“Razor,” the teenager said grimly, buckling the blaster around his waist. Jak checked the draw and settled the gun belt a little lower on his hips.
Closing the door to the office, the companions went back into the control room, Jak and Doc taking positions behind the console, with Mildred staying in the corridor, a primed gren in each hand.
“Ready?” Dean asked, swinging open the door to the mat-trans chamber.
Briefly, Krysty checked her wrist chron, making sure it was working. “Ready,” the redhead answered.
Entering the chamber, they closed the door, sat and waited. Moments later the primary circuits flared with power, and the mists swirled into existence around their heads and boots until a silent hurricane of twinkling stars engulfed them, the lights flashing faster and more brightly with every heartbeat
OUTSIDE, THE SUN WAS starting to set, colored streamers of clouds filling the sky like a tortured rainbow. Softly, the wind moaned over the bare landscape of Shiloh valley, the hard ground vacant of even leaves or dust. What the compacted ash hadn’t trapped, the acid rain had dissolved or washed away.
Tapping steadily on the keypad next to the big black door, the old slave gasped in astonishment as the massive portal set into the strange hillock suddenly rumbled open, showing a long corridor. The walls were smooth, the high ceiling lined with glowing light tubes unlike anything he had ever seen. The floor was duty with a thin layer of ash, and laying prominently in sight was a handcannon. A shiny new blaster just lay there waiting to be taken.
Furtively, the whitehair cast a glance over his shoulder to the snoring sec man wrapped in a blanket and leaning against the Hummer. The low campfire cast a reddish glow over the man and wag, making them appear to be painted in blood.
As the slave took a hesitant step toward the blaster, he inadvertently touched the keypad, and the mammoth door began to close. Hastily, he jumped out of the way, and it sealed with a resounding boom. Instantly, the sec man was standing, his blaster out, eyes blinking away the sleep.
“What the fuck was that?” he demanded, the muzzle of the weapon swinging back and forth.
“Just thunder, sir,” the slave said, looking at the darkening sky. “Nothing important, sir. Just thunder.”
Suspicious, the sec man studied the growing twilight, then sat again, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.
“Toss some more wood on the fire,” the blue shirt ordered around a yawn.
“Yes, sir. At once, sir,” the whitehair replied, all the while mentally repeating the sequence that opened the portal to the bunker over and over. Freedom was close. Soon, very soon.
LAYING ON THE FLOOR of the mat-trans chamber, Krysty and Dean violently heaved for several minutes, their stomachs rebelling at the instantaneous transportation. As the sickness slowly faded from their bodies, the woman and boy struggled to their feet and glanced around the mat-trans chamber. Lights glowed in the patterned metal disks set in the floor and ceiling. The armaglass walls were a pale blue streaked with soft gray.
“I think I know this place,” Krysty said, feeling confused. For some unknown reason she was trying to hear the sound of a distant siren. But there was only silence.
“Not familiar to me,” Dean countered, going to the chamber door, which opened easily. The woman and boy were triple-alert, their weapons up and ready.
The next room was rectangular, roughly five yards by three, and quite empty except for some wall shelves and a plastic table with a copper bowl. There was residue inside that resembled dried blood. Acting on impulse, Krysty tapped the bowl with a fingernail, and it rang with the clarity of a bell. Spent brass was scattered about on the floor in a variety of calibers. Then it all came rushing back to her.
“Gaia, protect us,” Krysty whispered. “This is the first redoubt! The big one in Alaska! The first redoubt we ever jumped to, that is.”
Cradling the AK-47, Dean brightened. “The place with the big armory where Doc first got his LeMat and J.B. his Uzi?”
“Yes.” The woman sighed, her shoulders slumping. “That’s the redoubt I mean.”
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