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and the wag moved sluggishly through the sticky field for the distant horizon
once more.
Dropping into their seats, the companions sparingly used some of the water
from their canteens to wash hands and faces clean. Boots and clothes would
wait until the mud dried and could be simply scraped off.
"Too bad we can't use the road," Krysty said, turning on the windshield
wipers.
The spray of muddy droplets from the front wheels was speckling the glass and
making it difficult to see clearly.
Unfortunately, the old blades merely smeared the stuff, making it worse.
Locating a puddle of water, Krysty drove straight through, and the resulting
splash washed the windshield clean for a moment.
"Roads are too dangerous," Ryan said, belting on his blaster again. The semi
and automatic weapons had stayed in the bus to keep them out of the mud; only
the people with revolvers had kept on their blasters while working outside.
"Mud like this will smooth out after a while and erase our path."
"Also faster," J.B. said, cleaning his glasses. He held them to the light,
then rubbed some more. "The road follows the shoreline. This cuts through the
middle of the island and saves us miles."
"If we don't get stuck again," Krysty muttered, fighting the wheel. Driving
across the field was becoming progressively difficult. If she slowed too much,
the bus would get trapped again, but too fast and the wheels started to
hydroplane on the
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of water that hid the tacky mud below. Almost like quicksand and dirt
combined. That was an ugly thought. Better watch for smooth areas with no
plants growing and avoid those.
Concentrating on the driving, Krysty didn't hear the warning until the second
time
Ryan spoke.
"Watch for the stickie!" he repeated, pointing with his blaster.
Krysty glanced to the right and there it was, charging at the wag. Trying to
avoid a collision, she twisted the steering wheel, but the distance was too
short. The wag slammed into the humanoid creature, the spiked fender tearing
open its belly, guts and blood gushing out. Dropping from sight, the bus
thumped over the body and kept moving.
"Damn thing just stood there," Krysty said, glancing at the rearview mirror.
There was a pool of blood in their wake, nothing more. The body was driven
underground by the weight of the bus. "I didn't have a chance to swerve."
"Probably never saw a wag before," J.B. commented, pulling his hat over his
eyes and slumping in his seat. With Ryan standing guard with the Steyr, it was
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safe to catch a quick nap.
"Never will again," Doc added in wry humor, starting to run a whetstone along
the edge of his sword. The blade had gotten a few nicks in the last fight, and
this was his first opportunity to sharpen the steel.
"Most likely it was attracted to the sound of the engine," Mildred said,
releasing her hair and shaking it back into shape. Almost mindless, stickies
always rushed at loud noises and bright lights such as explosions and
campfires. The muties weren't all that easy to chill with blasters. Ugly
bastards, too, with their octopus-
like suckers on their hands and feet, weird eyes and almost nonexistent
mouths.
Mildred had no idea how the creatures ate enough to stay alive.
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WISPY CURLS of smoke rose from the blackened ashes at the front of Ratak
ville. The fire had raged out of control for more than a day, and the log wall
now sported a charred hole large enough to sail a petey through. A mutie
Hunter had already tried to get inside, the thing driven off only by the
combined blasters of the ville sec men and those from the petey fleet. One
against a hundred, and the
Hunter still managed to chill four guards and escape alive. Damn the jungle
muties to Davey; they were harder to ace than the Lord Bastard himself.
Standing in the cold morning air, Captain Glassman watched the work crews and
sipped at a hot mug of coconut milk laced with shine, feeling the warmth seep
into his bones. Out at sea, his crew had spotted dirty clouds on the horizon
and the mornings were getting chilly. Which meant that the rains would be
coming soon.
More bad news.
Now ville sec men stood guard over the gap in the wall, while his own troopers
walked the parapets, armed with Firebirds. Using only their bare hands,
heavily shackled slaves sifted through the embers trying to locate the
irreplaceable metal hinges for the heavy door. From the nearby jungle came the
sound of axes, a work crew already felling trees to replace those destroyed by
the flames.
Raising his mug, Glassman used the last sip to toast the slaves' good luck in
finding the hinges. If those were lost, or severely damaged, then the ville
was in real trouble.
Marching boots and the clatter of weaponry heralded the arrival of Baron
Thayer and his personal cadre of guards. They looked well rested and freshly
scrubbed, clothes clean and boots polished, unlike the grimy sec men who stood
guard during the night and fought off the Hunter as it came roaring through
the wall of fire. Glassman narrowed his eyes at the sight. Sleeping while the
ville was attacked.
"Good morning, Captain," Baron Thayer hailed, walking over to join the man.
"How goes the work?"
Smiling, Glassman pulled his blaster and slapped the man across the face with
the iron barrel. Twisting, Thayer stumbled and fell to the ground. His
bodyguards reached for their weapons, then stopped as a Firebird streaked over
the ville to
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Axler, James - Deathlands 54 - Judas Strike - (v1.0) (html).html detonate in
the sky. With hands only inches from their weapons, the ville sec men glared
at the petey sailors on top of the wall, pointing a dozen of the long black
tubes in their direction. Slowly, the sec men moved their hands and backed
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away from the baron. Never wavering, the sailors tracked their movements with
the
Firebirds.
"Idiot! Feeb! Incompetent ass!" Glassman shouted, cocking back the hammer and
pointing the blaster at the prone baron. "Ryan and his people were here. In
your ville. Eating their dinner. Right here! You had them in the palm of your
mutie-
loving hand and let them escape? How is that possible?"
"You dare to strike me," Thayer growled, touching his aching cheek. There was
the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, and a tooth felt loose. "I'm the
baron of this ville! Within these walls, I rule supreme!"
In response, Glassman tightened his finger on the trigger. The hammer fell,
flint scraped steel, throwing off a spray of sparks that ignited the black
powder in the primer pan, which set off the main charge in the barrel. The
actions took a second to happen, and Thayer could only cringe before the
flintlock thundered in the morning air. The baron's face exploded from the
crushing arrival of the .75 mini-
ball, his teeth and eyes flying in different directions as his skull burst
apart, brains and hair blowing across the ground.
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