James Axler – Freedom Lost

“Wait, Dean. Don’t go running off on your own,” Ryan growled, but the impetuous boy had already gone around the blind corner.

And come face-to-face with the haunted eyes of a new threat.

Chapter Six

Dean Cawdor was sometimes headstrong and impulsive and all of the other things a boy his age could be called, but certainly he wasn’t a coward. That much of his makeup came from his gene pool. Still, he could be startled and react accordingly. So when his choked cry of surprise reached his father and friends, they knew something unexpected had happened.

After Dean yelled, he almost fell backward as he tried to put distance between himself and the unexpected figure he’d nearly run over. The boy pulled out his blaster as he retreated and leveled it at the intruder.

Already heading toward his son, Ryan had unholstered his own weapon and readied it. “Back off, Dean,” he yelled, lining up the sights of the pistol to fire a killing shot as he waited for whatever it was to advance carefully around the blind spot of the corner.

“D-don’t shoot, for Christ’s sake!” the offstage figure said.

“Doesn’t sound like a stickie,” Krysty remarked. “Come on around, then, nice and slow,” Ryan ordered, the barrel of the blaster unwavering.

Dean was still in the vantage point. “He’s got his hands up, Dad.”

A man stepped carefully around the corner, his hands held high over his head, smooth palms out and open to show his nonmutie status. His mouth was hanging open in complete and utter shock. The entire force of stickies had been cleared in less than thirty seconds, their lifeless bodies littering the floor.

“You got them all?” he asked.

“No. There’s still you,” Ryan growled.

“Don’t shoot,” he cried. “I’m a norm!”

“Good way to get chilled, norm or not. Toss your blaster over here, nice and easy. Take it out with two fingers, and try not to drop it and shoot yourself in the foot.”

“How do I know you won’t chill me?”

“What’s stopping me from chilling you now, stupe?” Dean retorted, his courage flowing back into his veins.

“Got a point, I guess.”

“Been enough chilling in here. Until you do or say otherwise, I’ll take you as a norm. Keep your blaster on him, son,” Ryan said as he holstered his own drawn pistol and handed over the captured piece to J.B.

“Colt .45 auto,” the Armorer said. “And even without my specs, I can tell it needs a good cleaning. What do you want to do with this dumb shit, Ryan?”

“Ryan?” the scavenger repeated, a light of recognition in his brown eyes. “You’re Ryan Cawdor! And that must be J. B. Dix! I’ll be dunked in honey and oven-roastedyou guys rode the wags with Trader!”

“That was a while back. And you seem to know a hell of a lot about us for a stranger.”

“I get around, Mr. Cawdor. Heard some things. Talked late into the night with a guy named Abe who was trying to track down Trader after he’d heard the old salt wasn’t as dead as had been previously reported. Abe told me some stories and described you two. Not that many people walking around Deathlands with features as distinctive as yoursat least, traveling together with other people like the redhead and the albino. Uh, no disrespect intended,” the man babbled nervously.

“What’s your game?” Ryan asked.

“I’m a scaviea scavenger. I find and I sell.”

“You’re a damn bone-picker, is what you mean,” J.B. muttered.

“We all got to make a living, Dix. But I don’t pick no bones or truck with dead men.”

“Speaking of dead men,” Mildred said. “I’d just as soon get the hell away from all these stickies. Find another place to quiz our new buddy.”

“Okay. You keep quiet, and you might get out of here alive. Got it?” The scavie nodded eagerly. “You’re a fast learner,” Ryan noted approvingly. “Most people screw up and say ‘Yeah.’ Can’t seem to keep their mouths shut.”

The travelers split into two teams, with J.B. and Dean staying in the corridor to keep an eye on the scavie. Doc and Jak took one end, Ryan, Mildred and Krysty the other. The rooms and corridors were laid out in a simple rectangle shape. They passed a cryo lab, a suite of empty hospital beds, a single nonfunctioning elevator, a front reception area with long dead phones and other such hardware and a sizable hole that Adrian had blown into the wall for admittance. No armory, no food and no supplies, except for a small first-aid kit Mildred found in a bedside drawer.