Deathlands 124: Child of Slaughter (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Where did you say you got this wag again?” asked Ryan, who was sitting in the passenger’s seat of the APC across from Hammersmith, the driver.

“A hidden garage in my bunker.” Hammersmith had to shout to make himself heard over the wag’s big engine. “Where’d you think I had it stowed? Up my ass?”

“Before the bunker. Where did you get it originally?” As he spoke, Ryan kept his eyes on the hilly landscape hurtling toward them. Hammersmith drove like a maniac, jolting the big vehicle through a wild pattern of hard rights and harder lefts. The insane driving would get them to their destination fast, though whether they’d all be alive when they got there remained an open question.

“Bought it from a little old lady in Texarkana.” Hammersmith said it with a Southern accent. “She only drove it to church on Sundays and bingo on Friday nights.”

Ryan didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. But it was clear to him and the rest of the companions that Hammersmith was a freezie.

The predark wag was in such pristine shape, someone who didn’t know any better might have thought skydark had happened only a few weeks earlier. But, as usual, getting information out of Hammersmith was about as easy as prying it out of Union.

Nevertheless, Ryan kept trying. “Did you use this wag to escape the core?”

“Fuck no.” Hammersmith fished a joint out of the pocket of his lab coat. “I faked my own death, remember? Kind of hard to do if you’re riding into the sunset in a big war wag.”

“Then, how did it end up stowed away in the middle of the Devil’s Slaughterhouse?” Ryan asked.

Hammersmith stuck the joint into a corner of his mouth, then produced his butane lighter from another pocket of his coat. “Brought it here a long time ago, before I got involved with those shifters. Thought I might need it someday, and, whoa, what do ya know? I do!”

Ryan held on to the door handle as the wag swooped around a hill and burst onto a broad plain, right behind a galloping herd of large ratlike creatures.

As the wag charged through the middle of the herd, Ryan second-guessed his decision to let Hammersmith choose a route through the middle of the Devil’s Slaughterhouse. They were saving a ton of time going that way, he couldn’t deny it, but if something went wrong and some freak-of-nature beast got in the way, things could go off the rails fast.

“Be prepared, that’s my motto.” Hammersmith lit the joint and inhaled deeply. Then he blew out the smoke and coughed. “What’s your motto? Make it up as we go along?”

“Pretty much,” Ryan said. “That, plus ‘Smart-asses get shot first.’”

“Funny stuff there!” Hammersmith had another toke, then released the smoke from his lungs. “You ought to be on a TV sitcom. Oh, wait! There are no sitcoms! And there’s no TV, either! Guess you’re out of luck.”

“How much longer till we get to the core?” Ryan asked.

“Just after sundown, I’m thinking,” Hammersmith said. “Though, this is good shit I’m smoking, so that estimate might be a little off.”

“Mind if I have a hit?” Ryan reached across the cabin.

Hammersmith hesitated, then gingerly handed him the joint. “Totally primo, guaranteed.”

Ryan promptly opened the window and tossed out the joint.

“Hey!” Hammersmith snapped. “That was a real douche bag move!”

“You’re stoned enough already,” Ryan told him. “Now pay attention to your driving, or you’re going out the window next.”

* * *

B
ACK IN THE
main body of the wag, the rest of the team sat in seats along the walls, bracing themselves against the jarring ride through the bumpy Slaughterhouse.

While the others talked about the next stage of their mission to save Doc, Jak and Union sat silently beside each other in the rearmost seats on the driver’s side.

Jak had tried several times to get her talking, with no success. He’d pretty much given up when she finally leaned in close to him and whispered, “I want to kiss you again, but she won’t let me.”

Jak was surprised to hear from her. “She who?” He wondered which personality he was talking to, but he couldn’t tell. Since Union was sitting closest to the door, he couldn’t see the color of the braid on her left temple.

“She.” Still Union’s voice remained a whisper. “I’m not even supposed to be talking to you.”

“What I do?” Jak kept his voice to a whisper, as well. “Thought was perfect gentleman.”

“Shh.” Union put a finger up to her lips. “You need to trust me. I want to save you.”

“Save? Who from?”

She shook her head. Her eyes were wide; she looked frightened. “When I give the signal, you must do as I say.”

