James Axler – Deathlands

“It is Smoking Crest here. Are you the spirits of the ones gone before?”

“No. We’re the ones who got caught in the storm and the flash flood and now we’re back and we’re cold and wet and hungry. All right?”

One of the heavy gates began to open, stopping when there was a gap of only a couple of feet. The voice of the native, Smoking Crest, came from the darkness.

“There are two of you. One Eye and Red Hair.”

“Yeah. Can we come in, or are you going to keep us out here until bastard dawn?”

“The women came from the rain. Said the jaguar had taken a bride.”

Ryan was losing his temper. “Fireblast! We know all this. It wasn’t a bride. The animal fucking chilled her. And we know something even more important.”

“The men with whips have destroyed the village of Jaguar people.”

Ryan was taken by surprise. “Well, yeah.”

“We have heard this.”

“How?”

“Hunters.”

“Your people?”

The native appeared in the gap, beckoning to them. “Yes. Before rain, there was smoke from fire from flames. Hunters went and saw it. Some dead. Old and very little.”

Ryan nodded. “We’d best speak to Itzcoatl and the main men of the ville here. We saw the slavers.”

“Saw them?”

Ryan walked into the village, Krysty at his heels. Dawn was coming, and he realized that he’d gone almost three days and two nights with virtually no sleep.

“The others up?” Krysty asked.

The native shook his head, taking a half step back, away from the red-haired woman. “No.”

She tapped Ryan on the arm. “No good, lover,” she said. “I have to crash for a couple of hours.”

“Right. Me too.”

He turned to the native. “We are very, very tired. We will sleep for three hours.” After seeing the blank look on the man’s face, he added, “Until after full sunrise.”

“Yes. Do you wish food?”

“That’d be good. Some tortillas and fish and some fresh water to drink.”

“It will be doing for you.”

“Thanks. Oh, and when they wake, can you tell our friends we’re back safe.”

“Yes.”

He walked through the quiet village, past the remains of the cooking fires from the previous night, into their hut, going to check that Dean was all right.

The boy was fast asleep, an embroidered blanket crumpled around his knees. Ryan gently tugged it up to his son’s shoulders, stooping over and kissing him gently on the forehead.

“Good night,” he whispered.

Dean smiled in his sleep, half rolling over, sighing to himself.

IT SEEMED AS IF fifteen seconds had raced by from the moment Ryan’s head hit the bed until the moment when Dean was shaking him by the shoulder. “Come on, Dad.”

“What?” For a nanosecond Ryan felt his fist clench and his muscles begin to operate, ready to strike out at the face that was leaning over him.

“It’s me, Dad.”

“I know that.”

“Only you looked sort of scary for a minute there. Like I was king of the stickies and you”

Ryan swung his legs over the side of the bed, seeing Krysty was already pulling on her Western boots, running her fingers through her tangled hair.

“Yeah, sorry, son,” he said. “Just that my sleep banks are a bit low.”

The boy nodded. “We were worried when you two didn’t come back after all that rain.”

Ryan tightened the laces on his combat boots, blinking owlishly at the plate of cold tortillas and fish stew that stood congealed by the bed. “Never touched the food,” he said.

“Nor me, lover. Not when the magic lady of the sand came galloping by us.”

“Instant shut-eye.”

“Sure was.”

They smiled at each other, both standing at the same moment. Cool, clear light came filtering through the beaded curtain across the front doorway of the hut.

“Everyone else up?” Ryan asked.

At that instant the curtain rattled and Doc walked in, flourishing the ebony swordstick. “Here I am, my dear, dear friends. The famous Burlington Bertie, who rises sharply at ten-thirty. Burlington Bertie from Where was it? From Bow. Beau Brummell? Surely not.” He shook his head. “I lost my train of thought there, perhaps propelled by a switch of the points into a deserted siding. Anyway, the word out on the highways and byways of this charming ville is that we are all up and waiting to hear your stories. Positively agog for it.”