Deathlands 124: Child of Slaughter (17 page)

Still chanting, the army marched off down the street, their heavy footsteps carrying them into the hilly wasteland beyond.

Meanwhile, behind them, their children watched from
ruined hovels, quake-damaged shanties that looked ready to collapse at any moment.

“What about the children?” Doc asked as the troops flowed off into the distance.

Exo shrugged. “Not my kids.” With that, he turned and jogged down the reviewing stand steps—a precarious stack of mismatched wooden crates. “Now pack up your shit! We leave in one hour!”

Doc sighed. He had no shit to pack up, not these days, and he wasn’t looking forward to another forced march through the Sandhills.

But then, as he considered the best way down those rickety crates, his mood improved considerably. Looking in all directions, he realized something had changed…changed for the better.

For the first time since his abduction, the first time in days, he was on his own. No one was watching him.

* * *

H
EART POUNDING
, D
OC
crouched in the shadow of a toppled building. He knew it wouldn’t be long until one of the shifters came looking for him. What could he possibly accomplish in that limited amount of time?

Escape was impossible. No matter which way he went, there was nothing outside the ville but open ground and low, sandy hills.

Hiding in the ruins of the ville wouldn’t make any sense, either. The shifters seemed to know the place inside out, even after the earthquake had shaken it to pieces.

That left him with very few options to take advantage of a rapidly closing window of time.

What would Ryan Cawdor do? As soon as the question fluttered into his mind, he shooed it out again. What Ryan would do involved the methodical murder of shifters, the seizure of their weapons and a blazing shootout
that ended with every last one of the enemy bleeding to death on the sand.

Asking himself what his other companions would do produced similar results. Yet again, he wished he were more adept at lethal action, better suited to survival in the perpetual blood-soaked melee of the Deathlands.

Kicking at scattered debris, he cast about for something that could aid his quest for freedom. The whole time, his heart hammered with increasing speed; he knew his time alone was running out. He could practically sense Ankh sniffing the air, picking up his scent.

Suddenly, something in the rubble caught Doc’s eye. Bending, he fished it from the dirt and held it up for closer inspection.

It was thin and rectangular, a metal strip about an inch long by a half inch wide, with a slit down the middle. When he wiped off the dust on the sleeve of his coat, he could see polished sharp edges on the long sides of the strip.

A razor blade.

Doc frowned. He had no doubt that Ryan or Jak could have used it to kill their way out of captivity, but to him, it wasn’t much. Though he acquitted himself well with his sword or revolver in hand, he lacked his comrades’ stealth and skill in close-quarters combat. He couldn’t imagine the razor blade would be much good to him.

Still, it was better than nothing. He slipped it into a hidden pouch in the lining of his coat, already thinking of how he might put it to use.

No sooner had he done that than Ankh came around the corner. “There you are!”

Doc had his back to him, and an idea presented itself. He pretended to fumble with the buttons of his trousers, then slowly turned. “My apologies,” Doc said. “I needed a moment of privacy.”

Ankh chuckled. “Not the preferred protocol for relieving oneself in the ville, but no one seems to have witnessed your breach.”

“Thank you.” Doc nodded. “I will endeavor to be more discreet in future.”

“It’s just as well you got it over with.” Ankh started walking and waved for him to follow. “We’re getting ready to leave now.”

“Heading for the core again?” Doc asked as he fell in step behind Ankh.

“That’s where it’s all going down. That’s where you’re going to work your magic.” He swirled his hands in the air with a flourish.

“Then, by all means, let us away,” Doc said. “I, for one, cannot wait to see how exactly I am going to work that magic.”

“You’ll find out.” Ankh laughed. “But not until we get there.”

“Surely a little clue would not be out of order at this juncture. I think I’ve more than proved my loyalty and trustworthiness by now.”

“Relax.” Ankh reached back and patted Doc’s arm. “You’ll thank me when this is all over. Trust me.”

“Oh, of course.” Doc smiled and patted his coat over the hidden pouch where he’d stowed the razor blade. “That goes without saying.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“As much as I love you guys,” Dr. Hammersmith said, waving around the butt of the joint he’d just smoked, “please do me a huge favor and go.”

Ryan was having a hard time being patient with the difficult doctor, who was being both evasive and rude. “I just asked why Union thought you were dead.”

