James Axler – Gemini Rising

In agonizing pain, the man panted steadily as if running away from death. But Mildred knew that race was already over. Overton was dying, and there was nothing she could do, even if she wanted to. It was simply amazing he had lasted this long.

With a strangled cry, Overton writhed under the blanket, clawing madly at the air. “Kill me,” he gasped, the dark stains spreading on the blanket.

“I can’t,” Mildred said, brushing the hair off his sweaty face.

“Please”

Debating with herself, the physician rummaged in her medical bag and unearthed a plastic film canister. A strip of duct tape kept it closed airtight. Removing the tape, she popped the top and yanked out the cotton wadding to expose three tiny capsules that resembled vitamins. With extreme care, she broke one in two and placed it up the nose of the dying man.

“Sniff,” she commanded, closing his other nostril. “Sniff hard.”

Overton did and cried out, “It burns!”

With his mouth open, she poured the other half of the gelatin capsule down his throat. He hawked and coughed, gagging on the double dose, then calmed strangely, muscles relaxing, and a great peaceful calm washed over the man.

“Thank you,” he said, sighing. “Oh, thank you. The pain is gone.”

“Gone forever,” she whispered. “I gave you a shot of pure quill jolt, enough to kill six men. There will be no more pain. Ever.”

Already in a dreamy state, his eyes glazed as the wild drug mixture took him on a private lethal journey.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“I don’t torture people,” she replied simply. The man’s face was ashen, his pulse racing over ninety. Mildred knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Nobody could with that much of the hellish drug coursing through his shattered body, but that was the only amount large enough to do any good. Even in the redoubts, she hadn’t encountered morphine or ether. Pain was a part of life these days, as inescapable as Deathlands itself.

“Torture?”

“You’re already dead. No sense in making you suffer.”

“I would have,” he said, slurring the words.

“Yes, I know,” she whispered, dampening a cloth and washing the sweat from his face.

A shudder shook the man, his eyes rolling backward until only the whites showed. Mildred started to reach out, but there was nothing more she could do. Even with the facilities of a full predark hospital, the physician didn’t believe he could have been saved. The tiny .22 rounds reflected off bones, piercing vital organs in a wild orgy of destruction before exiting. Youth and rage had carried Overton this far, but even those were failing now. She removed her blaster and laid it out of his reach. If things got any worse, then she would end the matter as fast and as painless as possible.

“Pay debts” he whispered, drooling out the side of his slack mouth. “Always pay debtsnothing free”

Overton clawed weakly at the chron on his wrist. Mildred helped him to remove it, thinking he meant to give the watch to her as payment for the drug. But as it came free, he tossed the device away and slumped. Confused, she glanced at the strip of bare white flesh on the tanned arm. There was a small tattoo there.

“Dear God in heaven,” Mildred gasped, then turned and yelled, “Ryan, get down here!”

A minute later, Ryan sauntered in sucking stew right out of the MRE envelope. “Need some help?” he asked casually.

“Clem would be happy to shoot him some more,” Krysty added, appearing beside the man.

“Look at his wrist,” Mildred said, pointing.

In no apparent hurry, the Deathlands warrior and the titian-haired beauty came closer, then paused, their faces altering into total shock. The number 352 was tattooed on his pale skin in black ink.

“The code to open the doors of a redoubt,” Ryan said hoarsely, dropping the military ration pack.

Her hair fanning out, Krysty turned and drew her blaster, making sure that nobody else was close enough to hear the conversation. A brown shirt was coming their way, and she leveled the weapon.

“Sorry, private conversation,” Krysty said, clicking back the hammer. “Baron stuff, you understand.”