“Why? What going happen?”

Again, she shook her head. “I can’t tell you anything else. I’ve already taken a terrible chance saying this much.”

“Need know more.”

Union grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. “Whatever you do, don’t say a word to anyone else. Especially anyone else in here.” She turned her head fully toward him and tapped the side of it.

Only then did he see that her braid was white. He was dealing with Carrie, the basket case. Of all her personalities, this was the one who had chosen to save him.

But then she let go of his hand and was gone. He saw the change as she leaned back in the seat, her stare turning icy and distant, her braid turning jet-black. Taryn was back.

For a moment, Jak thought of trying to say something to her. But he changed his mind and instead sat back to ponder what Carrie had told him.

If what she’d said was true, the team was in danger. But what was the nature of the danger, and when was it coming for them?

And what did it say that she knew about the threat in advance?

* * *

T
WO HOURS INTO
the ride, Krysty’s head started pounding. She kept it to herself at first; the pain was bearable, nowhere near the brain-splitting agony she’d felt during transformations of the Shift.

But Mildred, who was sitting across from her, soon picked up on it. “Krysty?” She leaned across the cabin with a look of deep concern on her face. “Honey, are you all right?”

Krysty nearly denied it. She was sick of being a liability and didn’t want the mission scuttled or delayed because of her.

But she couldn’t lie to Mildred. Shaking her head slightly, she leaned forward and spoke as quietly as she
could without being drowned out by the noise of the wag. “I think it’s starting again. Just the leading edge of it so far.”

Mildred nodded. “Okay.” She didn’t do as Krysty had feared and suggest they turn back. “So maybe we can manage it a little better this time.”

“Manage it?”

Mildred held up an index finger, then turned to the driver’s seat, which was on the other side of her. “Hey! Hey, Hammertime!”

“What do you want?” he snapped from behind the wheel. “Can’t you see I’m trying to drive up here?”

“Screw you!” Mildred looked back at Krysty and winked, then returned her attention to Hammersmith. “Got any more of that sweet leaf up there, buddy boy?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because Krysty’s in need of some pain management, and I’m thinking your special stash might just do the trick.”

“The last time I shared, the One-Eyed Wonder threw my doobie out the mofo window.” Hammersmith glared at Ryan, who studiously ignored him. “Fat chance I’ll dip into what stash I’ve got left just to see you throw it out again!”

“It won’t happen,” Mildred said. “Swear to God. Krysty feels a head-splitter coming on, and I’m guessing the pot might help her get through it.”

Krysty frowned. “You think so? I really don’t want that stuff.”

Mildred nodded firmly. “I’d bet money on it.” She thumped the back of Hammersmith’s seat with her fist. “Come on, Dr. H. Otherwise we might have to turn this bucket of bolts around and get her the hell out of here.”

Hammersmith’s beady eyes jumped to the rearview mirror, sizing up Krysty. He jolted the wheel a few more times, wrenching the wag through an obstacle course of boulders and sinkholes, then pulled a plastic bag full of weed from
the pocket of his lab coat. “All right, honeybunch. Just don’t waste it,” he said as he handed it over his shoulder. “That’s almost the last of my supply.”

Mildred took the pot, then asked for papers and a lighter, which he also provided. “Where did your supply come from anyway?”

“Got a grow set up in a secret cove not far from the core. You wouldn’t believe how much the Shift’s transformations enrich the soil around these parts. You get all kinds of wild varietals and effects!”

“But this batch isn’t like that, I hope.” Mildred held up the bag.

Hammersmith snicker-wheezed. “As if I’d ever share the good shit.” His shoulders hopped up and down as he laughed some more.

Mildred put the bag and lighter in her lap, then slipped a rolling paper out of the little box. “Fine with me. Krysty just needs something to smooth out the rough spots.” As she said it, the wag hit a big bump, rocking the cabin hard and bouncing the lighter right out of her lap.

Krysty caught it and handed it back. “Thanks, Mildred. I don’t think we can afford to turn around because of me.”

“Don’t worry.” Mildred smiled, put the lighter on her lap and proceeded to start packing a joint. “Just let me know if you experience any negative effects.”

