James Axler – Freedom Lost

Ike smiled in agreement. “I know. Things have gotten pretty hot up on the roof, as well. Muties popping up like fucking rats. Falling around up there like rain.”

“Ohh” Doc moaned.

“Doc! What’s wrong?” Mildred asked, turning to the older man.

“My blessed heart, my heart,” Doc said, clutching at his chest with both hands and staggering forward a single step before entering an unsupported free fall with a one-way plummet down flat on his hawklike face.

A close listener would have heard an additional sound. As Doc fell forward in a very convincing collapse, there was the light, deadly snick of the steel blade hidden within the ebony sheath of his lion’s-head swordstick hissing free. The sharp weapon came sliding out, and the old man slashed fast and hard with the revealed blade of the rapier as he allowed himself to continue his fall facedown and out of harm’s way.

Doc wasn’t worried about fair play. He used the blade and aimed for the two men’s faces and eyes, carving out red rivulets as he fell like the strike of a plummeting eagle.

Backing his distraction, Mildred and J.B. each chose a target.

Mildred’s face was set like a carved piece of onyx, her dark eyes narrowed and bright as she took aim along the barrel of the Czech target pistol.

J.B. peered impassively from behind his new specs as he flipped the scattergun into position in a fluid movement of death.

The resulting sounds of the twin triggers being pulled in the corridor were like the release of tightly bottled nitro.

Later, after all was said and done, Doc was very grateful the resulting splash of crimson blood and entrails had found its way out of the backs of the traitorous sec men and onto the floor. Not a drop landed on his long white hair or faded black frock coat.

“I didn’t like those bastards the first go ’round,” J.B. said. “Told Ryan we should’ve chilled them then.”

“You okay, Doc?” Mildred asked, lifting him up carefully and bringing the spindly man first to his knees, then to his feet.

Doc took a step and winced. “Other than my poor bruised knees, I shall live.”

“Crazy move.” J.B. grinned. “Crazy, suicidal move.”

“I am afraid you are the worst of influences, John Barrymore.”

“You two can compare notes on being heroes later. We’ve got to find Ryan,” Mildred said, swinging open the heavy sec door that allowed access to the rooftop.

“No need,” Ryan said as he, Krysty and Jak came in.

“Where are the other Freedom sec men?” J.B asked in surprise.

“The ones worth a damn are probably dead. Rollins bought the casket upstairs. His backups did the same.”

The friends quickly greeted one another with exhilaration that all were still alive and relatively safe, as safe as could be inside the rapidly deteriorating conditions inside the mall.

“What next?”

“First we get Dean,” Ryan said.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The cell block attached to the Freedom Mall sec force was known as the Wings. Why was a mystery, although Doc suspected the slang term might have origins in either the prevention of the prisoners from being “as free as birds” or that it was more theatrical in nature, keeping troublemakers in Freedom offstage and out of the public eye by being locked away in the wings, the wings being a reference to the areas off the main stage to the right and the left.

Either way, the reunited group of friends were lacking one of their own, and that was Dean Cawdor, who had been shut away, awaiting release when their terms as hired guns had paid his freightand Jak’sfor the damage to the vid arcade.

Retracing his steps of the daily visit he paid Dean, Ryan walked past the deserted admittance desk, through a half door, into a back-hallway annex. He looked in the empty visitor’s center and waved his friends along to the rear section, where a heavy steel door with a U-shaped handle was closed.

“This must lead to the cells,” Ryan said.

“Yeah,” Jak confirmed.

Mildred drew her pistol. “We going in?”

“Might have to blast if the door is locked,” J.B. said.