Eden’s Twilight (14 page)

“I agree, which is why it has to stay behind,” Roberto said, annoyed that he had to explain the obvious. “That behemoth is gonna burn juice like crazy. There is no way we can haul along enough to keep that thing rolling all the way to…” His mouth closed with a snap.

“All the way to Cascade,” Jessica finished lamely, trying to cover the gaffe of her chief.

Without comment, Ryan looked at the other companions, getting their opinion on leaving the vehicle behind. From their carefully blank expressions, he could readily see that nobody was warm to the idea of trusting Roberto and his crew that much, that fast. As the Trader always liked to say, a friendship was like stew, it got better over time.

“Okay, how about this,” Ryan suggested. “Tell us where you'll be camped tomorrow night, and we'll meet you there with enough juice for a dozen trips.”

“And exactly where the hot fuck are you gonna find—” But Jessica stopped there. Of course, these folks had hidden caches of supplies. Just look at their damn blasters!

“A convoy of four wags would help keep the chilling to a minimum,” Roberto agreed thoughtfully, rubbing his bad knee. That was, unless these folks were planning a nightcreep. It was unlikely, but possible. Hell, everything was possible. “Any chance ya got a working compass?”

“Sure. Good one.”

“Nice to know. All right, travel due east from here until coming to a tox lake. That's Thunder Bay. Don't drink any of the water! It'll ace you faster than kissing a howler.” Everybody laughed, breaking the tension, just as the trader expected. Cutting a deal was like fishing, it took either great patience or high explosives.

“Now head south and you'll find some steam geysers,” Roberto continued, shifting in his chair to straighten his leg. “Just follow the run-off stream and it'll take you directly to a little ville called Newton.”

“Never heard of the place,” Ryan said honestly.

“There's no reason you should,” Jessica admitted. “It's smaller than a worm's dick, and the baron doesn't allow folks to drink shine. Considers it as evil as skydark.”

“No drinking at all?” Krysty asked in surprise.

“None. The first time, they whip you as a warning. The second time, you get thrown over the wall.”

Crossing his legs at the ankles, J.B. snorted. “Damn, I'm surprised the people haven't gotten a good thick rope and invited the baron to a necktie party.”

“Us, too, but they love his ass. Go figure.”

“We'll wait for you folks until nightfall,” Roberto stated, looking directly at them to drive home the point. “Nightfall, but no later. When I see silver in the sky, we roll, whether you are there or not.”

“We'd be sorry to lose the healer, but she's not the only crowbar in the tool kit,” Jessica added, thinking about Yates. The doomie was safely tucked away in the engine room, far from the outlanders.

“Rather fond of her myself,” J.B. said, jotting down the directions on a scrap of paper and removing his fedora to tuck it into the sweatband.

“See you in Newton,” Ryan said, standing. It was already way past midnight, so the companions did not have a lot of
time remaining to reach the Ohio redoubt, refuel the wag and find the ville. The sooner they departed, the better.

“Any chance we could get an advance on our pay?” Mildred asked, casting a glance at the crewman in the corner working on the machine gun. If the convoy had a Fifty, then they had to have ammunition.

“Don't really like paying for things I haven't gotten yet,” Roberto said cautiously, his voice flinty. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mildred charged. “We'll be a bigger asset to the convoy with a couple of belts of brass for our Fifty.”

That caught both Roberto and Jessica by surprise. The outlanders had a working Fifty? This deal was starting to sound better all the time.

“Well, I might let you have a couple of belts of empty brass that you could reload yourself,” Jessica offered tentatively.

“But then we'd never reach Newton in time,” Ryan countered. “How about four live belts?”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Roberto paused. “Three, but only reloads. Nothing new.”

Feeling this was as good a deal as he was going to get, Ryan agreed, and the companions soon departed carrying a bulging duffel bag that jingled with every step.

“I hate to risk all of that brass,” Jessica asked, watching the outlanders walk down the hallway and exit into the night.

“More than worth the gamble,” Roberto said, spying Matilda in the kitchen and waving her over. “I've seen Ryan fight. He's a chilling machine. You really do not want to be on the wrong end of his blaster. Plus, the healer will be a major asset when we reach Cascade.”