“Everyone,” Union stated. “Everyone thinks he is dead.”

“Exactly.” Ryan nodded. “Why is that?”

“Because!” Hammersmith rolled his eyes with exasperation. “I
made
them think that!”

“Impossible.” Union scowled. “People saw it happen. They saw you die in that explosion.”

Hammersmith sucked on the roach, making its tip flare red. He inhaled deeply, held the smoke for a moment, then laughed it out with his snicker-wheeze. “If that’s what they saw, then I guess I must be dead right now. In which case, this is one shitty afterlife.”

“If you’re already dead, then I guess it won’t matter if I use this on you.” Union pointed the Heckler & Koch at him. “Bullets ought to go right through a ghost like you.”

“That’s right.” Hammersmith nodded and laughed some more. The marijuana seemed to be kicking in, from what Ryan could see. “Go ahead and fire a few rounds through my ectoplasm for shits and giggles.”

Ryan looked at Union, proving he could deliver as icy a stare as she could any day of the week. The message got
through to her; her expression was one of disgust, but she lowered the H&K as he’d intended.

“Listen.” Ryan leaned on the edge of the table where Krysty still lay unconscious. Whatever Hammersmith had given her, it seemed to be working; she was breathing evenly, and her pulse was getting stronger, which was more than enough reason to be patient with the difficult man. “We just want to understand the situation. You trusted us enough to let us in here, so why not fill us in?”

“I would.” Hammersmith cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered conspiratorially, “But then I’d have to kill you.”

As the doctor cracked up at his joke, Ryan shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. Maybe he would have to wait until the weed ran its course for Hammersmith to give him a serious answer.

Or maybe someone else would have more luck. “Enough of this horseshit.” Mildred stomped over and stood before Hammersmith with her fists planted firmly on her hips. “Did you fake your damn death or what, dipshit?”

Hammersmith snicker-wheezed harder than ever for a moment, then shifted gears. Gaping up at her with his puffy, bloodshot eyes, he stopped laughing and reached out with a thick-fingered hand toward her face. “I love it when you call me that, honey—”

Before he could finish the sentence, she swatted his hand away. “Answer the question!” she snapped.

On the other side of the room, J.B. took a subtle step forward, ready in case she needed backup. As for Ryan, he was thinking about intervening, but then Hammersmith did the unexpected.

He answered the question. “Yes, I did fake my death.” He shrugged. “It was the only way to stop those assholes from using me.”

“Using you to do what?” Mildred asked.

“Make the Shift even worse than it already is.” Hammersmith relit the roach and had another toke, then put it out in an ashtray on the counter. “Which is really saying something, right?”

“But the Shift is your handiwork!” said Union, who sounded more like high-strung Carrie than icy Taryn at the moment. “You created it!”

Hammersmith looked at her as if she was a complete moron. “You think I wanted it to come out this way?” He let out a laugh that was more of a seal-bark than a snicker-wheeze. “I thought I was making a paradise. Instead, I ended up with a king-size shithole.”

Union’s eyes got huge, and she stammered, “But I…But you…”

“And you wanna know what the worst part of it is?” Hammersmith opened a cupboard under the counter, pulled out a bottle of predark vodka and unscrewed the cap. “Those shifters just love it!” He threw back a swig and wiped his mouth on his dirty lab coat sleeve. “Hell on Earth is their idea of heaven.” Another swig from the bottle. “And they want to make it even more of a nightmare. In fact, they want to weaponize it.”

Ryan’s eyebrows went up at that one. “Weaponize?”

“And the shittiest part of it all?” Hammersmith drank from the bottle again—a big gulp instead of a swig. “They’re halfway there, thanks to me.”

“Halfway there?” Ryan repeated.

“I put the wheels in motion before I left.” Hammersmith guzzled more vodka. “And the shifters aren’t all morons. I can think of at least one of them who could take the program the rest of the way without me, sooner or later.”

“What happens when the program’s done?” J.B. asked. “What will they be able to do with it?”

“Make all hell break loose,” Hammersmith said. “Bring about unlimited pain and suffering. That’s all you really need to know.” With that, he clunked the bottle on the counter. “I suggest you follow my plan and get the hell outta Dodge before then.”

