“Hey, M-Mildred,” Ryan croaked, surprised to find his throat was sore. He had to have been screaming for a while. The thought didn’t bother him. Anybody who didn’t yell when being roasted alive wasn’t tough; he was merely insane.
“Here” the black woman whispered, then broke into a ragged cough. Her long beaded plaits dangling limply around her face, Dr. Mildred Wyeth clumsily fumbled to tug free a couple of buttons on her Army fatigues to wave fresh air into her stained clothing. She sighed in relief as her bra came into view, then again as she rubbed a hand over her chest, wiping off the sweat.
Aside from the sodden fatigues, the physician wore a gun belt with an empty holster at her hip. Nearby was her Czech-made ZKR target pistol.
“Sweet Jesus,” Mildred panted, massaging her temples to ease the throbbing headache. “Feel like I’ve been d-dippedin acid. Howhow long”
Ryan could only shake his head in reply. His strength was returning fast, but he was a long way from normal yet. “Don’t know how long,” he said, trying hard not to stammer. “Days probably. Could be more, from the feeling in my gut.”
Her own stomach rumbled in harmony. “Know what you mean. I could eat a Hummer right about now, tires and all.”
“Hell, yeah,” a wiry man agreed, holding his head in both hands as if afraid it was going to break into pieces. “H-haven’t felt this bad sincepoisoned back in New California.” An Uzi submachine gun hung on a sling over the man’s shoulder, an M-4000 scattergun partially hidden under a leg.
“How you doing, John?” the physician asked in concern.
By sheer effort of will, J. B. Dix yanked the shotgun from underneath his ass and managed a brief smile. “Not dead yet, Millie,” he said, placing the weapon aside. Fumbling in the pocket of his battered leather jacket, he unearthed a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Setting them carefully on his face, J.B. frowned.
“Black dust, they’re warped,” he cursed and started trying to straighten the bent frames.
“Go check on Krysty,” Ryan ordered, standing wearily. His boots felt strangely loose, as if he’d lost some weight. “She’s not awake yet.”
Nodding, Mildred crawled over to the supine redhead and placed two fingers on her exposed throat. Rasping for air, Krysty’s chest rose and fell regularly, but her pulse was very weak. A trickle of dried blood marred a cheek from where Krysty had bitten a lip, and her nails were badly cracked from clawing at the floor. Worse, her animated hair lay limply on the cold concrete floor as if it were dead. Mildred knew the filaments were more sensitive to pain than norm hair, and especially sensitive to fire damage. The microwave bombardment had to have been a living hell for Krysty.
Thankfully, the redhead wasn’t wearing her heavy bearskin coat. The feverish woman might have literally cooked to death wrapped inside the thick garment. However, a Smith amp; Wesson .38 revolver jutted from Krysty’s gun belt, the hammer still cocked for firing. Gingerly removing the blaster, Mildred eased down the hammer and placed the weapon on the cool concrete. Thank God, the ammo hadn’t ignited from the microwaves or else Krysty would have blown open her stomach, a bad way for anybody to catch the last train west.
Gently lifting an eyelid, Mildred waved a butane lighter back and forth. The pupils dilated in response, and Krysty muttered something too soft to hear.
“She’s alive,” Mildred reported. “She just took it a lot worse than us. Her hair, you know.”
“Makes sense,” Ryan replied, rubbing his cheek and finding a dense stubble. The one-eyed man now knew for certain that they had been unconscious for days. Whoever had been operating the Kite had been really serious about chilling all of them. A brief image flashed into his mind of a tall man standing next to Silas as the bullets slammed into the hated whitecoat, blowing away chunks of his screaming body. The stranger had been wearing a crisp blue uniform, not just a shirt, and he’d been carrying several bolstered blasters. Logic said he had to be the sec chief for the Complex. At least their new enemy had a face, if not a name.