In a two-on-two combat formation with Ryan on the point, the companions proceeded along the cracked concrete to the loading dock as if moving through a minefield. As he reached the top, a dark shape on the floor smelled familiar, and Ryan touched the soft material. Warm horse shit. Jak had been right. This was the place.
“How did you know?” asked Krysty, pressing her mouth to his ear.
“Front door too small for horses,” Ryan whispered tersely. “Greenies had to get the horses inside somehow.”
At the loading doors, Ryan raised a hand palm outward and the others froze. Inspecting the tracks, he found grease on one and tentatively identified it as animal fat.
The glass in the view slot of the door was gone, replaced with wood paneling. Drawing the SIG-Sauer, he aimed the barrel at the wood and gave a horse whinny. Something moved inside and he emptied the clip, the soft coughs of the silenced blaster counterpointed with snapping noises as the slugs plowed through the paneling. Immediately, the companions pushed up the door and found two greenies lying on the floor, their vines already withering.
Lowering the door, Doc and Dean dragged the bodies into a corner while J.B. stood guard with the Uzi. Straight ahead was an empty area with faint stripes painted on the terrazzo floor, the warehouse for the armory. Across the room was a door marked Washroom, and a hallway. Keeping to the walls, the companions crossed the storage room in groups, each covering the other in case of traps or snipers. But no one had witnessed their intrusion.
Holstering the SIG-Sauer, Ryan removed the long-blaster from his shoulder and gently worked the bolt, the click-clack sounding unnaturally loud in the gloomy stillness. When no one challenged them, Ryan held up two separated fingers, then pointed to the left and the right. Understanding the signals, the companions split into two groups to avoid offering a group target.
The quiet of the armory was unnerving. The thick walls kept out the soft desert breeze, and not even the drip of water marred the near perfect silence. Gaping doorways lined the corridor, opening onto dusty offices, a looted storage closet and private bedrooms for officers.
The end of the hallway was a branching intersection with more doors. Two proved to be locked, and by the cobwebs on the hinges it was safe to say neither had been used in years. However, a set of double doors had clean hinges, dripping with fat. Easing their way through, the companions realized this was the barracks for the troops. The rows of bunks were coated with dust and cobwebs, but a clear path led through the barracks to a group of figures sitting in a circle, nosily eating.
Moonlight streamed through the right side windows, illuminating the bizarre scene. A horse lay in the middle of the muties, its hide peeled back to allow them easy access to the pale meat and organs. The leafy muties were removing morsels with their bare hands and stuffing the food into their mouths, gobbling and slavering in joyous repast.
Doc made a gagging noise and leveled the LeMat.
“Chill them!” Ryan shouted, triggering the Steyr, the 7.62 mm round blowing the head off a feasting greenie.
Dumbfounded, the muties could only stare in shock as the humans steadily advanced, firing their weapons. Mouths smeared with blood, the greenies fell to the floor, riddled with bullets, but two of them managed to grab blowpipes and stand before receiving fatal head wounds.
Moving among the dead, J.B. checked the corpses just to make sure, and Ryan turned away, holstering his blaster. “Okay, let’s find the rest of the horses.”
Quickly, the companions went through the armory, opening every door, exploring every room. But they found only decay and refuse, gnawed bones and junk. Within a quarter hour, they regrouped in the barracks.
“Hey, over here!” Dean called from the armory. “Found them!”
The companions converged on the corridor to find Dean standing near an open doorway. The hinges had been ripped from the jamb, the door itself resting against the wall. A strong smell of blood and feces emanated from inside. The boy’s face revealed barely controlled anger.