Chill Factor
Chill Factor
15 in the Deathland series James Axler
Chapter One
The walls of the gateway were silvered glass, and Ryan Cawdor knew that they were back in New Mexico. The jump hadn’t been too bad.
Outside the ruined redoubt the morning sun was breaking over the mountains to the east, throwing long shadows across the desert.
The companions managed to pick their way down onto the level ground without any difficulty, Doc Tanner and Mildred Wyeth helping each other over the steeper sections. Ryan was worried to see new tracks on the trail outside the military complex.
“Someone’s coming,” Krysty Wroth said, busily tying her hair back off her neck with a black bandanna.
The rising sun was in the youth’s face, highlighting his dazzling white hair. There was no possibility of mistaking Jak Lauren.
He was riding a bay mare, spurring the horse on at a fast trot that turned into a dust-burning gallop when he spotted the little group of friends.
Krysty stared intently toward him as he closed the gap to a hundred yards. Her face was set like pale marble, and she reached out to grip Ryan by the wrist, hard enough to make him wince.
“Oh, no,” she said, her voice soft and shocked.
Jak reined in the sweating, lathered horse, throwing himself from the saddle. “Heard your radio message. You hear mine?”
“No. What?”
The teenager’s eyes blazed like chips of nuked ruby. “Dean.”
Ryan stared at him, wondering what could have happened to his ten-year-old son. “What?”
“Taken.”
“When?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Christina shot one of the gang.”
“And?”
“Questioned him.”
“Still got him?” Ryan was unable to control the anxiety in his voice.
“Died,” Jak replied, as laconic as ever.
“Why didn’t you ask him all”
“Did. Slavers. North. Used gateway. Took Dean.”
Ryan suddenly thought of the LD buttonLast Destination. If this gang had jumped, then he could follow them. It wasn’t all lost. Not yet.
“I’ll go after them,” he said. “Food and a rest, and then I’ll go.”
Jak nodded. “One other thing from wounded man. Before died.”
“What?”
“Slavers’ leader.”
“Yeah?”
“Russian. Name Zimyanin.”
Chapter Two
The corpse lay in a small barn to the east of the main house.
In warm weather it didn’t take long for a human body to start deteriorating. Only a few hours and the eyes began to melt back into their sockets. The soft tissues of the mouth, nose and throat rotted next, along with the genital area.
The man had died around fifteen hours earlier and had been placed on an old door that stood on a trestle table.
It had gone through the brief period of rigor mortis and now looked relaxed, the skin darkening. The man was naked, head back, staring blankly at the roof beams above him in the dusty darkness. His hair was graying, cropped short, with an old scar seaming the side of the scalp just above the left ear.
He might almost have been asleep, if it hadn’t been for the dreadful mutilations.
Christina had greeted them with a solemn pleasure, showing the way across to the barn. The strain of the last day showed on her face. She limped more heavily than usual, the built-up boot on her left foot dragging through the dust.
“Did you both question him?” Ryan asked.
Jak looked at his wife. “Both.”
“Bullet killed him,” Mildred said, leaning over to examine the dark-rimmed hole in the center of the man’s chest, framed with the lacy pattern of dried blood. “Lungs. Can’t have taken too long for him to die. Not just from that.”
Jak nodded. “Knew that. Knew wouldn’t live much. Had to find out where boy went.”
The black doctor straightened. “Someone made it a hard passing for him. Carving knife, hot irons. Razor? Yeah, a razor. Needle by the eyes and through the end of his penis.”
Doc coughed and turned away. “Think I’ll go outside and get myself a smidgen of fresh air,” he said. “Seems a tad humid in here. Just a little oppressive.”
He went out, leaving the double doors ajar, so that a carpet of golden sunlight spilled across the straw and dust. It reached just to the foot of the makeshift table.