James Axler – Gaia’s Demise

IT TOOK A FULL CORD of wood to finally consume the mutie, his flesh oddly resistant to the conflagration. But at least he was reduced to ashes, the residue thrown into the river to be washed away.

Chapter Thirteen

Five large men walked their horses to the edge of the ravine and stared at the ruined bridge.

“Escaped,” the biggest man hissed. “They have escaped again. This is intolerable!” An M-60 machine gun was resting on his shoulder as if the massive weapon were a simple longblaster, the linked belt of ammo dangling to his knees. A hairy pouch slung over his other shoulder bulged with a spare belt. The handles of knives jutted from each boot, and a revolver rode in a holster at the small of his back. Covered by his loose shirt, it was almost undetectable.

“Mebbe we should give up,” said one of the others, kicking some charred wood over the edge. It tumbled out of sight. He tugged at his good-luck necklace, which was made of human ears. “I mean, we’ve been after these people since Thunder Pass!”

“Stop your complaining,” a bald man snapped, his head covered with colorful tattoos. He carried a machete in a shoulder holster, and dried human scalps dangled from his belt as ornaments. “In the morning, we’ll find a way across once we have some daylight.”

“How’s the food?” a thin man asked. Clothes seemed to hang off his skeletal frame, yet he ate more than any two of them. A sawed-off shotgun rode at his hip, extra rounds lining his tan-colored belt. The ornate buckle was carved from white bone.

“We’re down to only a few pounds of meat,” a hairy man said. Carrying a bolt-action longblaster, he was bare chested in spite of the evening chill, bandoliers of ammo crisscrossing his herculean torso. “But we have those fresh supplies we caught escaping from the ville.”

On the back of a pack horse, the bound captive squirmed and kicked from within a rolled blanket. A bamboo tube fed enough air for the gaudy slut to breathe, and the blanket hid her from the casual sight of strangers.

“Gut and cook her,” said Scarface, displaying pointed teeth. Starting at his forehead, a long jagged slash traversed his features, going into his shirt and out of sight. “We’ll think better with a full stomach.”

TWO DAYS LATER, the companions were camped on the top of a hill overlooking the ruins of a predark metropolis. Silvery with reflected moonlight, dark monoliths rose from the jumble of fallen structures and windblown debris. A great amphitheater, or sports arena, stood by itself at the far end. No lights shone from the hundreds of windows, and no smoke rose through the many holes in the roofs. There was no smell of machinery, and no sounds marred the stillness of the evening.

“It’s dead,” Krysty stated knowingly, as she added more sticks to the campfire. As a precaution, the companions had dug a hole for the fire so the flames wouldn’t be discernible to anybody below, but their precautions seemed unwarranted.

“There’s nothing on the map,” J.B. said, sounding annoyed, squinting to read by the flickering light. “My best guess would have been that this area was nothing but peach orchards.”

Ryan rubbed his unshaved chin. “Strange,” he admitted. “Very strange.”

A few yards away, the horses whinnied in the darkness from hunger. Yesterday, the companions had passed a field full of rye. But after inspecting the grain, Mildred refused to let them feed any to the horses. It was contaminated with an ersatz mold she said could be fatal.

Unfortunately, they were entering desert, and grass was getting scarce. With no other choice, the companions went through their supplies, feeding the horses everything they could—the rest of the apples, bread, granola bars, crackers, dried vegetables and peanut butter. Combined with the tiny sugar packets from the MRE coffee packs and what green grass they could find, the mixture had sustained the animals until now.

“We’ve got to find them something to eat, or the horses will start to weaken,” Ryan said, chewing on another piece of smoked fish. “Then they’ll rebel, and we’ll have to chill them.”