Judas Strike

“We could try for the ocean,” Doc suggested above the clacking of the creatures. “Crabs do not swim well, and we could easily outdistance them in deep water.”

“We gotta get some distance first,” Ryan stated, firing a fast three times. Two more crabs died; the third was only wounded, green blood seeping from the gash in its thick shell.

“Got any plas or grens?” he asked, brushing black hair off his face with the hot baffle silencer.

The Armorer reached into his munitions bag and passed over the last. Ryan ripped off the safety tape, twisted loose the firing pin, dropped the handle and dropped the charge on the ground directly at their feet. Instantly, the companions broke ranks and raced around opposite sides of the lighthouse while the crabs poured after them, sensing victory.

Counting to eight, the companions stopped and covered their ears as thunder shook the tiny peninsula. A minute later a couple of bleeding crabs crawled into view from around the building. Those were easily stomped to death by Jak and Doc, while Ryan chanced a quick recce around the building. The rest of the crabs were still retreating from the smoking crater of the blast, the old and young actually going over the other adults in their haste to leave.

Then Ryan spotted the large blue sitting away from the others on top of a tree stump. It sat there like a general surveying his troops in battle. Ryan swung his blaster in that direction, and the big blue dropped out of sight behind the rocks. Holstering his piece, Ryan felt a cold shiver run through his body. A mutie with intelligence. Unbidden, a memory of Kaa and his terrible army filled the man’s mind, and Ryan shook off the thoughts. These were just crabs, nothing more.

“Did it work?” Mildred asked hopefully as he returned.

“No. Only bought us some time,” Ryan stated grimly.

“But not for swimming,” Krysty said, glancing at the jagged rocks filling the shoals below them.

“More grens?” Jak asked, pulling back the hammer of his revolver and firing repeatedly. In his other hand, the teen held a knife by its blade, ready for a fast throw.

Scowling, J.B. thumbed in his last shotgun round. “That’s it.”

Shading his good eye, Ryan glanced upward, then unexpectedly shouldered his longblaster. “Krysty, guard the right. Mildred, the left. We’re gonna form a pyramid and get to that balcony. J.B. on my back!”

“But your leg,” Mildred stated in concern.

“Fuck it. Move!” he bellowed.

Watching the ground, the women assumed firing positions as Ryan placed his hands flat on the rough granite blocks. The Deathlands warrior grunted in pain as J.B. climbed onto his back, bracing his boots against Ryan’s hip bones and gun belt. Doc went up next and finally Jak. Balanced precariously atop the tall scholar, the teenager stretched out a hand as far as he could and just barely managed to brush his fingertips against the rust-streaked bottom of the steel posts supporting the railing.

“Not enough!” he cried. “Gonna jump!”

On the ground, a small crab scuttled into view, then another.

The lower men braced themselves and the youth lunged upward, his hands grabbing the lowest pipe. But the thick layer of rust crumbled under his grip, and one hand slipped completely off the railing. Supported by only one arm, Jak dangled helpless for a moment as he fought to reach the railing once more. Then a pair of hands reached over the balcony and helped the teenager up and out of sight. More crabs arched around the lighthouse, and the women opened fire as a bundle of rope sailed over the balcony, uncoiling as it fell. It hit the rocks, landing partially in the surf, and the muties immediately attacked the new invader with their sharp pincers.

The men climbed to the ground and stomped the old crabs to death, rescuing the rope. There was a large loop at the end for no discernible reason.

Shouting a warning, J.B. cut loose with the M-4000 as the first of the big crabs appeared around the lighthouse, and the others started to scramble up the length of rope. One by one, as they reached the top, each companion gave cover fire to the remaining people below until only Ryan was left. Working as a team, the people hauled up the big man, his wounded leg hanging limply behind. As he ascended, a crab jumped after him, but it missed and fell to its death amid the other bloody corpses.

Reaching the top, Ryan stiffly stood and shot a half smile at his son. The boy was bleeding from a scratch on his cheek, and had the beginning of a black eye, but otherwise seemed fine.

“Good job,” Ryan grunted.

“Thank God you found some rope in time,” Mildred panted, holstering her piece after two tries. Exhaustion draped over her like a shroud. “But why is it knotted at the end?”

“It came that way,” Dean replied.

“What mean?” Jak asked suspiciously.

“I got it off a dead guy. Come on, I’ll show you,” Dean said, and started to walk into the bowels of the old lighthouse.

Chapter Three

“Hold it a sec,” Ryan said, going to the edge of the balcony.

Looking out over the island, he could see only sand and weeds, the crumbling ruins of some predark skyscrapers jutting from the earth like the bones of a colossus. Then he studied the ruins more closely and realized those were the skeletons of warships, not houses. Carriers, battleships, destroyers, the maritime might of the predark world lay embedded in the dunes, their vaunted armor peeled away to reveal the bare inner layers of struts, and rusting keels. Those were useless. Anything valuable on board had been long ago destroyed by the wind and the surf.

Out to sea, there was empty water to their left and right, the calm expanse broken only by the occasional splash of a fish jumping at the reflected light of the setting sun. However, to the east were neat rows of thin islands, each slightly higher than the one before, steadily rising toward the north. Their island was about in the middle of the formation.

“Looks like the sea bed buckled upward from nuke quakes,” he said, waiting for the throbbing in his leg to subside.

Krysty shielded her vision from the setting sun. “Some sort of a ville three, no, four islands over,” she said, gesturing with her chin. “I see a big wall, and smoke.”

Extracting a device from his munitions bag, J.B. extended the antique Navy telescope to its full length. The device compacted to smaller than a soup can, but had much better range than even the best predark binocs.

“Yeah, it’s a ville,” he said. “Big one, too, with one hell of a good wall.”

“Cold Harbor?” Dean asked anxiously, his young face fiercely stern.

“Nope, someplace new.”

“Good,” the boy grunted. “Any place better than there.”

Leaning against the railing to support himself, Ryan took a turn at the telescope. “These nearby islands are only a hundred or so yards away from each other. Be an easy swim.”

“Except for the crabs,” Krysty said, pausing so they could hear the endless scraping from below.

“Let’s go inside,” Mildred suggested, heading for the open door of the beacon room. “Get away from those things.”

Trundling inside the framed structure on top of the granite tower, the companions found it stifling hot behind the glass walls. But as the heavy glass door closed, the sounds of the fighting crabs and crashing waves completely vanished. Silence reigned supreme.

“Perhaps it would be wise to leave the door open,” Doc suggested. “We shall be needing cross ventilation from the chimney to breathe downstairs.”

“Right,” Dean said with a nod, and propped the door ajar with a pile of the rope.

The central area of the beacon room was small, the huge lens assembly taking up most of the space. The walls were thick glass with massive support columns every few feet. The floor was only three feet wide and circled the beacon until reaching a steep set of wrought-iron stairs with no railing. Support was offered by grabbing hold of the steel column the stairs wound around.

Ryan looked at his son. “Any problems downstairs?”

“The place is empty,” Dean replied, scrunching one side of his face. “Except for the dead guy.”

“Hey, what if the crabs get inside through the chimney flue!”

“I closed the flue,” Dean replied. “No way they’re getting through plate steel.”

“Good. Smart move.”

“Mighty hot,” Jak said, loosening his collar.