James Axler – Deathlands 35 – Skydark

wicked fangs on it, long and sharp, and claws to match.

“Thinking about some other lion,” Jak told the swampie. “This is pussycat.”

“And you are a triple stupe,” the swampie said, keeping well back from the bars. “That thing ain’t no lion, ain’t no kitty cat, neither. Baron’s been workin’ on that one’s line for eight, mebbe ten years. It can talk almost as good you or me, when it wants to. And as for chewing you up, it just ain’t hungry right now.”

“Mebbe,” Jak said, roughing up the big cat’s ears, “but think he’d rather eat you. Stick little head through the bars and find out”

“Nope,” the swampie said, “don’t care to do that”

Actually Jak had no idea why the cat’s attitude about him had changed. He gazed into the huge yellow eyes. The rad-blasted thing was purring again and huffing its rotten-meat breath in his face.

At the other end of the zoo, a new ruckus started up, spreading like wildfire from cage to cage. Everyone was yelling and screaming, but it was different than the racket they made the previous night or earlier that morning. This wasn’t just a way to blow off steam.

This seemed to have a point.

Jak and lion moved to the side of their cell that faced the uproar.

“He’s here!” the swampie chirped as it spun away from the bars opposite. It kicked up a wild jig in the straw.

“Who’s here?” Jak asked, “What’s happening?”

The big cat turned nose to nose with him, opened its “‘fliuuui’ aiiu-~~”jwed, “Kaa!”

The blast of sound and hot air knocked Jak flat on his rear. All around him the muties’ inarticulate cries were changing, crystallizing. They became a chant, which was repeated over and over.

Kaa!

The noise was so loud that it shook the building to die foundation. The baron’s zoo master came running down the corridor to see what was happening. Knack-erman didn’t stay for long. The muties pelted him with their droppings. Cursing, he covered his head with his arms and dashed back the way he had come.

Chapter Fourteen

When the door to the cooler creaked open, a shaft of torchlight cut through the gloom. Ryan shielded his face from die blinding glare. Even after his eye adjusted to the light, he couldn’t see who was in the doorway. He was too close to the floor, and there were too many iron bars in the way. He could see boots, though. Lots of boots.

A key rattled in the lock of the top cage.

“How’d you like the accommodations?” someone asked from the corridor.

None of Ryan’s companions said a word. They didn’t want to do anything that might interfere with their getting out of the cooler. When the door was flung back, they crawled through it. Ryan moved closer to the bars. All of his friends were stiff and bent over, Doc the most of all. They groaned and moaned as they straightened for the first time in many hours.

When the sec man in charge stepped back, Ryan recognized him from the old days. Murchisson was no stupe, but he didn’t notice the single shackle on J.B.’s right ankle. He stood the other prisoners against the corridor wall, had his men hold them at blasterpoint, then unlocked Ryan’s cell.

The one-eyed man crawled out of the filth and rose slowly to his feet.

“Man,” Murchisson said, stepping back and covering his nose with a hand, “you need a hose-down. You ail need a hose-down.”

Because the iron cuff around Ryan’s ankle was covered with reeking muck, the sec chief failed to see it.

“Your stickies didn’t show last night, One-eye,” Murchisson told him. “Old Elijah was real disappointed. He was lookin’ forward to puttin’ a bunch of routie scum on the last train West. He was going to watch the whole deal from his penthouse while drinking beer.”

“The baron send out patrols yet?” Ryan asked.

“Sure. So?”

“Hope you kissed them goodbye.”

“Somehow, after last night, that doesn’t scare me much,” Murchisson said. “What’s got into you, Caw-dor? I never figured you for pulling a dumb shot like this. You sick and tired of living?”