James Axler – Freedom Lost

“No, Ryan. They kept their destination private,” Doc declared sadly. “Ah, children. What is one to do with the wee ones? I remember my own pair of imps, how rosy their cheeks would glow whenever they stumbled into some new mischief. Oh, how my dear Emily would shout whenever Rachel and my precious, sweet little Jolyon would get into the kitchen cupboards.”

“Doc, we don’t have time for the trip down memory lane,” Ryan said. “Shake off the booze! We’re going to have to go and find Dean and Jak. They’d never be out this late without good reason.”

“You and I are both out in the early hours of the morning, Ryan. But I would give anything to be home in my own little wooden bed with the pillows Emily made herself and stuffed with goose feathers, my hand crooked in the hollow of her waist, listening to the soft sounds of her snoring.”

As Doc spoke, tears started to fall down his lined cheeks.

“Listen to me, listen to me. I get a few sips of alcohol and I grow unbearably melancholy. How sad. Nobody buys drinks for a sloppy drunk.”

“I know, Doc, but I’m trying to deal with the here and now. If you want, I’ll leave you behind while I go round up J.B., Mildred and Krysty. If we split up, we should be able to track them down, whether they’re still in the vid arcade or not. We can go down to that directory list and find the place on the mall map.”

Doc rested his head on the tacky surface of the table as the waitress returned with the requested pitcher of beer and an empty glass mug.

“You want me to pour?” she asked.

“Thanks. No. Sorry I bit your head off earlier,” Ryan replied, digging out a wad of the mall currency from when he made the exchange at the Bank of Freedom. He pressed two of the higher-denomination bills into her waiting hand.

The waitress winked. “Mister, you keep tipping this good, and you can bite off whatever you like.”

As the woman turned away, Ryan looked out past her and spotted twin men dressed in the forest green of mall security as they stepped into the dimly lit bar.

Ryan couldn’t quite make out their faces in the gauze-like texture of the air, which hung heavy with a mix of cheap cigarette and marijuana smoke. The sec men could be off duty, but Ryan doubted it. Something about their demeanor indicated they were alert, on the job and looking for an unlucky mall visitor or resident.

They paused at the head of the long pub bar. The bartender shrugged and pointed at the small table in the rear where Ryan and Doc were sitting. The pair of sec men turned and started making their way back at a deliberately measured pace. “Fireblast,” Ryan hissed.

“What, pray tell, has happened now?” Doc asked, his head still on the sticky tabletop and nestled in the crook of his elbow. Doc’s back was to the bar. He couldn’t have seen the new arrivals. Ryan was surprised when his drinking companion had spoken. He believed Doc had finally passed out from the limpness of his body and the slowed breathing pattern he entered into after consuming the contents of his final glass of whiskey.

Now Doc’s eyes were half-open and staring at him, struggling to raise themselves from the alcoholic mire. Even in the midst of tying one on, Doc had caught the hint of anxiety in Ryan’s muttered epithet. “Company, Doc. Two Freedom sec men,” Ryan murmured. “One of them is that Rollins guy we met outside. Keep stillI’ll give you a signal in case there’s trouble. They won’t be expecting anything from an old drunk.”

“Hic,” Doc whispered, and winked in reply before closing his eyes and letting his upper body ooze into a pose of slack drunkenness once more.

Once the men got closer, Ryan could see there was a wide age difference between the two. Off his horse, Rollins was as tall as Ryan, with a similar posture and build. That’s where the similarities ended. The sec leader was bald, but had compensated for the lack of hair on his scalp by growing a wide mustache. He carried a huge long blaster cradled in his arms, held in a nonthreatening fashion but still within easy reach and use.