Chapter Twelve
The stars disappeared and the sky brightened as dawn rose in the east, but the preDark buildings stood in shadows until the sun crept over the rim of the crater and shone upon the burning city.
Sleeping on a blanket near the dwindling campfire, Baron Gaza awoke at the infusion of light. The air was chilly, his breath fogging slightly, and the waves of heat from the crackling fire felt good on his face. Dimly, the man could sense something was wrong, but nothing about the area seemed awry. Food was cooking, although there were no frying pans in sight lying amid the burning wood. Kathleen was sitting in the open rear doors of the APC, a rapidfire across her lap. Delia was inside the war wag, wrapped in blankets, and the others were lying nearby, naked limbs intertwined from the previous night’s orgy of debauchery.
With streaks of dried blood on her cheek, Shala lay curled into a ball, still trembling under the blankets. Gaza smiled briefly at the memory of the rape. He had been her first, in so many ways, so after his lust was slacked, the baron wasted time giving her pleasure. And his wives had done a superb job removing her tongue, the cauterized stump barely bleeding at all it had been done so quickly. The combination of mutilation, pain and pleasure did the trick as always. She now silently worshiped him like his other wives, although he would have the rest keep a close watch on her for a while. Sometimes there were slips, and he always hated having to slit a throat on the honeymoon.
Rising from his nest of sweat and sex stained blankets, Gaza rose and stretched, luxuriating in the warm morning breeze. Limping over to the edge of the cliff, the man openly relieved himself while Allison stood close by with a longblaster cradled in her arms. She grunted as he finished, then waved a hand at the city below.
The view was murky, and Gaza tried to force the sleep from his sight when cold adrenaline coursed through his powerful body and the man violently cursed. That wasn’t the fog of sleep; it was smoke, billowing clouds of thick smoke, with flickers of writhing flames deep within. He tried to wish it away as a bad dream, but as his eyes became adjusted to the growing light he saw the ruins of some smaller buildings on the south side, charred timbers mixed with priceless debris, the perfect wags in the street reduced to smoldering wrecks.
“Blood of my fathers,” the baron growled, taking a step toward the metropolis, “it’s burning. All of it is burning!”
Fearful for his safety, Allison grabbed his shoulder in a strong grip, and he shook her off, then backhanded her to the ground.
“It’s burning!” he screamed, spraying spittle into her startled face. “My empire is on fire and you let me sleep? You feeb slut.”
Tears running down her face, Allison used both hands to try to explain she had only discovered the destruction moments before her husband. Watching the hand gestures, Gaza couldn’t follow what she was saying and turned away before he struck the ignorant bitch again. The city was burning, the wealth of the preDark world vanishing before their very eyes. There was no time for recriminations or beatings. Every moment counted now.
“Everybody up!” Gaza shouted, striding across the campsite to reclaim his clothing draped over the front prow of the APC. “Put everything back into the wag! We’re going in to loot the ruins for blasters.”
As he climbed into his clothes, his wives began to hurry about the area, picking up loose items and herding Shala into the vehicle. Shuffling over the uneven ground, the girl dropped her blanket, exposing her pale skin and pert breasts. Yanking on boots, Gaza paid no attention to the battered female, with more important matters on his mind. Who the nuke was this Ryan Cawdor to come out of the Deathlands like some whirlwind of destruction? First, Rockpoint was destroyed by water, and now this nameless treasure trove by fire. It was like something from the fragging preDark Bible. What in hell was coming next, a plague of mutie locust?