Genesis Echo (Deathlands 25) by James Axler

Genesis Echo (Deathlands 25) by James Axler

Genesis Echo (Deathlands 25) by James Axler

“Let it go, Krysty. He’s out. Let it go and get out yourself.”

The tall woman, her fiery hair in a tight knot at her nape, stepped back, allowing the branch to slip from her shoulders. It rolled a little, then fell, completely free of the main trunk of the fallen spruce. It landed with a terrifying crash on the very spot where Dean’s head had been, narrowly missing Krysty’s own legs.

Ryan had been kneeling by his son, but he stood and started to move to support Krysty. He was too slow as she crumpled like a dead leaf, toppling to the ground on her back, her eyes wide open and staring blankly at the sky.

“She’s chilled herself,” Trader whispered with an almost superstitious awe.

Ryan crouched at her side, holding her hand, chafing her wrist. “Happens when she calls on the Gaia power. Always happens. She’ll be fine in a minute or two.” Mildred put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder and eased him to one side. “Need to examine her properly.”

“She’s fine, Mildred.”

Krysty hadn’t moved, her face like ivory, her eyes blank and lifeless. A thread of brilliantly crimson blood inched from her nose and mouth.

Mildred checked for a pulse, then looked up at Ryan, her face bleak. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

Prologue

The Volvo stood in the lee of a high bluff that protected it from the worst of the midday beat, the metal ticking and clicking as it cooled a little. “By evening?” Ryan Cawdor asked.

“Should be,” J. B. Dix replied, lying flat on his back, fedora shading his eyes, his glasses folded neatly and stuck in the top pocket of his jacket.

Trader had been complaining of some stomach pains earlier in the morning, but that might have had something to do with the fact that he’d eaten a very large bowl of fiery chili beans at ten o’clock, at the kindly invitation of a pair of Navaho sheepherders.

Abe was under the land wag, working away with a length of baling wire to fix a loose part of the exhaust system that had been rattling for the past thirty miles.

“How’s your guts coming along, Trader?” the little gunner called.

“Gettin’ better, thanks, Lee. Damn it! I mean, Abe. Yeah, gettin’ better after I emptied myself out in that ditch an hour back. But a clean bed, some sleep and home cooking wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“Be there by evening,” the Armorer repeated.

“Looking forward to it,” Ryan agreed. “Lost touch with how long we’ve been away.”

“Long enough.” J.B. flapped a persistent hornet from his face.

Trader was picking at his lip, where the sun had started a small sore. “You men sure changed since you rode with me. All this talk of goin’ back. Getting to a fixed place. Wantin’ to stop the moving.”

Ryan nodded slowly. “It’s true. All those years with the war wags, we were always moving, weren’t we? One day the Lantic, then a few days later in the bayous. Week later chilling stickies in the Shens, then a firefight with the baron of some pesthole ville in the Darks.”

“Damn right!” Trader whistled between his teeth. “That was the life all right. Never a dull moment. Living on the edge. Fighting over the edge. Running, always running hard, crossing the borderline. We should get back to that. Get us all back to the real basics of life.”

“Nobody’s stopping you, Trader.” J.B. looked at the older man. “We heard you were living and we wanted to check that out. Now we know. You want to go back to that life, then we’ll wish you all the best. But it’s not for us anymore.”

“Mean you got soft, Armorer?” He turned to Abe. “What do you say, gunner?”

“I say that I’ll sort of go with what other folks decide,” Abe said quietly.

“Well, I guess I’ll meet up with all these good folks at the spread yonder.” Trader sniffed. “Then I’ll decide what we’ll be doing after.”

“No.” Ryan stood. “You decide what you ‘ ll be doing, Trader. We’ll do the same for ourselves. I reckon we ought to get this land wag on the highway if we’re going to get back by dusk. Let’s move it.”