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Genesis Echo (Deathlands 25) by James Axler

Yellow meant some light radiation, orange was an indication that you were moving up the scale toward danger, and red was precisely that danger, imminent, all around, showing you were in a serious hot spot.

J.B. moved the lamp and looked down at the man. He was showing all the signs of radiation poisoning, His lips were tugged back off his loose teeth, showing bleeding gums. Like the woman, his hair was almost gone, patches of black blood showing across the peeling scalp, and his mouth was crusted with running sores.

“In a coma,” Ryan said, pushing the man gently, then harder, but getting no response. He touched the pulse point at the angle of the man’s throat, counting to himself. “Slow. Very slow. Breathing right down to the flat line, as well.”

“Look.” J.B. pointed to a small blaster on the table by the side of the man’s bed.

“Over-and-under derringer.”

“Yeah. Built like the .41-caliber Remington. Probably a European replica. Real rare gun if it was genuine. I recall Jak saying he had one of them somewhere around the place.” J.B. picked it up, sniffing at it first, then checking the action. “Not fired. Got both bullets in it.”

“Why?”

The Armorer looked at the dying stranger, lying in the tangled, fouled sheets. “My only guess could be that it was left here by his side for him to take the easy trail west. Mebbe got too sick to do anything with it.”

“But who” Ryan shook his head. “I can’t work out what the fuck’s been going down here.”

“Two strangers, rad sick. Don’t know why. Doc knows nothing, but he’s been away, hasn’t he? Said he’d just gotten back with that woman.” He raised his eyebrows at Ryan.

“Don’t ask me. Could be just friends. Could be a whole lot more than friends. Rain’s beaten down any tracks that there might’ve been.”

The Armorer moved back toward the door. “Listen, we have a double problem here.”

“How’s that?”

“First is to get the hell out of here. With the rad counters screaming red, we could get bone-fried if we hang around for a couple more hours.”

“And the second thing?”

“Is to find what’s happened to Mildred, Jak, Krysty and Dean.”

THEY GATHERED on the back porch.

It was full dark, and Ryan and J.B. brought out a couple of oil lamps, setting them on the sills of the kitchen window where they immediately attacked by a circling horde of small midges and bright-winged moths.

Sukie Smith sat on the stoop, head bowed, Doc’s arm around her shoulders. She hadn’t spoken, twice retching and bringing up strings of bile, golden bright in the lamplight. Her hands remained in the pockets of her skirt.

Doc was trying to comfort her, but she seemed to be oblivious to his words. Finally he looked up at Ryan. “This makes no sense at all to this poor addled old pate.”

“Nor to me, Doc. You say everything was fine when you left on this sort of hunting trip.”

“What’s a sort of hunting trip, for Christ’s sake?” Trader said.

“I merely wished to ‘get me head together’ as the saying has it. Find out where I was going. The usual classic odyssey of self-exploration.”

“I don’t rightly remember the old fuck talking like he’d swallowed all the long words ever made. Can’t he just speak short and simple?”

Doc half bowed in Trader’s direction. “I shall endeavor to gear my conversation toward your level, though I fear that the descent might be too great.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me, old man, or you’ll find you walk with your asshole draggin’ in the dirt.”

“Leave it,” Ryan said wearily. “Doc, you’re triple sure that nothing was wrong? Not a clue of a problem? And no sign of these strangers?”

“No sign at all. I’m certain everything was hunky-dory. Their only small concern was that of caring friends for me and for my little expedition.”

“And you saw nobody leaving the spread?”

“Nobody. I think there was a fire, somewhere around here, a brace of days ago, but I’m not certain.”

“We should check the barns,” J.B. suggested. “Could be clues there. Or a note.”

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Categories: James Axler
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