James Axler - Deathlands 35 Bitter Fruit

/* /*]] */ Axler,_James_-_Deathlands_35_-_Bitter_Fruit A white-hot burning

Computer-amplified screams from the entity filled the chamber. It stopped all forward movement, seeming to wilt. Tendrils shot out of its chest, dipping down to start sucking up the water around it. The flare hissed."Who's in the tunnel?" Ryan called to J.B."Those White Sands soldiers. They won't back down. We've got to make a move, and soon."Across the room, the plant-thing showed signs of regaining its strength. Ryan watched it, the fear in his stomach cold and hard. A glance at Krysty revealed her face to be drenched with perspiration."It wants me to help it," the woman cried. "Wants me to kill you." The pistol trembled in her hands. "Gaia, help me, Ryan, but I don't think I can hold it off much longer." A fine trickle of blood ran down her upper lip from her nose.Without warning, Krysty swung the blaster toward him."I'm sorry, lover." 35 in the Deathlands series A GOLD EAGLE BOOK FROM WORLDWIDETORONTO NEW YORK LONDON AMSTERDAM PARIS SYDNEY HAMBURG STOCKHOLM ATHENS TOKYO MILAN MADRID WARSAW BUDAPEST AUCKLANDIf you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."For Cathy Joyce and Feroze Mohammed, who hold worlds togetherFirst edition January 1997ISBN 0-373-62535-9BITTER FRUITCopyright 1997 by Worldwide Library.All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Worldwide Library, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.Printed in U.S.A.Was it just a quantum shift magic mushroom, the Reaper's white umbrella. Lo, Nineveh and Tyre, Sodom and Gomorrha.from the diary of Marylou Crawford A.D. 2001 Ryan Cawdor squinted his eye tight against the blazing desert sun hanging like a cancerous boil over White Sands, New Mexico, and wondered what had set his nervous system to jangling a silent alarm. Without checking his wrist chron, he knew he hadn't been outside the installation much more than ten or fifteen minutes. It was still early afternoon, with much of the day left before him and his group for the recce they'd planned.The one-eyed warrior paid attention to the warning. Survival in Deathlands depended on a man developing senses that were exceptionally sharp, then having the intelligence to listen when they said something was wrong.He carried his Steyr SSG-70 rifle at the ready as he jogged up one of the sharper inclines surrounding the installation area. His boots sank through the shifting sand, almost as if they were being sucked down. Pausing near the crest of the incline, he dropped to one knee and surveyed the sandy sea spread out around him."Something?" The voice was pitched low and carried across the desert's surface only far enough to reach Ryan.Without glancing to his left, Ryan knew his friend, J. B. Dix, was already in position. They'd traveled together for a long time, blooded by the years they'd spent with the Trader in the war wags and bound by mutual respect."An itch," Ryan said. He was a big man, leaned out by harsh living and staying on the move, but packing muscle that still pushed him over two hundred pounds. A scuffed black leather patch covered the hollow where his left eye had been, and beads of perspiration had cut a path across his forehead following the strap. A scar gouged his face from the corner of his right eye to below his mouth, looking waxy in the harsh gleam of the unforgiving sun."Damned uncomfortable thing, one of those itches," J.B. stated in a laconic voice."You?" Ryan asked."Yeah.""Anything?""No. Got an idea somebody's eyeballing us."Ryan glanced in the Armorer's direction. J.B. was a short, wiry man. His steel-rimmed glasses sparked briefly in the sun beneath the battered fedora he wore. His brown shirt and gray pants were stained from long days and hard use. The tops of his high combat boots were barely visible in the powdery sand. "Mebbe we should keep moving.""Reckon so.""Give me some cover," Ryan said. "I'll go down and take a look. If somebody wants in this place, they're going to have to cross us first.""That's what I was thinking."Ryan shifted his weight and picked up the Steyr. The safety was already off. He started down, staying as much within cover as he could.After the business in South Dakota, Ryan and his group had made a mat-trans jump to Dulces, New Mexico. They'd taken a couple days of downtime to recover from the wear and tear of the last jump, deciding to explore the area on foot, as the wags they'd discovered in the redoubt wouldn't start.The journey to White Sands had been relatively quiet. The local mutie bands had been