James Axler – Bitter Fruit

The land on the other side of the notch was all mountain. Beyond it was the emerald green of an ocean, stretching out as far as the eye could see.

“THE ENGLISH CHANNEL,” Doc said, standing on a promontory overlooking a sheer drop to the water below.

Ryan stood a little down from the old man, peering hard at the whitecapped waters battering the base of the cliff more than a hundred feet below.

“We’re only hours from London,” Doc announced, his voice wistful as he surveyed the half-familiar landscape.

“London?” Blackjack Gehrig asked, walking up from where his men were replacing a tire on the van. He carried his sniping rifle over one shoulder. “You’re talking about New London, now, aren’t you, mate? The only London there is, is New London about two hours north and east of here. During the nukestorm the original London was hit all to bleeding hell by the bombs.”

“I beseech you, sir, to tell me how bad the damage was.”

“There used to be a river that ran through it,” Gehrig said.

“The Thames.” Doc nodded. “I knew it well.”

“They tell me in the old days, it flowed through the city and emptied into the North Sea. Used it for shipping and the like. I’ve seen some pix of London. Must have been quite a place to see in its time. But it’s mostly all gone now. When those bombs hit, they caused a rift in the land that drank London down and brought the North Sea into the heart of England. Put the whole place forty and fifty feet underwater. Almost cut this lower section of the island off from the rest of the country.”

” ‘Tis a shame dear man.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

The old man moved off, heading back to the wag where Krysty and the others were.

“Doc was kind of close to this part of the world. He was hoping to visit what was left of old London,” Ryan explained.

“Is that what brought you out here?” Gehrig asked.

“No,” Ryan replied.

“We’re going to have to talk about that. And what you’re planning on doing with that young Celt you brought along with you.”

“Yeah.” Ryan knew they would have to talk. If Gehrig had had repeated experiences with the Celts and knew the land they lived on, he was going to need that knowledge for any rescue attempt the companions might make to get Mildred back with them. However, that didn’t mean giving the man all of the truth. “How far to New London?”

“A couple hours’ hard driving.”

“What kind of setup is there?”

“It’s a big thorpe,” Gehrig said, leading the way back to the wag. The men working on the van were already letting the jack down after replacing the tire. “A bloke named Taylor Henstell runs things. He’s got three men working with him to keep things running smooth. Bobby Krieger, who’s the thorpe’s shipmaster”

“Shipmaster?” Ryan asked as he crawled into the back of the wag.

Gehrig nodded. “Krieger’s sire built the first clipper ships based on some blueprints his grandfather had saved over the years. They come from sailing stock, all of them.”

“What’re the ships being used for?” Ryan asked.

“Defense mainly. It took Krieger a while to get Henstell to back his plans. Those ships cost a lot. But they’re starting to pay for themselves. He’s set up a regular trade route with the French, who haven’t gotten their shit together enough to build a canoe, much less a boat. Breed like effing rabbits over there every chance they get, pox take the lot of them.” Gehrig spit over the side of the jeep. “But there’s a few who work salvage operations and bring things to Krieger’s crew that we can use in New London. Then there’s some diving starting to go on where old London went under. Krieger’s found this big bell he lowers into the water and lets the swimmers work out of that instead of diving from the top. Still only have a couple minutes they can work the bottom before they come up for another breath of air, though. Getting a few things back from there, too.”