J.B. nodded to himself. From the description of the land, and what he’d seen earlier on the outside, he was now sure that he had been correct in his guess that they had landed somewhere in New Mex. That knowledge may be useful.
Correll was in full flow. “So Charity and Summerfield have a little deal going down. Red is selling them some women for breeding stock, and in return he gets jack to buy food and seed crop to start over. Thing is, we know the route they gonna have to take, and we’re gonna take them out. Get the jack and the women, then in the confusion when they think they’re double crossing each other, we take out Summerfield, get their secrets, then wipe that bastard Red off the face of the earth.”
Correll’s speech had been listened to by all in silence, the hush spreading as he talked longer. Now he was cheered by the assembled throng.
“We’ve trained hard, denied ourselves families, denied ourselves rest, and now fate has delivered vengeance to us,” he yelled, to be greeted by whoops and hollers. “They call us the Hellbenders out there,” one of the group screamed. “I know, I ain’t been here long. But they’re right—we’re sure as hell bent on vengeance.”
Ryan touched Correll on the arm, and the leader looked down at him, his eyes wild and gleaming, for a moment not seeing the one-eyed man.
“So when the hell does this begin?” Ryan queried.
“Seven days, friend, as long as it took to create this dust bowl before skydark. If that can happen, we can sure as hell get it together to whip some ass.”
Chapter Five
“It is not very long,” Doc mused. “Not very long at all.” It was the morning after their first meal with the people they now knew were called the Hellbenders, and while Mildred went with Travis to check on Cy’s condition, the rest of the companions were taking a few moments to assess, through headaches caused by the previous night’s strong brew, what they had learned.
As the evening had worn on, and the redoubt dwellers had become intoxicated, so the rowdiness had increased. People were singing and shouting at one another, and Correll had tried to make himself heard to Ryan. But the volume from the assembled throng was too great, and the gaunt man’s voice strained to be heard.
It was then that he gave a demonstration of his authority that made the one-eyed man assess the power that he held, and conclude that it was very great. Frustrated at not being able to make himself heard, a cloud of fury crossing his brow, Correll rose to his feet and then climbed onto the table. This movement immediately caught the eye of J.B., who rose an eyebrow at Ryan, receiving a similar gesture from his friend. This would be a telling moment.
Correll drew a long knife from a scabbard attached to his thigh. It was similar to Ryan’s panga, but with a more curved blade that caught light from the candles that were augmenting the now dimmed fluorescent tubes, reflecting it in glittering patterns. Correll tossed the knife in the air so that it spun, and as it came back down he caught it by the point and, in one fluid motion, threw it so that it described a parabola around the circumference of the room. It skidded low across the tops of heads, its passing marked by a rush of air that breathed on the people, making them stop and turn. If someone had been standing higher than head height—on a chair, or on a table—then the knife would have sliced into them. As it was, Correll had judged the height to perfection, leaving nothing in the wake of the flight but a series of turned heads and a growing silence around the room.
The knife returned to him, its speed still strong. Correll leaned back without moving either of his feet and plucked the knife out of the air by its point as it passed him, killing the momentum dead with a downward flick of his wrist.
The room was now silent, all eyes on their leader.