Hellbenders

Ryan agreed. “But why?”

“Dunno yet, but I guess we can’t hurry it up—so if it’s okay with everyone, I’ll take my chances with the showers,” Dean interjected. “May as well face it clean and fresh.” He grinned.

“Sound good,” Jak added, running a hand through his stringy white hair. “Good cold water make sharper.”

“Yeah, I could go for that,” Ryan agreed. “We’ll take it in shifts, stand lookout for any mutie trouble.”

They started to go, but Ryan noticed that Doc was still standing against the wall, looking pensive. As the others left, Ryan broke away and went over to Doc.

“What is it?”

Doc, lost in reverie, grunted and looked up at Ryan. For a moment, it seemed as though the old man’s eyes were a million miles and thousand of years from that room. The distance and desolation in them was enough to make Ryan—for all that he had seen—start back. Then the mists cleared for Doc, and he was once again back with the one-eyed warrior.

“I’m sorry, my dear boy, but for a moment I felt as though I was standing outside of myself, outside of everything.”

“You okay, Doc?”

“By the Three Kennedys, what a ridiculous question.” Doc laughed bitterly. “You of all people should know that the last thing I really am is okay. But for a second, I was reminded of something that I seem to remember from what seems many years ago. I suppose it is many years,” he added, surprise entering his tone, “but that is by the by. It is our host. There is something about the gentleman that haunts me. I feel he is a lost soul.”

“I think it’s me you’ve lost there, Doc,” Ryan said softly. He felt Doc was trying to tell him something important, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

“He is driven by an inner demon that has taken over everything that he is or was. It is a demon that is part of him, and yet is apart. It has control of him to such an extent that it will care not for anyone or anything around. We should be wary of him, my dear Ryan, very wary. He means us no harm, I am sure, but we are the catalyst for him to put his own plans for vengeance into operation. And he will be merciless.”

Ryan chewed his lip, trying to unravel Doc’s language, the likes of which was no longer heard in the Deathlands. Finally, he nodded. “I understand. I figured along the same lines, I guess. But it’s a matter of playing the odds, Doc, and I figure that we should go with it. If we pay heed, and keep our backs covered—”

“Then that is all we can do,” Doc finished.

WITHIN A FEW HOURS, the companions, refreshed by their showers, were visited by Lonnie and Travis, who informed them that they would be eating shortly in the large room where the ovens were now installed. Travis also informed Mildred that Cy was sleeping, and that his condition was stable.

“But I’d be grateful if you could take a look at him later,” he added.

Mildred agreed, and waited until Lonnie and Travis had left before murmuring, “Considering we injured him, they’re being too damn nice about it.”

J.B. shrugged. “That’s life—and chilling—Millie. Most places they’d have chilled us straight away, but…”

“But we’ll find out soon enough,” Ryan finished.

The companions made their way to the eating room. The rest of the redoubt was empty except for one man, who sat alone in one of the living quarters. Doc looked in, and observed that it was a room that housed the monitors for all the sec cameras in the redoubt. To his surprise, none of the monitors were dark.

“Good heavens, that is most unusual!” he exclaimed.

The man on duty turned to him and shrugged. “Hell, if any of these go down, we probably couldn’t fix ’em. Have to start posting guards. Still, our luck’s holding so far. Guess Papa Joe’s right—mebbe it is our fate to be here and get even.”

Doc nodded and smiled. “Guess so, friend,” he said cheerily before slipping out of the room, adding to himself, “Now, that really is interesting.”

As they reached the eating room, they could see that the whole community was gathered together. There were about thirty in all, with only one-third of those being female. They were eating in relative silence, with only a very low hum of conversation taking place. Looking around, Dean could see that there were no children—no one, in fact, who seemed to be under the age of sixteen. The youngest-looking man in the room was a whip-thin boy who had the beginning of a beard, and was hunched over his food, as though wanting to appear invisible. Yet this had the opposite effect, as his intensity was such that he appeared to radiate a nervous energy that drew your eyes to him. Bizarrely, it was almost as though he could feel Dean looking at him. He turned to face the younger Cawdor, his eyes burning bright through his spectacles, a keen intelligence showing through. His eyes locked on Dean’s, as though he were assessing him. Then he gave the faintest of grins, and the briefest of nods, before turning back to his food.

Unusual for a community setup, there seemed to be no table and privileges reserved for the baron—although it had been noticeable that Correll hadn’t referred to himself as such—and the man who was leader was seated to one side of the room, with a group of people among whom were Travis and the Native American woman who had been in the defense party they had faced earlier. Correll stood when he noticed the companions enter, and beckoned them to him. They seated themselves at his table, some of the redoubt community moving to make room, and were served food by those who acted as cooks. Even these seemed to be on a par with everyone else, as there was no sign of a pecking order, and the cooks were as lean and fit as the people they had faced earlier.

In fact, this was one thing that all seemed to share. They seemed trained and fit, ready for combat at any time. This was a community that was carrying no passengers.

While they ate, they made small talk, and it wasn’t until the meal was nearly over that Ryan judged it time to broach the subject that had, sooner or later, to be talked about.