“Not leave till rescue friend,” Jak said. “Going to core.”

Hammersmith smirked and shook his head. “That’s the one place you don’t want to be when the shit hits the fan, Casper.”

“Handling shit not problem,” Jak said.

“You’ve never encountered shit like this before,” Hammersmith said. “Take my word for it.”

“So you’re saying the shifters are going to make all hell break loose because of something you started? They’re going to cause a world of hurt because of your invention?” Mildred stared at him with narrowed eyes. “Sounds to me as though you ought to be running to the core instead of away from it.”

Hammersmith laughed and chugged more vodka. “Why the hell would I do something like that?”

“Because you want to stop the destruction before it starts?” Mildred suggested. “Because you have a conscience, maybe?”

“Did I say I have a conscience?” Hammersmith drank again and snicker-wheezed his amusement. “I just want to get the hell away from this place before the crazy starts,
capisce
?”

“Or you could man up and take responsibility for your role in this,” Mildred said. “Maybe you could do something about it, since you’re the one who set it in motion.”

“Look, honeybunch,” Hammersmith said. “If you’re looking for someone to man up, you’ve come to the wrong misanthrope. I suggest you take your misplaced faith elsewhere.”

“But we could work together,” Mildred stated. “Pool our knowledge and resources.”

Just then, Union interrupted. “Don’t waste your breath.” This time, she had an auburn braid and sounded like Rhonda. “I’ve seen this prick in action. He doesn’t believe in cleaning up the messes he makes.”

“Listen to her. She’s right.” Hammersmith nodded and hiked a thumb in Union’s direction. “I’m a total piece of shit, and she knows it.”

“But you live in a place of constant change.” This time, it was Krysty doing the talking. Sometime during the conversation, she’d awakened from her deep sleep. “Perhaps there is no better place for you to forge a new beginning and make up for the mistakes of your past.”

Hammersmith held off on the sarcasm and seemed to consider her words, but only for a moment. “I’m starting to regret saving your ass, you know that?”

With a snort, he stomped across the lab and disappeared through a door, which he slammed shut behind him.

“That guy sure has issues,” Ricky said.

“You think so?” Mildred asked as she moved to examine Krysty. “But I have to admit, he’s no slouch in the medical-treatment department. Our girl here is alive only because of him.”

Ryan held Krysty’s hand and smiled down at her. He’d moved in close as soon as she’d started talking. “We’re lucky we found him.”

“All right, then.” Ricky turned to Union. “Mebbe you can fill us in. What’s all this about a ‘shared history’?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Union said coldly.

“But whatever happened between you might be important in helping us find Doc,” J.B. told her.

“It’s none of your business,” Union snapped. “And it won’t make any difference in finding your friend.”

At that, Ryan looked up from Krysty. “We’ll be the
judges of that, Union.” His voice was even and numbingly cold, laced with threat and conviction.

As Ryan watched, Union’s face shifted from aloof to openly hostile, then to the most surprising expression yet: a big, serene smile. “I was his human guinea pig,” she said, her voice sunny…sunnier than it should have been, given the words she was saying. “A volunteer guinea pig, actually. He tested the Shift technology on me, to make sure it wasn’t harmful to humans.”

Ryan nodded slowly, putting two and two together. “You said you’ve been broken ever since you lived in the core. Hammersmith’s tech is what broke you, isn’t it?”

“We thought exposure to it was safe. I had no idea what it might do to me.” Union, whose braid had turned brown, scrunched up her nose, raised her hands with palms toward the ceiling and nodded energetically. “In the end, it made me what I am today.”

“But you got away,” J.B. said.

Union nodded again. “I didn’t fake my own death, but I slipped away from the core. Or should I say ‘we’?” She tapped the side of her head. “Four women in one body, remember?” Her smile widened.

“And you’re the fourth, I take it?” Mildred asked. “What’s your name?”

“Dulcet.” Union fluttered her fingers in a friendly wave. “Great to meet you!”

“What happened after you escaped from the core?” J.B. asked.

“We ran for the border of the Shift,” Union said. “We thought the farther we got from the core, the less fragmented we’d be.” She shrugged. “But it didn’t work that way. The four of us didn’t reintegrate into one personality. If anything, we became more divided.”