James Axler – Freedom Lost

All of the new mutations striving for survival alongside the “norms.”

However, no truces were forthcoming. Along with the rewritten genetics that created the mutants came what one long forgotten wag termed as “brain rot.”

The Barrens

THE TRAVELERS had arrived at the redoubt after an arduous journey across barren wasteland. Their mode of transport had been a fantastic mix of ancient chariot and powerful motorized carriage, but the vehicle’s engines were nearly drained. An electrical recharge would have been needed if they intended to carry on farther, but fate had intervened. They had reached an intended destination safely and had gone inside to initiate their locational remove from the gateway. Then something had occurred to Ryan, and he cursed at himself. He should have thought of it before. Now they were all outside the vanadium doors again. “I don’t think we were followed,” J. B. Dix said, taking what he hoped was a final look at that stretch of California. He reached up and pulled down the brim of his battered fedora to shield his eyes against the sun. “If anyone was on our trail, they’re too far back to try anything now. Flat as it is around here, we would’ve seen them if they got too close.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Ryan Cawdor muttered by way of a reply. By his very carriage and attitude, it was obvious the lean man with the scarred visage and eye patch was the leader of the group. Ryan had taken the controls of the vehicle and kept them on their course for the duration of the journey back to the redoubt, trusting his comrades to keep a watch on their potential pursuers.

Miles away, back along the path they had come, was the city of Aten, a construct of ancient Egypt standing hale and hearty on North American soil. Aten was where the Pharaoh Akhnaton had once reigned, until a final, fatal run-in with Krysty Wroth, one of the two women of the group. A hypnotic mix of man and mutation, the pharaoh had been named Hell Eyes by complacent followers, a title bestowed upon him in a mixture of awe and fear.

Ryan Cawdor was in a triple bad mood. He could still taste the grit between his lips from his desert flight. The air was hot, like breathing vapors from the back of a overheated war wag. When they had first arrived here, guesses as to their location had included the Sahara and the Gobi. Logistics aside, that’s still what it looked and felt like.

Ryan sighed. They needed to keep moving.

“We can’t leave this contraption here,” he told them. “Jak and Dean, you will take the chariot out back of the dome. If anybody does come looking, no need to advertise this is where we stopped.”

“Right, Dad,” Dean replied, as he and Jak, a whipcord lean, ruby-eyed albino teenager stepped up. Ryan passed over a fleeting desire to burn the sturdy little vehiclethe smoke plume would be visible for miles.

“We could always bury the damn thing,” J.B suggested, echoing Ryan’s own unvoiced worries.

“You feel like trying to dig in this bastard heat?”

J.B. grinned tightly, his teeth hidden behind thin lips. “Hell no.”

“What are you two talking about?” Mildred Wyeth asked as Dean and Jak returned from the rear of the building.

“Way the wind tends to kick up out here, our tracks won’t be around for longI hope,” Ryan stated, pointing at the obvious trail left by the tires of the chariot. “But leaving this thing here out front is a red flag in a bull’s pasture.”

“Pardon me, my dear Ryan, but might I make a suggestion?” The request came from the skeletal man in the faded frock coat who had been hovering around the edges of the conversation, listening intently, one hand stroking his narrow chin and the other working a black sword stick through his fingers like a baton.

“Not now, Doc,” Ryan replied.

“No need to be so abrupt, lover,” Krysty Wroth interjected, her long prehensile red hair resting gently on her shoulders. “Let Doc speak his piece.”

Krysty’s green eyes caught Ryan’s single blue orb.

He glared backannoyed at the interference when their safety was uppermost in his mind. Then he let himself relax. The fight or flight adrenaline was raging inside him, the survival instinct keeping him on edge. As far as Ryan’s weary body was concerned, until they were far away from the Barrens, they weren’t safe.