“If we reach it,” Jessica corrected. “What if they book?”

“Then we're only out some brass,” the trader said as the plump cook refilled his mug. He thanked her and took a sip,
savoring the feeling as the hot brew seeped down deep into his bones. The evening chill was hurting his leg more and more these days. “However, if they arrive at Newton pulling that old gag of pretending to be chased by a gang of coldhearts so that they can get close enough to us to try for a jack…”

Just then the armored door boomed shut at the end of the hallway and a crewman threw the bolts locking it tight.

“Then they'll find out that we included a little something extra in the duffel, along with the brass.” Jessica smirked. “And that'll be the fragging end of Ryan Cawdor.”

Padding through the moldy ruins of the ancient city, the hellhounds were delighted to find the piles of rotting flesh in the parking lot. Several stingwings and vultures were already feeding on the carrion, but the desert scavengers retreated quickly from the approach of the Stygian black hunters, abandoning the wealth of food for life.

Feasting upon the humans, horses and stickies, the hellhounds stuffed themselves to capacity in almost feral gluttony. The two bioweps clearly smelled the fear of the two redflesh hiding in the nearby shadows, but they were not the targets, so the hellhounds saw no reason to kill the humans at this particular moment. Later, perhaps, if they met again when the biological constructs were hungry, but not right now. First things first.
Kill the thieves.
Until that happened, the screaming inside their skulls would never stop.

 

R
OLLING ACROSS A SHALLOW RIVER
, Ryan saw that the wash was cleaning off most of the filth covering the urban combat vehicle. Which was fine by him. The one-eyed man had been concerned about a flock of vultures circling the sky above the pungent war wag and revealing their location to the world. But now the windows sparkled! A stickie eyeball was attached to the end of a wiperblade, but then, nothing was perfect.

With a low moan, Krysty rolled over in her sleep, unconsciously stretching and straining her full breasts against the
fabric of her shirt. Ryan allowed himself a private smile. Okay, almost nothing.

As the vehicle lumbered up the far bank and onto dry ground, Ryan risked opening a vent and in came a delicious rush of sweet, clean air. If there had been any spare time, he would have turned around and driven the war wag through the river a couple more times to make sure the job was done right. Mildred had told him how folks before the nuke war used to relax on the weekends washing their cars. Ryan could only assume it was some sort of hold-over from the days when they owned horses. Currying a horse was a bonding experience between a person and an animal. Doc had said that was where the phrase
to curry somebody's favor
came from. Made sense, he supposed. Back when he was a kid growing up at Front Royal, washing the baron's wags was a punishment detail, not a reward. Washing the car for fun. Ryan snorted. Nope, no matter how many times he said the words, it still sounded crazy.

Sprawled on the cushioned floor, the rest of the companions were under blankets, softly snoring. Doc was in the gunnery seat, his head bowed, eyes closed. Ryan didn't begrudge the man a short nap. He wanted to do the same thing himself, but first they needed to get a safe distance away from the ruins before heading for the redoubt.

 

W
ITH THE COMING OF THE DAWN
, the world began to awaken around the speeding transport. The grasslands were sodden from a recent rain, the few trees still dripping with excess moisture. Listening to his stomach rumble, Ryan briefly regretted not getting some food from Roberto, but they were only a few hours away from the redoubt. They could eat then. Maybe even wash their clothes and grab a hot shower before getting right back on the road again. Time was short if they were going to make the rendezvous at Newton.

The companions had discussed the plan to find Cascade the
previous night while cutting down some tree limbs and lashing them to the rear of the UCV to help remove any tracks the heavy wag made in the ground. It was not out of the realm of possibility that Roberto might have a crewman trail them to find out what the companions did before joining the convoy. No way in nuking hell they could allow that to happen. The existence of the redoubts was the biggest secret in the world.

Built by the predark government long before skydark, the redoubts were colossal underground bunkers designed to withstand the direct hit of a nuclear weapon. Powered by a nuclear reactor, the redoubts were safe havens of clean air and clean water, with barracks for hundreds of soldiers, plus kitchens, library, garage and an armory for tons of supplies.

