“I can hear you out yonder. If it be one of you brats, then I’ll see skin tanned off your asses.”
From the other side of the track, Ryan glimpsed J.B.’s face, framed in the low branches of a pine. The Armorer was holding his Uzi at the ready, eyes turned questioningly in Ryan’s direction, as if he were waiting for a sign to open fire.
For a dozen slow beats of the heart, nothing happened.
The pale, blind eyes continued to stare toward where Ryan lurked between the pair of sycamores. The mule snickered and lowered its head to graze a clump of long, rank grasses.
“I can hear you. Smell you. By the living God that made me and plucked out my glims, I can taste you! If Brother Joshua hears of this…then on your own gob-smitten heads be it. Don’t say you wasn’t warned!”
There was a note of genuine rage in the trembling voice. Ryan realized that the blind man wouldn’t be a person to cross.
“Well enough.” His bare heels kicked into the hollow flanks of the patient mule. “Walk on, you spawn of Shaitan. Miles to go before we sleep.”
The animal began to amble down the trail, the venomous old man swaying from side to side on its back. Just before they vanished from Ryan’s sight, the song started up again, this time with the verse about Little Betty and her meeting with the over-endowed band of traveling monks.
Ryan watched until the voice had faded away in the distance before stepping out from cover.
“Old man was riding the mule stone-blind,” Krysty said wonderingly.
“Mean-looking bastard.” Jak spit in the dirt and made the finger gesture to fend off evil.
“I wouldn’t want him mad at me,” Dean added.
Ryan holstered the SIG-Sauer. “Seems to me that there could be a ville close by. Mebbe the Children of the Rock. We’ll keep moving, on condition orange. Eyes and ears open. Let’s go.”
Chapter Twelve
After a half hour, Ryan relaxed the conditions. Blasters were holstered, and everyone walked with a lighter step. Krysty had closed her eyes and concentrated her seeing powers, reporting that she couldn’t feel anyone nearby.
“Think we should have stopped the old man on the mule and asked him about the Children of the Rock?” J.B. called from the rear of their rough skirmish line.
Ryan answered him over his shoulder. “Guess not. Could have set him off making a noise. No idea if there was anyone near. And he didn’t look the kind of person who’d take to answering questions.” He paused, thinking about it for a few more strides. “And there was something triple creepy about him.”
Doc nodded his agreement. “I would second that thought, my dear Ryan. I have seldom encountered a less savory individual in all of Deathlands.”
Jak laughed. “Love way put things, Doc. Got way with words, ain’t you?”
The old man grinned, showing his strong, perfect teeth. “Praise from you, my winged Mercury, is praise indeed. Thought, word and deed. Yes, indeed. Valiant deeds. Prince valiant deeds. Do-dah deeds!”
Mildred tapped him on the arm, making him jump. “Snap out of it, Doc,” she said curtly. “You got your mind to wandering off again.”
“Ten thousand apologies, my dear sable madam. If only I had my trusty headgear I could remove it to you in token of my deep regrets. But I don’t, so I won’t.”
Ryan slapped his right hand against his thigh. “Enough, people, enough. Let’s keep concentrating on where we are and where we’re going.”
“We going to get something to eat, lover?” Krysty looked down at the muddied state of her chisel-toed boots. “Gaia, but this rain’s played havoc with these. Look at them.”
Doc had a sudden coughing fit, doubling over, hawking to try to clear his throat and spitting out a chunk of thick green phlegm. “I’m so sorry,” he spluttered. “I fear that this damp has gotten onto my chest.”
“Could do with somewhere warm for the night,” Ryan said. “Place like this should have some old shelters or huts or something like that.”
“Most national parks did,” the Armorer stated. “Visitor centers and motels and chalets. All kinds of accommodation. Just keep going along this trail here and we’re bound to come across something.”