dying slowly from the radiation sickness they'd gotten from living in the area. The survivors worshiped a god they believed lived in the sands of fire, and were bound by arcane ritual to the very thing that made each generation more mutated monsters than anything human. The sustained exposure to radiation ensured none of them would live long.Ryan paused beside a Hummer, its olive drab color faded over the decades to a sickly greenish gray. Military markings adorned the sides. Only the left rear corner protruded through the tide of sand that had washed over it. A rusted steel rod held the tattered remains of a small United States flag that fluttered halfheartedly in the thin, hot breeze.Three other vehicles were partially visible in the mounds of sand that had washed in over the installation. All of them were unrecoverable.Until Jak Lauren had scouted out a hidden entrance to the underground installation, the trip had looked as if it were going to end up as nothing more than wasted effort and needless risk. The albino teenager, Krysty Wroth, Doc Tanner and Mildred Wyeth were all engaged in scouring through the honeycomb of tunnels and rooms they'd found below. Ryan and J.B. had already rotated out for a respite from the heat and the dust below, which bordered on life threatening.Sand crunched behind Ryan.Reflexes honed by years of living in Deathlands, the one-eyed man spun to his right, crouching, both hands gripping the Steyr.A trio of muties erupted from the sand, leaving the shallow troughs they'd evidently dug to spring their trap. Ryan had almost walked over them.Like some kind of confectioner's frosting, sand covered the creatures' bodies, tracking into the crevices of the open sores that covered most of their skin.To Ryan, they smelled like death, and the stink hovered over them as they ran at him, screaming in rage. "Fireblast!" he gritted, wondering how the hell he'd missed the smell. That alone should have given them away."Sacred grounds, outie!" one of the muties snarled. The effort was made wet and sibilant by the upper lip gone missing to the radiation burns. The few teeth that remained were black and filed to sharp edges, no longer seated securely in the diseased gums. The man carried a homemade knife, fashioned by tying a keen-edged wedge of nuked silicon to a long screwdriver. "Now you die!"Ryan moved smoothly, bringing the Steyr's butt up in a sharp arc. Firing the weapon would have alerted other muties in the area.The rifle stock crunched against the creature's face, the bone giving way instantly to the blow. The mutie's skull exploded in a vivid spray of blood and brains.As the corpse dropped to the ground, the other two muties threw themselves at Ryan. One held an ax, and a knife flashed in the other mutie's hand as they drove him to the sand.Ryan dodged a knife strike that missed his head by inches and drove the blade deep into the sand. His attacker howled in frustration and started to pull the blade back for another attempt as Ryan caught the second man's wrist, preventing the ax he held from splitting open his skull.The air over the shoulders of the two muties seemed to ripple, as though a mirage had considered forming there but had suddenly chosen not to. And the itch of warning that had been spreading across Ryan's shoulders became a definite burn.THE STINKING SMOKE given off by the oilcloth torch had triggered a headache that had been pounding at Krysty's temples for almost an hour."Doc.""Yes, Krysty?" her companion replied from behind her. like her, he carried a torch, adding to the wreath of smoke that followed them as they worked their way through the underground corridors of the White Sands military installation."We check out this room, then we get out of here for a while.""As you wish, my dear," Doc said in his deep, pleasant voice.Krysty pressed on, senses alert, paying particular attention to the extra senses given her by the mutie strain that was linked with her own DNA. Her hair was coiled tight against her scalp, feeling like another layer of skin, only more sensitive to the shifting breezes inside the corridor. Of the group, only she and Doc hadn't rotated out topside since entering the complex, and she was sick of dust and dark.The woman lifted the torch higher until the apex of the yellow-and-white flame nearly kissed the metal ceiling. She was an inch short of six feet, and carried 150 pounds in whipcord curves. Her hair was flame red and sentient, responding to her emotions and mood swings, further evidence of her mutie heritage. Even by the light of the torches, her eyes were