“You okay, Doc?”
“By the Three Kennedys, what a ridiculous question.” Doc laughed bitterly. “You of all people should know that the last thing I really am is okay. But for a second, I was reminded of something that I seem to remember from what seems many years ago. I suppose it is many years,” he added, surprise entering his tone, “but that is by the by. It is our host. There is something about the gentleman that haunts me. I feel he is a lost soul.”
“I think it’s me you’ve lost there, Doc,” Ryan said softly. He felt Doc was trying to tell him something important, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.
“He is driven by an inner demon that has taken over everything that he is or was. It is a demon that is part of him, and yet is apart. It has control of him to such an extent that it will care not for anyone or anything around. We should be wary of him, my dear Ryan, very wary. He means us no harm, I am sure, but we are the catalyst for him to put his own plans for vengeance into operation. And he will be merciless.”
Ryan chewed his lip, trying to unravel Doc’s language, the likes of which was no longer heard in the Deathlands. Finally, he nodded. “I understand. I figured along the same lines, I guess. But it’s a matter of playing the odds, Doc, and I figure that we should go with it. If we pay heed, and keep our backs covered—”
“Then that is all we can do,” Doc finished.
WITHIN A FEW HOURS, the companions, refreshed by their showers, were visited by Lonnie and Travis, who informed them that they would be eating shortly in the large room where the ovens were now installed. Travis also informed Mildred that Cy was sleeping, and that his condition was stable.
“But I’d be grateful if you could take a look at him later,” he added.
Mildred agreed, and waited until Lonnie and Travis had left before murmuring, “Considering we injured him, they’re being too damn nice about it.”
J.B. shrugged. “That’s life—and chilling—Millie. Most places they’d have chilled us straight away, but…”
“But we’ll find out soon enough,” Ryan finished.
The companions made their way to the eating room. The rest of the redoubt was empty except for one man, who sat alone in one of the living quarters. Doc looked in, and observed that it was a room that housed the monitors for all the sec cameras in the redoubt. To his surprise, none of the monitors were dark.
“Good heavens, that is most unusual!” he exclaimed.
The man on duty turned to him and shrugged. “Hell, if any of these go down, we probably couldn’t fix ’em. Have to start posting guards. Still, our luck’s holding so far. Guess Papa Joe’s right—mebbe it is our fate to be here and get even.”
Doc nodded and smiled. “Guess so, friend,” he said cheerily before slipping out of the room, adding to himself, “Now, that really is interesting.”
As they reached the eating room, they could see that the whole community was gathered together. There were about thirty in all, with only one-third of those being female. They were eating in relative silence, with only a very low hum of conversation taking place. Looking around, Dean could see that there were no children—no one, in fact, who seemed to be under the age of sixteen. The youngest looking man in the room was a whip thin boy who had the beginning of a beard, and was hunched over his food, as though wanting to appear invisible. Yet this had the opposite effect, as his intensity was such that he appeared to radiate a nervous energy that drew your eyes to him. Bizarrely, it was almost as though he could feel Dean looking at him. He turned to face the younger Cawdor, his eyes burning bright through his spectacles, a keen intelligence showing through. His eyes locked on Dean’s, as though he were assessing him. Then he gave the faintest of grins, and the briefest of nods, before turning back to his food.