The one-eyed man downed some of the brew that had been supplied with the meal, then took a breath. “I guess it’s about time we all leveled. You know we came here using old tech. It was something we stumbled on, and we can’t control it although we know how to trigger it. It’s some kind of system for transporting people and objects across vast distances by breaking it all up into atoms and shooting it across from one comp to another.”

Correll nodded slowly, sucking in his breath. “That’d be crazy talk if I hadn’t known there was no other way to get into this place. So you can work it, but not control it?”

Ryan shook his head. “Guess it’s like you in that sense. You know something about the old tech, enough to use some and keep some going, but not enough to really make it work for you.”

Correll nodded. “That’s what we can find out. It’ll be sweet, and we can settle a few old scores. But to get at that knowledge, I need to know you’ll join us in a firefight.”

“Never shirked one yet,” Ryan said levelly. “Just tell us what it’s about.”

Correll sat back in his seat and looked up at the ceiling. “We’ve been here for about ten years now, just getting ourselves ready for when fate decrees we can rise again. See, I used to be sec chief for Charity—” he spit the name of the ville with an undisguised venom “—which is just about the stupidest name you can think of for a ville run by such a coldheart son of a gaudy like Baron Al ‘Red’ Jourgensen. Got run out of town because I was heading sec on a convoy headed for a trade rendezvous. We got raided by a party from Summerfield—they’re the ones who know something about the old ways, ’cause they had blasters and shit like you ain’t seen before. We didn’t stand a chance. All the things we were trading, all the jack we carried, it all went. Red wanted to chill me and the rest of the party who survived, so we had to run. Dammit, there was shit all we could do….

“Anyway, we found this place, and over the years there were others who Red was a shit to…. See, we lost the trade and jack ’cause Red didn’t let me take enough blasters or men. Always frightened he was gonna be overthrown if he let that happen. Stupe bastard deserves what he’ll get. We all come from Charity, but we won’t show none to old Red.”

“So why is it right now?” Krysty asked.

Correll raised an eyebrow. “Fate works in strange ways. It’s hard desert land out there, and that rad-blasting sun means jackshit grows that well. Summerfield may have old tech, but they ain’t got shit to protect their water, and they lost a whole heap of women ’cause of rad sickness. While Red—Well, that stupe fucker has screwed up his whole farming scheme, and there ain’t jackshit to eat. He needs jack for food and seed crop to start over.”

J.B. nodded to himself. From the description of the land, and what he’d seen earlier on the outside, he was now sure that he had been correct in his guess that they had landed somewhere in New Mex. That knowledge may be useful.

Correll was in full flow. “So Charity and Summerfield have a little deal going down. Red is selling them some women for breeding stock, and in return he gets jack to buy food and seed crop to start over. Thing is, we know the route they gonna have to take, and we’re gonna take them out. Get the jack and the women, then in the confusion when they think they’re double-crossing each other, we take out Summerfield, get their secrets, then wipe that bastard Red off the face of the earth.”

Correll’s speech had been listened to by all in silence, the hush spreading as he talked longer. Now he was cheered by the assembled throng.

“We’ve trained hard, denied ourselves families, denied ourselves rest, and now fate has delivered vengeance to us,” he yelled, to be greeted by whoops and hollers.

“They call us the Hellbenders out there,” one of the group screamed. “I know, I ain’t been here long. But they’re right—we’re sure as hell bent on vengeance.”

Ryan touched Correll on the arm, and the leader looked down at him, his eyes wild and gleaming, for a moment not seeing the one-eyed man.

“So when the hell does this begin?” Ryan queried.

“Seven days, friend, as long as it took to create this dust bowl before skydark. If that can happen, we can sure as hell get it together to whip some ass.”

Chapter Five

“It is not very long,” Doc mused. “Not very long at all.”

It was the morning after their first meal with the people they now knew were called the Hellbenders, and while Mildred went with Travis to check on Cy’s condition, the rest of the companions were taking a few moments to assess, through headaches caused by the previous night’s strong brew, what they had learned.

As the evening had worn on, and the redoubt dwellers had become intoxicated, so the rowdiness had increased. People were singing and shouting at one another, and Correll had tried to make himself heard to Ryan. But the volume from the assembled throng was too great, and the gaunt man’s voice strained to be heard.

It was then that he gave a demonstration of his authority that made the one-eyed man assess the power that he held, and conclude that it was very great. Frustrated at not being able to make himself heard, a cloud of fury crossing his brow, Correll rose to his feet and then climbed onto the table. This movement immediately caught the eye of J.B., who rose an eyebrow at Ryan, receiving a similar gesture from his friend. This would be a telling moment.

Correll drew a long knife from a scabbard attached to his thigh. It was similar to Ryan’s panga, but with a more curved blade that caught light from the candles that were augmenting the now dimmed fluorescent tubes, reflecting it in glittering patterns. Correll tossed the knife in the air so that it spun, and as it came back down he caught it by the point and, in one fluid motion, threw it so that it described a parabola around the circumference of the room. It skidded low across the tops of heads, its passing marked by a rush of air that breathed on the people, making them stop and turn. If someone had been standing higher than head height—on a chair, or on a table—then the knife would have sliced into them. As it was, Correll had judged the height to perfection, leaving nothing in the wake of the flight but a series of turned heads and a growing silence around the room.