Chapter Nine
Abe slept well.
It was an odd experience to have a real bed for a night, with a real mattress. Most times it was either rocks and dirt or a bare wooden floor. At first, the softness felt strange, but it eased the range of old knife and gunshot wounds that often gave him trouble.
As he dropped off he was wondering about Trader, remembering the burst of red-eyed rage that had been directed at him just before they all retired for the night, and the fact that Trader seemed to have so much trouble with his memory.
In the old days, Trader never had any trouble at all with his memory.
“Never,” Abe whispered, dropping into the warm dark. “No, never.”
ABE WOKE UP, aware of the pressure on his bladder from the amount of water he’d drunk before going to bed. He yawned and slowly rolled over onto his back, sniffing and wiping his mustache.
The overhead lights were still bright. It hadn’t been possible to turn them off last evening. The Armorer had figured that there was probably a central control for them.
The others were all sleeping soundly. Doc had chosen to take the bed farthest from the entrance, and was snoring gently. J.B. and Mildred were in adjacent bedsthey were all bolted to the floor, making movement impossible. On the far side of the prone figure of young Jak, Trader clutched his Armalite, though most of the others had kept their blasters on the floor, close at hand.
Abe got up, barefoot, and padded toward the closed door to the toilet and bath facilities. As he passed Dean’s bed, he smiled fondly at the boy. He was sleeping on his back, sucking his thumb, looking even younger than his eleven years. Abe was struck by the strong resemblance between the lad and his father.
Ryan slept in the bed closest to the entrance door, with Krysty beside him. She had tied a strip of patterned material across her eyes to close out the dazzling lights, her hair burning like fire across the whiteness of the mattress.
It crossed Abe’s mind to think how lucky he was to have fallen in with such a good bunch of friends though finding Trader hadn’t quite turned out like he’d somehow visualized it.
The old days seemed so long ago.
He was nearly at the door to the ablution facility to section five of the redoubt, already unbuttoning his pants, reaching inside, ready to take the leak he so badly needed.
The door had a built-in sensor, and it began to open as he approached it.
Abe took three steps inside, heading for the spotless porcelain stalls. The light in the bathroom, bouncing off the rows of mirrors, was even brighter and he closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the door hiss shut behind him.
He also heard a weird, scrabbling, scratching sound, like lots of children all gently scraping their nails along a strip of soft leather.
Despite the dazzle of the overhead lamps, Abe blinked open his eyes, squinting to see properly, and, blinking again, his jaw dropped.
Mouth open wide, Abe began to scream.
Ryan was off the bed, the blaster in his hand, and moved toward the noise before his conscious mind had recognized what had yanked him from sleep.
He was just aware of some of the others around him in the dormitory reacting to the sound.
The scream.
“Abe,” he muttered.
J.B. was at his heels, fingers locked around the pistol grip of the folding butt 12-gauge, Trader a heartbeat behind him, Armalite at the high port. Jak ran at his shoulder, then Krysty, Dean and Mildred.
Doc lay flat on his bed, rubbing his eyes, mumbling to himself, unable to break his spirit free from the chains of the night.
The automatic door hissed open, liberating Abe’s scream of shock and fear.
Ryan’s first reaction was surprise that he hadn’t noticed the night before that the floor of most of the bathroom facility was covered in dark brown fur.
Moving brown fur.
Trader was fastest to recognize the threat.
“Bastard spiders,” he yelled.
Abe had staggered back against the white-tiled wall, kicking out, beating away with both hands at the hordes of spiders that were trying to swarm all over him.