Chapter Three
“TURN, TURN to the rain and the wind.”
The mournful dirge was the first thing that Ryan Cawdor heard as he fought his way up out of the slimy-walled pit of unconsciousness.
He raised a cautious hand, touching the side of his head, finding a great bruise that felt soggy to his probing fingers. He gasped, opened his eye and looked around.
He was back in the room with the chattering electronic consoles. Ryan noticed that the heavy door was shut again.
“Better, lover?” Krysty asked. She was kneeling at his side.
“Yeah. Who hit me?”
“There was a mutie outside. You saw him?”
“Little bastard. In furs? Got a gun with a bell muzzle on it, bigger’n Finn’s belly?”
“Yeah. Blunderbuss. Old homemade piece. If’n he’d squeezed off on it, he’d have blown you from here to tomorrow. But he didn’t.”
“I heard”
“Me,” Lori said proudly, but with a faint note of doubt.
“You shot him?”
Krysty grinned. “She’s a tad worried because she realized afterward that her bullet must have missed you by about this much.” She held her finger and thumb an inch apart.
“That’s far enough, Lori. Thanks.”
“It was more than that,” she protested. “More like this.” Her finger and thumb were at least two inches apart.
“But who in the long chill laid me out?”
“Sorry, Ryan. Had no choice.”
“Jak?”
“Yeah.”
“How?” Ryan found it hard to believe that the skinny little kid had sent him flying so easily.
“Kicked you.”
Ryan closed his eye, shaking his head in disbelief. Krysty was grinning at him when he blinked up again. “It’s true, lover. Damnedest thing ever. Hair flying like snow in a northern blizzard. Pushed off the side of the door with his hands, kicked you round ’bout shoulder high. Both feet. Bounced you out of the mutie’s firing line. Your head was the first thing to hit the floor.”
“Lucky it wasn’t nothing fucking important,” Finnegan cackled. “That was something, Ryan. Fiery little demon, ain’t he?”
Ryan stood up, shaking his head to try to clear the muzziness. “Thanks, Jak. And you, Lori. There any more of those muties out yonder?”
“After Lori sent that one to go buy the farm, we checked a ways up the corridor,” J.B. answered. “To the left’s a dead end. Blank wall. No more doors. Other way’s open, but the ceiling’s real bad. Lot of places where it’s collapsed.”
“There’s a big fall less than a hundred yards along that way,” Krysty added. “Narrow gap’s all. We figured best to come back in here with you sleeping so tight.”
“Best we go look,” Ryan said.
“Follow up that radio message,” J.B. said, his voice holding just a hint of a question.
“Yeah. Why not?”
THIS TIME RYAN was a whole lot more careful. He kept flat as the lever was thrown, then moved out quickly, backed by Finn. The others came out only after the signal was given that the corridor was clear.
“See that?” Krysty said, pointing at the outside of the glittering metal door. It was deeply scratched and gouged, with scorch marks in places. “Someone tried real hard to get in there.”
“Muties like him?” Ryan suggested, pointing with the barrel of the G-12 at the corpse of the little man. Lori had shot him with either a lot of luck or impressive skill. Bearing in mind how close the bullet had come to taking him through the back of the neck, Ryan chose not to think too long on which it had been.
The dead man was only about five feet in height and looked about thirty years old. His face was flat, with a coppery cast to the skin. The lips were narrow, peeled back to reveal long, curved teeth. The nails on the small hands were long and twisted, like horn. The man wore a coat of animal skins and furs, probably rodent. The gun had a hand-carved stock, while the barrel was iron, with the extra-large mouth riveted on. It was based on a primitive flintlock design.
“Rough old blaster,” Finn said.
“Rip the belly out of even you,” Ryan replied, kicking it aside with his foot.