cut emeralds that gleamed liquidly.Home for Krysty before she'd met Ryan Cawdor and started traveling with him across Deathlands had been a ville called Harmony. Her mother, Sonja, had taught her ways of calling upon and listening to the force of Gaia, the Earth Mother, making Krysty part of her family's mystic heritage. For years Krysty had thought her mother dead, but lately there had been reports suggesting that wasn't true.Maybe. It was all confusing to Krysty and had raised some questions and anger she had no way of venting. She tightened the grip on her Smith amp; Wesson Model 640 .38 pistol when the corridor they were following abruptly ended."Door," she told Doc, moving the torch forward to see it better. It was heavy steel, set flush with the frame, and it would take some real effort to pry it open if it was locked."So I see," the older man responded. "Shall I lead the way?""No. Just making sure you were in step is all."By some counts, Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner was nearly two and a half centuries old. He was tall and skinny, built like a leaned-out stork. He was the first success logged by Operation Chronos in the predark days.Operation Chronos had been part of the Totality Concept, which was developed to explore arcane and esoteric means of future warfare. The focus of Operation Chronos had been time trawling, moving things and individuals through the time stream. Doc was the only human to ever make the trip in one piece, though what it did to his sanity was questionable. He'd been ripped from his family, whom he'd adored, and left stranded in a world he had no way of understanding.Doc had been welcome to Operation Chronos department heads for only a short time. As a success, he was meant to be cherished. All Doc had wanted to do was get back home. He'd been adamant about the return trip, then forceful. After that hadn't worked, he'd become openly rebellious and downright dangerous. In the end, the department heads had taken a vote, then kicked Doc a hundred years into the future. He'd landed smack in the middle of Deathlands and eventually met Ryan and the companions.In the uncertain light of the torches, he looked like some kind of phantom from an old Dickens story Krysty could remember her mother reading to her. Tall and spindly, crowned by a mane of silvery hair that framed his gnarled face, Doc wore Victorian dress with ease. His black frock coat had acquired a greenish hue and luster from age and wear. His knee breeches showed evidences of serviceable stitching, as well as some from a less skilled hand. His knee boots were cracked leather. The Le Mat blaster in his right hand was cocked and steady.Certain that Doc was fully with her, Krysty pushed the panel beside the door with her thumb while maintaining her hold on the torch. The circuitry hummed when the contacts were made, and the door recessed into the wall.With her blaster at waist level, Krysty thrust the torch inside the room and followed it. She hadn't expected the door to be powered."Mask, Doc," Krysty said, shoving her blaster through the front of her belt. She tugged at the cloth around her neck that she'd raided from one of the med kits they'd turned up during the initial forays on the complex, pulling it up so that it covered her nose and mouth. Breathing was a little harder, but it was worth the extra effort to keep the dust out.Doc pulled his up, too, looking for all the world like one of the masked desperadoes in the bits of predark vids the woman had seen. Another time Krysty might have pointed out the humor.When she'd first entered the complex, Krysty had figured the former military installation was going to be a bust. Maybe a few things would be worth salvaging, but nothing that would change their lives. The first few levels had been a washout. On the surface, there was nothing but death. None of the power had worked, though the rumors had hinted at nuclear-powered levels somewhere below ground.But now she and Doc had reached an area where a powered door still worked. It was a situation that lent itself to caution."I am afraid I am going to have to light up another torch," Doc said. The one he held had dimmed to something less than the size of his fist, casting little light.Krysty nodded. "Go ahead. Won't make matters that much worse." And it was better to have two torches going, in case one went out or had to be jettisoned to free a hand for a weapon. Her throat tightened in anticipation of the acrid smoke that would be generated as the oily dew burned off the folds of cloth when it was first