James Axler – Deathlands 35 – Skydark

As far as Johnson Lester was concerned, it had been well worth his trouble to get on the baron’s payroll. After his service in the brief, one-sided war against the mutant rebels, he had become a sec man for Willie Elijah. It was a plum occupation in a world where most people scratched their living from the dirt and for all their pain and sweat ended up half-starved. The baron did require that his sec men remain single-this because he didn’t want mem “softened” by married life. Which wasn’t a hardship because, what with the gaudy and the steady flow of destitute travelers wandering by, there were plenty of females to go around.

“Lester, we got company,” said a gruff voice from the cab below. “Stragglers at ten o’clock.”

When Lester scanned the road south, he saw a line of people jogging toward them. He counted six. “They’re trying to beat sundown,” he said as he lowered himself through the hole. Reaching the protection of the ville’s walls before dark was something every traveler with a grain of sense tried to do. There was no guarantee of safety outside.

“They’re all carrying heavy packs and long blasters,” Pedro Hylander said, lowering his binocs. Under the thick brush of his auburn mustache, the tall sec man’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Plenty of pickings there. This day might turn a profit for old Elijah, after all.”

“Gill,” Lester said to the third man in the booth, “when they’re in range, give the signal cords a tug.” Their toll booth was connected by lengths of rope to

the others spaced along the outside of the berm. The ropes were tied to aluminum cans with pebbles in them. A soft rattle would alert every sec position that someone approached the barrier.

Lester picked up his battle-scarred KG-99 assault pistol. As he stepped from the cab, he thumbed the fire-selector switch to full-auto. Behind him Hylander and Gill spilled out of either side of the truck, spreading out to get the best firing angle and to offer the most difficult targets for return fire, if there was any.

“Hey!” Lester shouted at the line of travelers, who were veering to the left. “Over here, you triple stupes!”

When the six people headed toward him, Lester con-finned that they were heavily armed. He decided not to take any chances. “Stop there!” he hollered. “Stand in the circle painted on the road.”

The travelers obeyed, stepping into a crude ring that was the aim point for the three other gun positions along the south side of the berm.

“Keep your hands away from your blasters,” Lester warned as he moved closer, sighting on them down the barrel of the KG-99.

The male traveler in front shifted as Lester approached, putting his body between the compact 9 mm’s muzzle and his companions. He had a black patch over his left eye.

“Well, nuke my nuts!” Lester exclaimed. “If it ain’t “* an ol* war buddy come back to pay us a visit.”

“Which one of them do you know?” Hylander

asked, keeping back from the edge of the circle, well out of the line of fire of the other berm emplacements.

“I know old One-eye there,” Lester said, scratching his stubby chin. “Know him real good.”

“Not the One-eye?” Hylander said. “Cawdor?”

“Same.”

“My, my,” Hylander said, beaming at Ryan. “You’re gonna keep us knee deep in gaudy sluts for a week.”

“To hell with them scabbies,” Gill said as he stepped up to the ring of death. He eyed Krysty’s long legs appreciatively. “I’d rather get to know the curvy redhead. Inside and out, if you know what I mean.”

Krysty looked at him as if he were a bug, fit only for stomping.

“Hey, Firetop,” Gill said, aiming his M-16 at her head, “you ready to pay Willie Elijah’s toll?”

As he watched, her mane of red hair separated into tightly packed tendrils, which coiled and writhed like individual serpents.

Gill jumped back a yard. “Damn, she’s a rad-blasted mutie!” he said, taking a two-handed grip on the assault rifle. Recovering from the shock, he said, “She’d make a hell of a brood mare for the baron’s zoo.”