James Axler – Deathlands

“Yeah. I hope they come soon. Trader used to say that being combat honed only lasted a day or so. Then everyone starts to lose that sharpness.”

“The adrenaline edge,” Mildred said. “It’s true. Like if a big sporting event gets postponed, even for an hour, the competitors start off flat and stale.”

“Itzcoatl remarked that he would like some repair work done on the clay wall of that fishing dam, a mile or so north.” Doc wiped his mouth, overlooking a smear of chili on his chin. “Said that he could send the younger children and a couple of the older women to keep an eye on them. If there’s any sign of trouble, they would melt away into the trees.”

Ryan looked at the old man. “You got a daub of food on your chin, Doc.”

“Oh, my apologies.” He scrubbed away with the sleeve of his antique frock coat. “What about the children and the dam? Itzcoatl was insistent it needed doing after all that torrential rain the other day.”

“Don’t like it. J.B., what d’you think?”

“Don’t much like it, either. Problem is that if we go and guard them, we won’t be much good against the whole mess of slavers. They’re going to be vulnerable.”

Ryan nodded. “Still, it’s their village and their dam and their children. I guess we tell him that we aren’t happy but leave it down to him.”

“I could go with them, Dad.”

Ryan considered the idea and nearly allowed his son to go, but finally decided against it.

LATER THAT MORNING Ryan was checking the walls and traps with Doc and Jak, when Itzcoatl joined them. The chief looked concerned, squinting from one of the Anglos to another, finally addressing Jak.

“The two women who took food to the children up at earth wall that holds water have not come back.”

“How long?” the albino asked.

Time was a problem. Itzcoatl bit his lip. “Been gone longer than should have been going.”

Ryan caught Jak’s eye. “Worth a check. Want to go take a look and report back here?”

“Sure. Want come, Doc?”

The old man looked at the sky. It had brightened since the early dawn and the sun had broken through wisps of high cumulus cloud.

“Why not?” he said.

JAK LED THE WAY NORTH, careful not to set too fast a pace. Even so, Doc was struggling as the sun rose higher and the humidity increased.

“Upon my sacred soul, laddie! I have the fear that you might turn around and see a heap of clothing containing a few old bones and a puddle of perspiration.”

“Want go village?”

“No,” Doc replied, mopping at his streaming forehead with his kerchief. “Never let it be said that a Tanner gave up on anything.” He waved his sword-stick angrily at a large hornet that had been threatening his nose. “Aroint thee, vile beastie!”

“Not far now,” the teenager said encouragingly.

“You think there might be trouble, Jak?”

“Who knows, Doc.”

“QUIET.”

Doc took it to be a statement rather than a command. “Indeed it is, dear boy. In my time in Deathlands I have come to learn that such a stillness can oft betoken danger. You think that the slavers might be close by?”

“Might be, Doc. Stay in side of trail and keep triple-red watch.”

The sun was close to being directly overhead, and the temperature had risen way above the hundred mark. Doc drew the big Le Mat from its holster and cocked the hammer over the single 18-gauge round.

“Surely they wouldn’t have harmed the children, Jak. Would they?”

“Never underestimate potential of butchers to carry out trade.”

The trail was narrowing, rising slightly alongside a stream. The earth dam was less than a hundred yards ahead of them, but there was no sound of life up there.

“Look,” Jak said, pointing above the topmost branches of the surrounding trees to the black, circling silhouettes moving against the blue sky.

“Vultures.” Doc hawked and spit in the long grass. “Disgusting creatures with their lean, pouched necks and bloodshot eyes.” He stopped abruptly, realizing what they portended. “Oh, by the Three Kennedys, let them not not all”