ignited."Mayhap lighting it in the hallway would be helpful," Doc suggested."Fine." Krysty scanned the interior of the office, taking in the skeleton behind the large metal desk. "Just don't get out of earshot, okay?""Indubitably, my dear." Doc quietly took his leave, holstering the Le Mat long enough to draw one of the extra torches from the backpack he carried.Racks of books filled the built-in shelves behind the desk. Glancing at the titles, Krysty was surprised that most of them had to do with physics and biology. She'd expected them to be military manuals.She looked at the withered skeleton. Flame light reflected from the brass name badge pinned above the right pocket of the blouse."Okay, mister," Krysty said, sheathing her blaster and removing the name badge, "who were you?" She had to blow sand out of the letters to read them.Colonel Henry Walker.The torchlight illuminated scars on the laminated wood desktop. Krysty's trained eye told her they were gouges from bullets. She moved the torch, seeking a new angle, then pulled aside the dead man's uniform blouse.Cracked ribs showed where the bullets had gone through, perhaps a dozen of them. At least one of them had severed the spinal cord, paralyzing the man at once while his killers finished the job.Doc stepped back into the room with his torch blazing. He looked down at the dead man. "It appears this poor soul died alone and friendless.""Friendless, at any rate." Krysty pointed toward the empty holster at his side. "Someone stuck around long enough to relieve him of his side arm." She straightened and glanced at the computer setup on the desk.A slight flicker flared to brief life in the lower right corner."Computer's up," she said, leaning forward. She tapped the keys experimentally.Something hummed inside the monitor casing, then popped. A soft glow emanated from the screen as the computer came online. A selection of programs delineated as small rectangles with words under them came into view against the light blue field."It works," Doc said softly."Mebbe." Krysty looked at the menu offered, but none of it made any sense. "Could be you'll understand more of this than I do, Doc.""Then allow me, my dear."The screen changed as Doc sorted through the various menus. "Take a look around, dear lady, and see if you can find anything that might pass as a code book. Being of the regimented class, I believe that dead fellow could have left a journal of sorts that might provide a clue as to what procedures to use to look at the sort of files inaccessible to the casual observer.""Sure." Krysty took a step back and turned her attention to the bookshelves while Doc sorted through the desk drawers."If nothing turns up," Doc added, "we can always have Mildred take a go at this. I daresay she is more versed in these infernal contraptions than I."That was because Mildred Wyeth had been in the twentieth century longer than Doc Tanner.Krysty shifted her torch and peered through the smoky haze at the books on the shelves. Upon closer inspection, she noticed that stray bullets had ripped the spines off some of the books. One of them sparked with a metallic intensity.A bullet had smashed flush against the leather spine, ripping away a chunk the size of a quarter. Metal and circuitry was twisted inside. Krysty touched the book. Thick and hard, with edges that remained squared and true, it was heavier than she would have guessed.She moved toward the shelves to get a better grip, then pulled hard. On the other side of the wall behind the bookshelf, machinery clanked and whirred. A feeling of wrongness and danger ghosted through Krysty's mind.The floor spun before she could act. She lost the torch as she grabbed the shelves to keep her balance and reached for her blaster. She had the barest impression of Doc turning toward her in shock, her name on his lips, then light and sight were eclipsed by the closing of the hidden door.Working hard to keep her head, Krysty pulled on the book again. But nothing happened. She cursed beneath her breath, not wanting to interfere with her hearing as she turned to survey her new surroundings with both hands wrapped around her blaster, the hammer back.Only Stygian darkness greeted her.Her gift kicked to life inside her. Wherever Ryan was, she knew her lover was in danger, too. She couldn't see what it was. Maybe if she'd had time and could concentrate better, she'd have been able to get a picture of it in her mind. But she didn't have time and couldn't afford to concentrate.Because those same senses warned her now that she wasn't alone in the darkness. Next page