Child Of Slaughter

A fresh spike did indeed launch skyward with a whooshing sound of displaced sand. It was well away from J.B. and Ricky, so neither of them was at risk of being speared, but they were both in very real danger nonetheless.

For there was a crimson-skinned mutie rising up along with it, one arm wrapped around the pillar’s pale girth, the other arm bracing a slightly rusted AK-47 assault longblaster that was pointing at J.B.’s head.

Chapter Eight (#ulink_45498e53-c7eb-5193-8926-4d6fbd40511b)

In predark days, Mildred had been an award-winning free shooter. Being cryogenically frozen for a century and thawed years later hadn’t diminished her marksmanship skills one bit.

Which was why, when she saw her beloved J.B. in danger, she was able to move so decisively. Through a gap between stalagmites, she cranked off a fast, tricky shot with her target revolver that punched a hole dead center in the mutie’s forehead.

As the mutie dropped from the stalagmite he’d been riding, J.B. whirled and waved at Mildred. Through their years of traversing the Deathlands, they’d both saved each other’s lives too many times to count. It was second nature these days, something you expected from friends and comrades.

Or, in the case of Mildred and J.B., it was something you expected from lovers. Each new nightmare they faced brought them closer together and made them fight all the harder to keep what they’d found.

Even in hell itself, it turned out, it was good to have something to fight for. Ryan and Krysty certainly felt the same way.

Though at the rate Krysty was going, Mildred wondered if she would live out the day. As the predark doctor turned back to her after blowing away the mutie, she saw that Krysty had slid to the ground at the base of the closest spike. She was crouching there, screaming with eyes squeezed shut, hands gripping her temples with desperate ferocity.

Unfortunately, Mildred had no time to tend to her. Before she could drop to Krysty’s side, she heard the telltale creaking and whoosh of another rising spike in her immediate vicinity.

Spinning in its direction, she saw the latest pillar shooting high and fast with a pair of crimson arms looped around it, supporting a mutie who was clinging from the other side.

As the pillar punched upward, the mutie swung around and released one hand to flash a .38 revolver from a holster on his hip. Almost instantly, he started firing, tracing a path that would soon cut a swath across Mildred’s torso.

Springing into action, Mildred launched herself away from the stalagmite where Krysty huddled, drawing the mutie’s fire. She heard rounds spitting into the sand behind her as she bolted for the nearest spike, intending to use it for cover.

Another mutie happened to step out from behind the spike, wielding a .380 ACP Glock pistol.

Mildred hesitated an instant, then cut suddenly left, just as the second mutie opened fire. Rounds traced her path as she ran, closing in with each shot.

With two muties blasting away at her, Mildred needed an opportunity and found one. She heard the creaking noise again, followed by the whooshing, and she pinpointed the source: ten feet away, the tip of a new spike was nosing out of the sand.

Reaching deep, Mildred picked up her pace, charging straight for the soon-to-rise spike. Bullets hissing behind her, she leaped forward just as the spike began to rise.

A second later, and she would have been pierced through the belly, but she cleared it. The spike jumped upward just as her body sailed out of its path.

As Mildred hit the ground and rolled, she heard bullets zinging off the newborn pillar. Stopping her roll, she leaped to her feet and dived behind it.

Then, popping halfway out from behind the pale spike, she quickly found the second mutie, sighted in on him and pulled the trigger. A crimson blossom erupted on his chest, and he went down.

As for the first mutie who’d swung around and driven Mildred away from Krysty, he was down for the count. Peering between pillars, Mildred saw Krysty standing over him, whaling away at him with her powerful fists.

“You go, girl.” Mildred smiled grimly, then heard a sound and whipped around just in time for someone else’s fist to slam into the side of her head.

Mildred’s vision went dark before she could get a look at her attacker. She was dimly aware of her legs folding up underneath her, her body collapsing, and then…she was off in the nothingness, the perfect black vacuum of absolute unconsciousness.

Chapter Nine (#ulink_6540445b-cbbb-5105-aeea-b5908a7151d8)

Ryan and Jak fought back-to-back, blasting away at the muties working their way toward them through the forest of spikes.

