James Axler – Freedom Lost

Other stickies now began to speak, their comments overlapping and interrupting.

“Drove the norms out of the city, but they still want to stay in the mall.”

“I hear the mall’s nice.”

“Norms like it. Norms like nice things. Nice soft things.”

“Mmm. Norms are soft.”

“Norms are pussies.”

“Could go for some norm pussy.” Stickie laughter rang out in the warehouse. Rough sex with a norm was always a treat, and they knew the mall was full of succulent norm flesh. More discussion created a sexually charged atmosphere, and one or two of the slower stickies were aroused and turned their attention to more immediate fulfillment. “Yeah. Yeah,” one of the pair breathed as his right arm worked. He looked at himself with approval as he tugged and pulled to create the enjoyable feelings. The second stickie involved in self-gratification wasn’t paying heed. He was involved with his own pleasure, preferring a softer, gentler touch that left him unaware of his surroundings.

“I don’t believe this,” a new voice said. Unlike the others in the room, this voice was hurried, with the words almost rushing out and stepping on top of one another to get what was needed said as quickly as possible. “Playing with yourselves again? If you’re horny, go find a mutie slut. Just spare me the sight of you guys flogging your logs for the amusement of your fellow muties.”

Norm and Budd came out of the small office near the semicircle of furniture. Once the office had been used for the dispatcher to check in and send out truckloads of tobacco, but now it was a base of operations for the new leaders of the stickie horde.

The pair had been living in Winston for many weeks now, and as the scarred human had predicted, the two had managed to align the stickie population into more of a coherent fighting force than ever before, even raiding convoys for weapons. Any qualms about Norm’s ancestry had been dismissed by his sheer ugliness and by the long-haired Budd’s willingness to back his friend up to the table.

Politics weren’t a stickie pastime. As long as they got to spend time burning and chilling, they were content to take Norm’s lead.

“See, Budd?” Norm said, his voice dripping with disgust. “This is why stickies are the joke of Deathlands. When you could be plotting to take over, you’re too damn busy holding jack-off contests.”

“Got someone for you to talk with,” one of the members of the half circle said slowly as he zipped up his pants. “Show you.”

Norm and Budd followed the stickie to a corner room in the warehouse.

“Who is it?” Norm asked.

“A scavie. Has information to sell.”

“Never heard tell of that, a man willing to rat out his kind to a mutie,” Norm said. “Could be a trick.”

“Perhapshe wants to live.” Budd said. “Man wants to livemight do anything. You should know.”

Norm’s lidless eye glared at the stickie. “He should still know better.”

Budd stopped before exiting the room. “What about you, Norm? How do you fit in?”

Norm’s face became even uglier. “Shut your hole, Budd, before I shut it for you.”

The disfigured man walked into the dimly lit room, where Alton Adrian was tied to a rickety kitchen chair. The man had been stripped naked, his long hair and beard the only covering on his entire body. A dirty gag was wadded into his mouth. The areas of exposed skin showed evidence of the loving touches laid upon him by his stickie captors.

Norm began walking around the terrified bound man in a slow, lazy circle. “Most of the problems I’ve ever had to deal with in Deathlands come from people trespassing,” he said. “Going where they don’t belong. There’s ways of making jack doing thisif you find them on your land or using your stuff, you charge them a fee. Make them pay. Used to get my joint sucked two or three times a week when I was a mercie running a toll road. See, if they didn’t have the jack, well, I made those going on through pay in different ways.”

“Who are you?” the scavie asked in a weak voice muffled by the gag.