Ryan took another glance down the opening beyond the jammed doorway. Mildred was waiting somewhere at the other end of it, at least, one of the ends, and perhaps a mat-trans unit that would take them back to Deathlands.
“Lover.”
Ryan looked up at Krysty.
The red-haired woman pointed at the monitors in front of Doc. The old man regarded them with his hawkish gaze.
“Looks like somebody opened the ball for the rebel Celts,” Krysty said.
Scanning the monitors, Ryan had to agree. The light-amplifying programs in the outside cameras picked up most of the action. The Prince’s seed heralds attacked the ville populace without mercy, slashing at them from horseback with swords, and shooting them down with rifles and pistols. Many of the homes were already ablaze, creating even more confusion in the sudden battlefield.
As Ryan watched, though, one of the seed heralds got too close to a tangler bed. Without warning, the plants reached out for rider and horse, snaring them, then dragging them into reach of even more of the deadly vines.
Another monitor showed two of the soldiers from White Sands. They skulked down the corridor just outside the sec room, their machine pistols leveled before them.
“Lock won’t hold them long,” J.B. stated, “should they figure on breaking through.”
Ryan knew it.
“Upon my soul,” Doc breathed.
The camera he’d shifted to showed a spill of vehicles roaring down the steep sides of the bowl-shaped valley. Muzzle-flashes from mounted machine guns were clearly visible.
“Gehrig,” Ryan said.
“It appears he found a way into the ville,” Krysty said.
Ryan felt a little bad for the people of Wildroot. Trouble was, he figured it was just like anywhere back in Deathlands folks that were smart enough, hard enough and didn’t mind killing enough, they’d make it out of the engagementno matter who was gunning for them.
“We got directions to Mildred,” Ryan said. “We find her, then we’ll figure on a way of getting out of here.”
J.B. slid his glasses up his nose with a finger. “Problem is, a man could get plumb lost inside these roots.”
Ryan nodded. “We stick together, we’ll get lost together. Find ourselves, too.”
“You’re forgetting about the plague, lover.”
Ryan glanced at Krysty. The red-haired woman felt more compassionate about the greater whole than he did. “I’m not forgetting,” he replied. “It just isn’t our problem.”
Krysty’s mouth hardened. But she knew better than to argue with him. Mostly. “You remember what Tarragon said, about how it could spread across the water, even to Deathlands.”
“I remember,” Ryan said in a harder voice. “I also know a dead man can’t do nothing about it. We fuck around in here too long, we’ll be dead sure as bunnies pop little green turds.”
For a moment Krysty looked like she might argue. Thai she only nodded.
Ryan looked away, shining the flashlight back down the tunnel. “That plague’s over a hundred years old. Might not even work.” But a cold fear knotted up in his belly like lumpy gravy. If the plague did get loose, maybe he was only buying time to get back to Dean. But part of him knew they were all only living on borrowed time in Deathlands.
Going after Boldt in this twisted maze of roots was stupid. Nothing else could be said about it.
Then a speaker crackled to life. “Who are you people?” an imperious voice demanded.
Glancing back over his shoulder, Ryan saw Boldt on the monitor in front of Doc. Ryan had never seen the man close up before, but he remembered enough of him from the earlier battle that he knew whom he was looking at.
“You were with the black woman, weren’t you?” Boldt sneered at them. “If you’re here to try to stop me from loosing the plague and ending this pale shadow of a world, you’re coming way too late. You’ll only be the first ones to die.”
“Doc,” Ryan said.
“He found us when the sec team stationed here didn’t check in,” the old man said. “I tried to respond, but evidently I did something wrong, Ryan.”
Abruptly the monitor with Boldt’s features scowling at them vanished.