James Axler – Deathlands

“Fingers crossed,” Doc muttered. “I am sure that we have the proportions correct this”

There was a flash of brilliant silvery white light from the metal tube that lasted less than a hundredth of a second, almost blinding the watchers. The two native women both screamed and clung to each other for support.

But after the flash, there was nothing.

“That it?” Dean said, rubbing at his eyes, not bothering to hide his disappointment. “Might scare them slavers for a whole bit of a minute.”

J.B. shook his head, walking toward the smoldering patch of scorched grass. “That was just the igniter mixture going. But it didn’t set off the thermite.”

Doc brushed a fly from the corner of his mouth. “Let us look on the bright side, my friend John. As the great Welsh philosopher, Daffydd ap Thomas, remarked, one must overcome the large defeats and cherish the small victories. We are getting there, John. Oh, yes, we are getting there.”

BY DUSK OF THE THIRD DAY, everyone in the village was starting to get restless.

Dean summed it up after they’d eaten supper and gone back to their own huts. “Whole place is antsy, Dad. Getting so they almost want Bivar and his gang to come so they can get it all over with, one way or the other.”

Ryan sat on the bed, pulling off his muddied combat boots. The belt with the SIG-Sauer and the panga lay on the floor at his side. Krysty had gone to the lake to wash and cool off after the hard work of the day, leaving the father and son together.

“You think they’re frightened, Dean?”

“No. Not scared. They seem to think that having Jak with them means that nothing can go wrong. And all the rest of us, as well. I keep overhearing them talking about the will of the gods and all that shit.”

“Not shit to them, son.”

“Guess not.”

“Thing worries me is the way everyone keeps snatching quick worshiping looks at Jak, when they think nobody’s watching them. Bothers me that they still hang on to this belief that Jak’s the chosen one that their religion talks about. The god with the pale skin and hair like white fire that’ll come and rescue them and make them all right forever and ever.”

“Amen,” the boy said.

“This business with the slavers could easy go wrong and twist in our hands like a broken knife. I get the feeling that Itzcoatl and his priests are going to want someone to point an accusing finger at.”

“And that’ll be Jak.”

“That’ll be Jak and us, son.”

RYAN AND KRYSTY MADE LOVE that third night, savoring the exquisite pleasure of each other’s body, the silken feel of skin over taut muscle, the mixture of stillness and movement, using hands and fingertips and tongues on each other, relishing the delight of giving delight.

Ryan gasped as he thrust deep into Krysty, his face pressed to her neck, while her arms tightened around him, long nails working patterns across his shoulders.

After they had reached the divine heights of a simultaneous orgasm, they lay quietly in each other’s arms. She kissed him on the cheek. “Very good, lover.” she whispered.

“Me too.”

“Do you think they’ll attack us soon?”

He took a slow breath. “Mebbe tomorrow. Who knows? But we still got tonight.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The fourth day opened dull and overcast, with a hint of drizzle in the air.

There was no communal breaking of the night’s fast, everyone eating in the shelter of the huts. Ryan asked the four others to join him, Krysty and Dean in their main room, sitting around eating the fresh-baked maize bread, ladling out helpings of the fiery red beans and chili.

“Today?” Jak asked.

Ryan held out his hands. “It wasn’t yesterday. Could be tomorrow. Might be today.”

“How about sending scouts into the forest? Try and break their trail.” J.B. was polishing the dampness from his spectacles as he spoke.

“No.” Ryan reached for a mug of water. “Slavers snare them and make them talk, and we’re all dead meat.”

“Everything’s just about as ready as it can be, isn’t it?” asked Krysty.