Devil Riders

“If need be to leave here,” Doe stated resolutely, closing the weapon with a solid click, “I can sprout wings and fly.”

“What happened?” Dean asked.

Tucking the stick into his belt, Doc finished dressing. “I went to visit the outhouse, and they were waiting, not inside, but on top. I never even considered the possibility, but shall in the future. They knocked the LeMat away, but I got that man with my sword. Then I was struck from behind and awoke in this charming abattoir.”

“Come again?” Jak asked, scowling in confusion.

“Slaughterhouse,” Doc translated.

Doing a fast recce of the temple, Ryan walked closer to the giant on the altar. In the yellowish light of the oil lanterns the thing seemed to move slightly as if alive and watching. But starkly illuminated by the nukelamp, it was plain to see the thing was merely a statue covered with oil to distort the light. It was just a trick.

“So this is the Scorpion God,” Ryan said in a monotone. “A whole ville terrified of a statue from some predark museum or an amusement park.”

“And this explains the blood for water we’ve been hearing about,” Krysty said, studying the basin and enclosure. The scorpions reacted to her presence by running about and arching their deadly barbed tails, ready to attack. “Gaza must feed scraps of flesh to the scorpions so that the people can reach the basin and fill their water jugs.”

“Literally, blood for water,” Mildred muttered, tossing away a bloody cloth.

“Look at them go,” Dean said in disgust. “Little bastards are expecting food.”

“Getting oil, instead,” Jak snarled. Going to a nearby niche, he removed the lantern and blew out the flame. Returning to the cage, he used the gun butt of his blaster to smash open the reservoir of the lantern and poured the flammable oil over the darting scorpions, then lit the wick of the lantern and dropped it. The fire whoofed alive, and the creatures started high pitched squealing as they burned, scampering madly about and stinging one another in their utter lack of comprehension of exactly what was destroying them.

Checking the bodies, Dean took their blasters, ammo pouches and a folding knife. Not bad, but he had better. Then the boy paused. “I know this man,” Dean said slowly. “He was the sec man who met us outside the ville gate.”

“Said he would get back at us,” Mildred said, wiping her hands clean, then tossing the damp rag away. “Guess he meant it.”

“Indeed, he did, madam,” Doc told her, starting to sound like his old self again. Using his ebony stick as a cane, he hobbled over, then stopped and forced himself to stand erect without assistance. Only the tightening of his mouth betrayed what the effort cost him in pain.

“By the way, how is the other prisoner? I heard him moan when I was being chained,” Doc added. “I would suppose the noise reminded him of his own imprisonment.”

Going to the other side of the altar, Ryan yanked away the sheet to expose the bloody remains of what had once been a man. His eyes were gone, as were his ears and nose. The sagging mouth held no teeth, and those were the least of the injuries. Both arms had been removed at the elbow, the stumps covered with horrible scars. His legs were missing at the knees, and there was only a tattered nubbin of flesh hanging between the naked man’s scarred thighs.

“I wonder who he was,” Mildred whispered, “and what he did to deserve this.”

“Fuck her…” The tortured spoke, lifting his horrible head. “Didn’t fuck her, you bastard. We’re in love! Don’t care she was going to be your wife, ya got enough, Gaza! Bastard! Stinking, filthy bastard…”

Then a racking shudder shook the man. “Oh, God, please, no more. I’ll tell ya anything you want to know. Where the Trader stores his fuel and weapons! Anything! But no more cutting. Please, stop cutting me up! No more!”

Thrashing feebly at his iron bonds, the prisoner began to mumble incoherently. Turning, Ryan gave Mildred a hard look and the physician sadly shook her head. With regret, Ryan placed the muzzle of his blaster to the mutilated remains of man and fired once. The head slapped to the side from the impact of the slug, and the moaning ceased as the man slipped into the sweet release of death.

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