However, sometime just before or after skydark, all of the military personnel in the redoubts left for an unknown destination, taking most—if not all—of the supplies with them. These days, the companions usually found only the occasional half box of live brass, or a handful of MRE packs left accidentally behind. But that was enough to give them a fighting chance for survival. And sometimes they hit the jackpot.

Even more incredible, the redoubts were connected by a network of mat-trans units, fantastic machines that could send people and equipment from one redoubt to another. Unfortunately, the secret of a controlled jump had been lost over the long decades, so every journey the companions undertook was completely random.

It was around noon, and Mildred was driving, when the armored vehicle came out of a thick field of weeds, sputtered and died.

“Damn, I was hoping we could get a little farther,” the physician growled, trying the ignition several times before admitting defeat. “Okay, we're out of gas. Time to walk.”

“Not prob,” Jak said, pointing. “See there!”

Set into the side of a grassy hillock was a flat expanse of
seamless black metal. It could have simply been a piece of a buried wall, but the companions knew better. That was the front door of a redoubt.

“Hot damn, made it!” Jak beamed in delight.

“Close enough,” Ryan said. “Come on, let's haul out a couple of gallons, then drive this monster the rest of the way inside.”

“Well, we're sure not going to push it,” J.B. snorted, putting on his fedora, then straightening the brim.

“Anything on the radar?” Doc asked tersely, squinting into the horizon. Funny, he could have sworn something moved in the bushes near a copse of trees. But there was nothing in sight now. It had to have just been his imagination.

“Clear,” J.B. replied, fine-tuning the controls. “There's nothing out here but us and the bus.”

“Good,” Ryan said, opening the side door and hopping down.

Krysty was right behind the man and together they walked across the sodden field, the damp grass squishing under their boots.

“Us and the bus?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth.

Grinning, Ryan could only shrug in reply.

While the one-eyed man stood guard, Krysty easily found the disguised keypad and tapped in the 3-5-2 entry code. There was a brief pause as if the ancient machinery were debating the matter, then the colossal black slab trembled and there came a series of hard clunks.

Slowly, the blast doors rumbled aside to reveal a huge spider droid, the belly laser sweeping back and forth for targets. With a curse, Ryan and Krysty threw themselves flat against the hillock to get out of the way of the energy beam. But nothing else happened. The droid simply stood there, the soft hum of the laser mixing with the gentle murmur of the breeze in the trees.

Inside the UCV, the rest of the companions were flat on the floor with blasters in hand. At this range, the spider could burn
them out of existence, the polarized windows offering virtually no protection.

“What do?” Jak demanded. “No juice, and not loaded Fifty yet!”

“Why in blazing hell not?” Mildred demanded.

“We can't with the wag in motion,” J.B. answered, working the pump on his shotgun.

“Then we shall do nothing,” Doc stated forcibly. “The blast door will automatically close in a minute, and then we can figure out what to do before opening it again.”

“Sound good.”

However, after the minute passed, Mildred risked a peek with a small pocket mirror. The spider was still in plain sight, the blast doors wide open. She checked again in a couple more minutes.

“We need a new plan,” Mildred said, chewing her lip. “That thing is here for the duration.”

“Mayhap we can slip out the aft doors and start a fire,” Doc offered. “Divert its attention so that Ryan and Krysty can get away.”

“After a rain?” J.B. shot back. “Dark night, we couldn't get this grass to burn if we used napalm!”

“Okay, do hard way,” Jak said grimly, thumbing back the hammer on the Colt Python. “Exit rear door and start blasting. Droid give chase, we lose in bushes, circle back, hide inside redoubt.”

“Indeed, and how shall we refuel this vehicle?” Doc demanded, then comprehension dawned. “Yes, I see. The plan to hunt for Cascade is no more. We get inside the redoubt and jump to another.”

“It sure would have been nice to see Cascade,” J.B. said wistfully, thinking about the volumes of technical knowledge the townspeople had to own. “But I'd much rather be sucking air.”

