Time Castaways (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-One

Once, the theater on the fifth floor of the office building had shown movies, or people had performed live plays, even the occasional radio play had been acted out on the elevated stage to record the laughter of a live audience. But now the electrical equipment had been removed, the wires used to rig snares, the heavier cables made into crossbow strings.

A dozen lanterns shone bright with fish oil, extracted from the denizens of the nearby lake, and two large torches crackled on either side of the Skull Throne. Piled on the stage were blasters, knives, spears, machetes and even a couple of swords, recovered from predark museums. On the throne sat an angry woman, her face streaked with blood, her clothing ripped and torn until her leather bodice was all that kept her from being completely naked. But her blistered face shone with victorious contempt, and a loaded military longblaster lay across her lap.

“Kneel! Kneel before your baron!” Brenda Wainwright bellowed, sitting in the throne of bones.

Openly bleeding, the last of the cannies kowtowed before the woman, splaying their hands on the carpeting to show their complete and utter subservience. The
plump outlander had won the battle against the stickies, and had then taken on the cannies. Now they were her property, to do with as she pleased. That was the ancient law.

Proudly holding their weapons, the twenty surviving sec men from Royal Island walked around the cowering mainlanders. The poor stupe bastards had never seen a boomerang before, and laughed as the first salvo went sailing by them. Then they were aced in droves as the ’rangs came curling back to smash open their heads from behind. After that, chilling the rest had been easy, and now their massive collection of blasters belonged to the barons. Wheelguns, scatterguns and more different types of rapidfires than anybody had ever dreamed. Some of the sec men had already taken to calling the mainlander ville by the new name of Blaster Haven.

“At least they know how to bow, if not fight,” Baron Griffin said with a sneer, dangling a leg off the stage.

“Good thing, as I do not plan on leaving,” Wainwright stated, shifting to a more comfortable position on the Skull Throne. “These gleebs have the wealth of the predark world just lying around them, and they choose to live in one cabin?” She dismissed that nonsense with a wave. “Ten stories tall is nice, damn impressive, but this could be the ville of all villes!”

“Agreed.” Griffin shrugged in acceptance, then he worked the pump action of his newly acquired remade Neostad scattergun. “But first, we have some more chilling to do.”

“Not me,” Wainwright declared bluntly. “I’m done
with that. They took my ville, but now I have a better one! Forget the one-eyed fool, and rule with me, cousin. Side by side!” She lowered her voice to a lusty growl. “In everything.

“We can be lovers here, Nolan,” she purred. “That is allowed here as there is no Book of Blood. I asked, and they’ve never even heard of such a thing. Which means all the sex partners, and children, that we want. Two, three, ten. There is no limit.”

So I could have her at last, as more than a secret ride, but as my new wife for life. More than tempted, Griffin massaged a broken rib, and considered the proposal. Aside from the limitless sex, more important the ville had unlimited land, unlimited metal, and these feeb man-eaters knew how to make black powder, while he knew how to convert it into the much more powerful gunpowder. Side by side, the two barons could make this a truly formidable fortress, perhaps even take over another ville, then a third, a fourth, ten! They could create an empire unseen since the glory days of North America!

Then Griffin recalled the face of his wife as she lay on the cold ground, and the glorious dream faded away. He could never rest, never stop, until the man called Finnigan was chilled, and hopefully in as painful a way as possible. His heart ached from the loss of his wife, and his rage was reborn at the thought of abandoning the quest for vengeance to a life of luxury.

“Keep it. You can have the ville,” Griffin stated. “It’s yours, all of it. I will lay no claim, aside for asking a single price.”

“Name it,” Wainwright said cautiously, ready for betrayal.

“Half of the sec men, horses and blasters and brass.”

“Hot pipe, are you still…” But she paused at seeing the determined look in his face. He would never give up the hunt for revenge. “Most of the horses were aced in the battle, you can have half of those that survived, and enough sec men to ride them.” She smiled now, sweetly, but with no warmth. “You’ll need speed, dear cousin, if you’re to catch up with Finnigan.”

“Exactly how many horses are we talking?” Griffin demanded, rising from the stage.

“Ten.”

Only five horses were to be his? He started to argue, then realized that most of the survivors from Royal Island were from Northpoint, not Anchor. He could push only so hard before she would have the cannies put him in the pot for stew. “The best five horses,” he countered, “saddlebags of smoked fish, no meat, blasters, grens, brass, and the best two island sec men, plus the best local tracker, and the very best torturer.”

Wainwright was impressed. By the lost gods, he did think ahead.

“Everybody, but me,” sec chief Donovan stated, moving closer to rest a bandaged arm across the back of the throne. The tall man was covered with blasters, a bandolier of live shells draped across his chest.

During the takeover of the ville, the sec chief had aced a cannie about to gut the baron. Afterward, she had informed him what the reward would be, in detail. Blasters, brass and her bed forever. What man could want more?

“Accepted,” Griffin growled, furious over the betrayal, but knowing full well there was nothing he could do about it at the moment.

“Done and done,” Wainwright said, pulling a knife and slashing her palm.

Walking closer, Griffin did the same and they sealed the deal in blood.

At the sight, the islanders shouted a war cry, while the cannies only moaned in submission, still not exactly sure what was to become of them now that the lunatics had seized control of their ville.

THE SMALL SUPPLY of candles burned out after a few hours and the companions had to continue through the darkness using only Mildred’s old flashlight. The pale yellow beam did little to brighten the gloom inside the corridor, but it was just enough for them to dimly see a few feet ahead. There were no branching corridors, gates, twists or even turns. The passageway ran straight and true like the barrel of a blaster.

In the lead, Mildred said nothing, carefully watching the floor ahead of them for any sudden drops as she kept gently pumping the handle on the survivalist flashlight, trying to get as much illumination from the ancient device without risking an overload.