Jak’s .357 Magnum Colt Python coughed out a round, and a mutie screamed in agony. “Another bite dust.” Jak spun the revolver around his index finger, then blew on the barrel as if puffing away smoke. “Jak six, muties zero.”

Ryan snorted and kept sweeping his longblaster from side to side. “But the bastards keep coming.” He thought he saw movement and flicked the barrel toward a spike, then realized it was a false alarm and continued his sweep. “How the hell many of them are there anyway?”

“More are, more fun for me.” Jak cocked the Python and went back to combing the surroundings with his bright red eyes. “Hey, muties!” he shouted.

As if on cue, a mutie leaped between distant pillars, crossing from one to the other. Jak didn’t fire, but he fixed his gaze on the mutie’s new cover like a dog watching a fox’s den.

Just then, Ryan heard a blaster shot fired nearby. He listened to the echo, trying to tell what specific weapon had put it out there, but the spikes upset the acoustics, and he couldn’t read the weapon’s signature.

“I hope the others are all right.” With the shape Krysty was in, he was worrying more than usual, second-guessing his call to split up the team.

“Down one man, muties surrounding, ammo low.” Jak grinned a wolf’s grin. “Of course all right.” The mutie twitched from behind his pillar, and Jak jerked his blaster’s barrel to follow. “Just another Deathlands day.”

Suddenly, a body darted from behind another spike at ten o’clock and ran into Ryan’s field of vision. He caught it out of the corner of his eye, swung his longblaster around to fire…and lost his shot. Whoever was over there disappeared behind another pale column.

“More company,” Ryan said quietly. “I think they’re taking up position, getting ready to move.”

“Want move first?” Jak asked. “Or stay sitting ducks?”

Ryan thought it over for all of a second. “Let’s move out and work our way back in.” He pointed toward the cover of the figure he’d glimpsed a moment ago and headed in that direction.

“Getting bored one place anyway.” Jak headed in the opposite direction.

As Ryan worked his way between jutting spikes, he walked as softly as he could, keeping his longblaster at the ready. He paused at each fresh spike, ducking quickly past it to check for muties sheltering behind, then sliding around the column to take that shelter himself.

It unnerved him a little when he heard Krysty shrieking in the distance, but he kept his head and kept moving. He knew her well enough to realize that wasn’t the kind of cry she made when under physical attack. The only cry she ever uttered in battle was a raging war whoop as she shattered bones and drew blood with abandon.

Ryan glided around an especially thick pillar, then stopped and flicked back behind it. Two muties were creeping past on the other side, one carrying a sawed-off shotgun, the other a remade M-16 fitted with a rusty bayonet.

Ryan breathed slowly and adjusted his grip on the Scout longblaster. Then he eased himself around the pillar and froze. Suddenly, a bayonet and a double-barreled sawed-off were staring him in the face.

The muties had gotten the jump on him. They had to have heard or sensed him, maybe spotted his shadow, and doubled back. Now Ryan was royally screwed.

“Surrender!” the mutie with the sawed-off shouted. “Throw your weapon aside and get on the ground.”

“You first.” Ryan didn’t blink. He had the Scout aimed squarely at the bayonet-wielding mutie’s abdomen. As long as he kept it there, he still had a chance of keeping them off balance.

The mutie with the M-16 drew the blaster back, getting ready to ram the bayonet into Ryan.

At that moment, the mutie’s head exploded. His body crumpled backward, dead before it hit the ground.

While the other mutie gaped, Ryan seized his opportunity. Without a heartbeat’s hesitation, he cranked off a shot, putting a round right through his head.

The mutie looked at Ryan with wide-eyed amazement, making a move to raise his shotgun, but he didn’t quite make it. His body slumped atop the other mutie’s, splattering blood and gore in all directions.

Thirty yards off, a woman stood between two pillars.

Even from a distance, Ryan could see that she was more than six feet tall. Her black leather jumpsuit was tight enough to reveal the muscular lines of her body; her breasts were large, but otherwise she was whipcord lean.