“With that sentiment, I wholeheartedly agree!”

Just then, there came a crackle of static on the radio and a small red indicator blinked into existence on the dashboard.

“What is, radar?” Jak asked in concern.

“I have no damn idea,” Mildred said, looking over the controls above them. The red light seemed to be connected to the radio. After a minute, Mildred touched the button.

“Authorization,” a flat robotic voice said from the ceiling speaker.

The companions exchanged puzzled expressions.

“That be droid!” Jak whispered excitedly, the Colt Python tight in his pale hand. “Talk on radio?”

“How odd, we used the proper entry code to access the blast doors,” Doc grumbled uneasily. “What more does this tin Cerberus wish of us?”

“Authorization,” the monotone voice repeated.

“Maybe I know what it wants,” Mildred said thoughtfully. “Remember that sign above the door just outside of a gateway?”

“Sure. Said that entry was authorized only to B-12 personnel.”

She nodded. “Now there's no way somebody could possibly know that code without having been inside.”

“Do you think our steely arachnid will accept that as our bona fides?” Doc asked.

“Worth a try,” J.B. said, taking down the mike. “But if this goes into the rad pit, hit the door running and don't stop.”

Wetting his lips, the Armorer chose his words carefully and pressed the transmit button. “Authorization B-12.”

There was a brief pause.

“Pass,” the droid said.

Feeling a rush of excitement in her stomach, Mildred used her mirror for a quick glance. Incredibly the spider had moved aside, clearing the way for the UCV to enter inside the redoubt.

“Millie, which of us looks the most like military personnel?” J.B. asked.

“None of us,” she replied. “We're wearing bits and pieces
of uniforms, but nobody is carrying an M-16 assault rifle, and that was the standard weapon.”

Jak jerked a thumb. “What about U.S. Army Fifty?”

A short while later, J.B. walked into view from behind the UCV. His munitions bag was replaced by Mildred's med kit with
M*A*S*H
on the side. His beloved fedora had been left behind, and he was hauling the .50-caliber machine gun across his shoulders.

Forcing his face to remain neutral, it seemed like a thousand miles instead of a hundred feet to reach the entrance of the redoubt. As he walked past Ryan and Krysty, the Armorer gave a subtle cough, then stepped over the threshold and proceeded down the concrete tunnel. The spider watched his every move until the man walked around a corner and went out of sight.

Only a few minutes later J.B. reappeared carrying a plastic bucket that slopped out fuel with every step. Casually strolling to the armored vehicle, he poured the contents into the pull-out funnel of the fuel tank, then climbed inside the UCV.

“Here we go,” Mildred muttered softly, trying the big diesel. The engine groaned but would not start. “Damn it, we need to prime the lines!”

“Got two,” Jak stated. “Only the one ran dry.”

“Here goes nothing…” Switching engines, Mildred tried again and the war wag started with a roar of power.

Shifting into gear, she rolled to the blast door and paused, giving Ryan and Krysty enough time to scamper through the aft doors, while J.B. quickly ran out to tap in the code to close the blast doors. Once they were safely inside, Mildred started forward again at an easy 25 mph. Speeding could be a violation of a safety regulation.

The tunnel was large enough to admit the passage of an Abrams battle tank, so the UCV moved along easily. The ceiling was lined with bright fluorescent tube, which kept snagging the radio antenna, so Mildred slowed their progress to prevent any
breakage. The physician knew that any deviation from standard military protocol could invoke the spider's wrath.

“Ease to a crawl,” Ryan commanded, watching the spider disappear behind the first turn. “But leave that engine running.”

“Whatever you're gonna do, make it fast,” J.B. advised, checking the fuel gauge. The needle was on empty, the half gallon of juice not even registering.

“Check.” As the vehicle slowed to barely creep along, Ryan stepped down and walked to the first turn. He couldn't hear anything over the rumble of the UCV, so he pulled out his panga and slid it past the edge, trying to angle the shiny metal for a surreptitious look. The spider was right back where they had originally found it, standing guard in front of the closed blast doors.