in a gesture of joyous solidarity.

“We have said our piece! The future is ours for the taking!” Exo dropped Doc’s hand and gave the swordstick a graceful twirl. “Now let the feasting begin!”

As the locals in the crowd scattered, Doc wondered what their version of a feast could possibly consist of. He envisioned buckets brimming with squirming centipedes and maggots, skewers of still-twitching crickets, bowls of clattering, skittering cockroaches sprinkled with bristly fire ants.

Before he could find out exactly what was on the menu, however, Doc heard a deep rumbling noise from afar. Frowning, he heard it get closer, and then he could feel it shaking the plywood platform.

Earthquake.

Immediately Doc charged toward the cinder block steps. He was not yet on the ground when the shaking intensified, knocking him off the last block at a bad angle.

He came down in the wet sand on his right hip. Wincing, he lay there as the earth kept moving, rocking him inside as well as out.

Then he heard a creaking noise and looked toward it.
Just as his eyes found the source of the noise, he wished they hadn’t.

Less than twenty feet away, a mutie tower jury-rigged from rusty plumbing, automobile panels and zip ties was teetering from the quake. Worst of all, the tower was thirty feet tall and teetering in Doc’s direction.

His eyes widened, and his heart raced. If the tower fell, it would come down on top of him. It would likely crush him under the weight of the metal panels and plumbing.

Doc clenched his teeth and tried to get up, but the quake surged and threw him back down. Just as he hit the ground again, the tower creaked louder than ever and began to collapse, falling straight toward him.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ricky ran in a zigzag pattern over the wet sand of the Devil’s Slaughterhouse, barely staying out of reach of the charging hippo-porcupine.

How much longer until the creature overtook him, or Ricky simply ran out of steam? He had to do something soon to end the chase while he could still survive it.