James Axler – Bitter Fruit

Whoever won the battle outside would have no bearing on his world. Once he was inside one of the cryo chambers, the years would roll away while the plague did its job. The planet would become a blank slate again as far as human life was concerned.

And this time it would be done right. Victor Boldt would see to it himself.

“NO SIGN OF THEM, sir.”

Conte had to agree with Turley’s assessment. Scanning the interior of the security room, all he saw were the bodies of the guards working at the underground complex. He glanced at Whittaker. “You’re sure you heard their voices?”

The rat-faced man looked sullen. He didn’t like being doubted. “Sure as I’m hearing you now.”

Conte himself had heard nothing. He waved at the smoke obscuring his vision. Tears ran down his face from the burning, but he ignored them. The complex proved Cawdor knew more about high-tech areas than they’d at first surmised. The man was decidedly dangerous.

“Sarge,” Henderson called, “I found a tunnel over here.”

Conte went over to join the man and found himself peering down the opening barely illuminated by their hand torches. “Cawdor?”

“No sign of him, sir.”

Conte flicked his torch back over the dead men in the room, then the empty frames of the computer monitors.

Someone had killed the guards and jammed the door to slow them down.

“People coming,” Aames said from his position at the door.

Conte looked at Henderson. “You’ve got point. The rest of you follow in single file. Aames, you’ve got the rear.” The sergeant was second man through the opening, feeling the downward grade of the tunnel kick in. Getting out was going to be a bitch. But following Cawdor served two purposes. If he caught the man, Conte was determined to see him dead. The up side was that the sergeant didn’t figure the Deathlander to be stupid enough to head into a blind alley. Cawdor had to know security would be breathing on his heels. The man thought he had a way out. Conte was sure of that.

KRYSTY FELT Ryan slow before she saw it. So attuned was she to her lover, that she knew there’d been an unexpected obstacle.

“Fireblast!” Ryan swore as he swept his flashlight over the steel surface in front of him.

Metal sang in a heated rush behind them. Fast as she was, her mutie sense giving her an edge her lover didn’t have, Ryan was faster.

He brought up the SIG-Sauer in a two-handed grip, firing at the barely discernible motion humming along the ceiling. Brass spilled out, spitting and striking the wall before tumbling to the floor and slithering away.

Less than twenty yards distant, another of the sec drones went to pieces in a flaming gust. It was the third one they’d encountered since taking the latest branch of the corridor.

“There’ll be more of the bastard things,” Ryan said, turning his attention back to the steel door blocking their progress. “If we stay here, we’re sitting ducks until one of them chills us. And we’ve blazed a trail for those White Sands soldiers to follow if they’ve a mind to. Don’t much care for our chances, but we’ll make the most of them all the same.”

Krysty approached the door, her blaster still in her hand.

“You remember another way?” Ryan asked. “A way around, mebbe?”

She shook her head. Her hand slid across the smooth, chill surface of the steel. It felt greasy, solid, with real depth. “No.” Her voice was hoarse even in her own ears.

“Then we’ve got no choice. We’ll go back, see if the others got Mildred, then try to get the hell out of here.”

“What about the plague?” Krysty asked.

“Can’t chill what you can’t get to,” Ryan replied. “And a man nine days dead himself can’t do much of anything at all.”

But the red-haired woman knew her lover was upset, as well. He was just more pragmatic in his outlook, knew where his reach ended and didn’t try to foolishly exceed it. “All those people out there. Not even knowing what this monster has in mind.” She felt her rage growing inside her.