“Hey!” Hammersmith shouted. “You forgot something!” With that, he reached into a pack on the floor beside his seat and pulled out a plastic bowl with a resealable lid. “You’re gonna need these, too!”

Krysty took the bowl, popped open the lid and peered inside at what looked and smelled like two dozen chocolate-chip cookies. “Are these real chocolate chips?” There was a tinge of amazement in her voice.

“Never you mind!” Hammersmith said. “But you’re gonna need those when the munchies set in!”

“Where did you get them?” Krysty asked. “They look homemade.”

“What do you think I was doing in my office last night?” Hammersmith asked.

“But we didn’t smell any cookies baking,” Ricky commented.

“How is that possible?” J.B. chimed in.

“Trade secret, dipshits.” Hammersmith snicker-wheezed.

“Why won’t you tell us?” Ricky asked.

“Because you’re dealing with science power, rug rat.” Hammersmith whipped around and jabbed a finger at him, sneering. “Get used to it.”

Then, cackling like a lunatic, he whipped back around to face forward, pounding the wheel with the heel of his hand as if he was drumming along with a song on the radio.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Doc was in shock as Ankh led him through the underground complex that the shifters called the core. As a repurposed redoubt, the place was very familiar in terms of layout and design. A few times, as Doc rounded a corner or looked into a particular room, he felt a twinge of déjà vu at how much it resembled other redoubts he’d visited.

There were offices, armories and garages, much as there were in other redoubts, as well as barracks, bathrooms, dining halls and an auditorium. When the tour finally ended on the third level down, things got really interesting…and cold. Doc had to pull on his frock coat against the chill.

Doc was led to a nondescript door at the end of a long featureless corridor. Ankh punched a code into a numbered keypad, then the door slid open.

“This is it.” Ankh stepped aside and gestured for Doc to enter. “Your laboratory, Dr. Hammersmith. I think you’ll find that everything is exactly the way you left it.”

Doc knew he should enter the lab warily, but he couldn’t restrain his curiosity. He ambled through the door without another word.

Looking around on the other side, he did not at first realize the significance of the place. He was too dumbstruck by the level of the mess that surrounded him on all sides to wrap his head around the obfuscated details.

Cables hung from the ceiling and sprawled across the
floor like enormous tangles of spaghetti. Equipment squatted around the large room in various stages of disassembly, with open panels revealing ruined circuitry, jumbles of wiring, broken probes and scorched and shattered computer monitors.

Ceiling lights flickered, and paper printouts fluttered in the breeze from the open door. Books and notebooks were stacked and spread open on counters, crates and flooring. Not to mention, there were spare parts, hand tools and garbage everywhere, scattered hither and yon with seeming abandon.

Plus, the place reeked of rotten food, urine and what he knew was marijuana. Someone—the real Hammersmith or maybe the shifters—had to have smoked a lot of marijuana in there.

Doc was just about to comment on the smell when the configuration of the room finally got through to him. Frowning, he counted the amber-and-green walls. Armaglass walls.

Six. The room was hexagonal.

“Dear God,” he muttered. His gaze fell to the floor, but it was too cluttered for a clear view. He nudged aside a fat cable with the toe of his boot, then also pushed away an open bucket full of screws, nuts, nails, bolts and tacks.

What he saw in the space he’d cleared made his heart beat faster. It took everything he had not to react visibly and clue in Ankh about the importance of what he was looking at.

“Did you find something, William?” Ankh asked from the doorway.

“No, no, not yet,” Doc replied, even as he stared down at the silver disks set into the floor. “Just taking a quick mental inventory.”

The truth was, though, that the armaglass walls, hexagonal layout and silver disks set into the floor all added
up. Finally, he knew what he’d stumbled into, and how it might be connected to the Shift.

If only he knew what to do about it.

Behind him, Ankh walked into the room. “Helpers are available, if you like. Until now, we refrained from touching anything in here in case it was important, but you’ll find our people aren’t afraid of hard work on behalf of the new empire.”

“Fine, fine.” Doc made a point of looking away from the disks in the floor. Turning, he folded his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows at Ankh. “Then, I suppose I ought to get to work, eh? Don’t want to keep destiny waiting.”