“At least we’ll know which direction to go if the flashlight dies,” Ryan growled, one hand tight on her shoulder as a guide, the other filled with the primed SIG-Sauer.

“Like drek through goose,” Jak quipped, his hand on the big man’s shoulder.

“Thank you for that lovely image,” Doc muttered, the LeMat held ready in his good hand.

Walking between Doc and Krysty, Liana kept mum, and tightened her grip on the tall scholar’s gunbelt, as his shoulder was a little too far out of her reach.

Moving single file, the companions walked for what seemed like hours, stopping only once for a lav break, Liana mortified by the casual acceptance of the biological need by the others. There were no bushes in the corridor.

As their words gave a slight echo effect in the corridor, the companions stopped talking and concentrated on simply walking, when far ahead of them a faint glow seemed to infuse the blackness. Forcing herself not to hurry, Mildred maintained an even pace as ghostly pearlescence steadily increased until they could plainly see the interior of the corridor and the flashlight was no longer needed.

“Aw, shit,” Mildred snarled, releasing the pump to click off the device.

Less than a hundred paces ahead of the companions the corridor abruptly ended in a wooden glen, slanting beams of morning sunlight coming through the leafy trees to dapple the smooth armaglass floor. Softly, they could hear the sound of a babbling brook and birds singing sweetly.

“Fireblast,” Ryan drawled, letting go of the physician. “I had been afraid of something like this.”

“Must have been a nuke storm,” Krysty added, surveying the damage. The ragged end of the corridor was dotted with hard lumps where the material had been
melted through, only to congeal later. “Probably the same bomb that rearranged some of Michigan.”

“Well, there are no rads,” J.B. announced, checking the counter on his lapel as he stepped into the sunlight. Blinking a few times, the Armorer let his vision adjust, then checked again, but he had heard no telltale clicks. Whatever force had sliced through the passageway was long gone, and fully dissipated.

“Been going straight for almost day,” Jak drawled, checking the trees for any muties. “Might as well keep going.”

“How long do you think it is to the next redoubt?” Liana asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

“Only one way to find out,” Ryan declared, starting forward again at an easy stride. Normally, the companions never openly discussed the redoubts. But Liana had proved herself numerous times over their brief association, and Doc seemed happy enough. In fact, Ryan had noticed that ever since Liana had joined the group, Doc hadn’t slipped away into the past even once. Maybe all the man had needed was the attention and care of a good woman.

It was noon when they found the rest of the corridor. Smashed and broken into countless pieces, tiny shards of armaglass lay scattered across a wide grassland, the material reflecting the bright sunlight like partially buried diamonds.

A low hill rose just ahead of the companions, the sloping sides covered with thick tufts of green grass, and set flat into the truncated curve was a large black door.

“By the lost gods,” Liana whispered, going pale. “Is…is that the door?”

“Oh, this is nothing,” Mildred said, patting her on the back. “Wait until you see inside.”

“Hot showers,” Jak added in a heartfelt drawl, brushing back his greasy hair.

Advancing warily to the blast doors, Ryan and Krysty checked the ground for any sign that the cannies or anybody had ever tried to get inside. But the area appeared clean, and Ryan went directly to the small keypad set into the black metal frame on the titanic entrance.

Tapping in the entry code, Ryan instantly heard a deep vibration come from below the ground, and the black door rumbled aside to the sound of a controlled thunder.

Liana could say nothing as the pristine armaglass corridor became revealed on the other side, rows of electric lights shining brightly from the clean ceiling.

“Come on, my dear.” Doc smiled, offering her a hand. “This way to a new world.”

Biting a lip, she hesitated only a second, then joined the others as they walked over the threshold and out of the natural world. Feeling the sterilized air from the vents wash over their faces, the companions smiled in relief and did not react as the blast doors closed with a boom.

Startled, Liana jumped at the loud noise, then grinned sheepishly. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t worry about it. Gaia knows I did more than jump the first time I heard the blast doors seal,” Krysty lied diplomatically.

Following the zigzag path of the antiradiation tunnel, the companions entered the huge garage of the redoubt.

While the others strolled around, checking for evidence of previous visitors, Liana could only marvel at the spotlessly clean floor, the neatly painted lines showing where wags should be parked, long workbenches lining the walls covered with tools. There was even a thing in the corner that Theo had called a gas pump. It was exactly as he had described it to her on the long boat trip. At the time, Liana had merely assumed he was joking to pass the time, but now saw that the man had told the absolute truth. Could it all be true? Mat-trans units, comps, droids? A moment of irrational fear swept through the woman, then she banished it with a sheer force of will. Tech was tech, how did a door differ from a blaster or a self-heat? Besides, she trusted Theo completely, and she would follow where he walked. End of discussion.

“All right, you two stay here and watch the entrance while we do a fast recce of the place,” Ryan commanded.

“Do you think anybody could get through that huge door?” Liana asked quizzically.

“The wise never plan for what an enemy might do,” Doc rumbled, “but for what they might do.”

Chewing over that morsel of military advice, Liana found the flavor to her liking. “Check,” she stated, hefting her blaster.

Unfortunately the rest of the companions returned in less than an hour with glum faces.

“Clean,” Jak snarled in annoyance. “Not can beans or pack salt in galley.”

“And the armory is emptier than a stickie’s pockets,” J.B. added.

“Just another dead redoubt,” Mildred said. “Hell, we found more supplies at that bomb shelter.”

“Well, at least the showers must work,” Ryan said, rubbing his unshaved jaw. “We’ll get clean and grab some sack time before making a jump. Maybe we’ll do better at the next redoubt.”

“Can’t do much worse,” Krysty retorted, fighting back a yawn.