Eclipse at Noon by James Axler

“All that shoutin’ and shootin’ and tarry-hootin’,” he mumbled. “Guess it must be you they’s lookin’ for, friend. So near and so far.”

IT WAS LATE that afternoon when Krysty saw a trio of ragged men walking slowly toward them from a side trail that wound down from a low, heavily wooded hill. Two of them were carrying the carcass of a large boar, slung onto a pole.

All had long muskets across their shoulders, and they lowered their burden and readied their blasters when they saw the five strangers.

“No trouble,” J.B. called, holding out both hands in the universal Deathlands gesture of peace.

“We had enough bastard trouble for one day, mister,” grunted the leader, a broad-shouldered man in a fur jacket, bunch-backed and squat.

“How come?”

The man who had been struggling with the other end of the wild pig straightened, wiping sweat from his face. Krysty’s breath froze in her throat for a moment when she saw the dark patch over the socket of the left eye, giving a brief resemblance to Ryan. But the man was inches shorter and many years older.

He caught her stare. “Seen a ghost, lady?”

“Yeah. No, not really. Just that you look like someone I know real well.”

The third of the hunters laughed harshly. “Your friend looks like Jake here, then he sure must be no painting.”

“You said you’d had trouble,” J.B. said. “See blood on the pig’s tusks.”

The hunch-back sniffed. “Gutted my brother. Spear broke just when he had it hooked. Came all the way down the shaft after him, before we could get a shot at it. Spilled his tripes all over the forest.”

The Armorer nodded. “Seen it happen. Sorry to hear it. You come from near here?”

“Don’t live nowhere,” Jake replied. “Aim to butcher this and sell it as meat. Hardly any pestholes round this godforsaken place. You seen any life?”

“No. Shack some miles back. Nobody around.” J.B. looked at the board. “Be glad to share a meal with you. Haven’t had good meat for a while.”

“What’ll you pay? Cost a handful of jack.”

“Pay you in ammo.”

“We use ball and powder, stranger”

Jake interrupted the disabled man. “Listen, Harve, we might as well be neighborly. This bastard’s breakin’ my back. Let’s make a camp and share a portion with these outlanders. Just don’t feel like tryin’ to carry old man pig any farther. Not with only the three of us. We’ll never sell it in this rad-blasted wilderness.”

Harve hesitated, then nodded. “Hell, why not?”

JAKE, HARVEY AND GUS. Harve’s brother, Little Johnny, was buried in a shallow grave a few miles back in the trees. Jake and Gus were cousins, and they had all traveled south and west from the hollers of the Apps, working their way cross-country, scratching a living by hunting and trapping.

Now they sat together around a bright fire, with Krysty and the other friends, relishing the scent of a haunch of pig roasting on a spit. The meat was crackling, the skin charring, fat dribbling into the flames.

Krysty hadn’t wasted any time asking them whether they might have seen anything of Ryan, dead or alive.

“He went in the river upstream, with them currents and whirlpools, then I have to figure your man’s chilled, lady,” Jake said softly.

She nodded slowly, controlling her emotions. “Sense tells me you’re right. Just that there’s still that spark of hope. Until I see him”

“What happens to river farther west?” Jak asked, breaking a long silence.

“Runs across into the Sippi. Way along. Still the biggest and busiest river in all Deathlands.” Gus was busily picking wax out of his ears as he spoke, flicking it into the fire, where it hissed and bubbled along with the pork fat.

“Any villes on way?”

The three hunters shook their heads like a trio of synchronized dolls, with Harve answering the albino teenager. “Not that we seen.”

“Exceptin’ that ruined place. Burned out. Day back from here.” Jake shook his head. “Some kinda raid. Happened coupla weeks ago, by the look of it. No trails left. Rained out. No bullet marks. Just a lotta fire. Half-dozen shacks. No bodies.”