James Axler – Judas Strike

“More folks dying,” Ryan said, scanning his good eye over the curved wall of identical containers.

“Poor bastards,” Doc said, but he kept a hand resting on the grip of the LeMat in its holster.

Going to a window, Jak waited for J.B. to cover the door with his Uzi, then he tossed a stone into the box. It hit something wooden, then rattled around on the metal floor. After waiting a moment, the teenager chanced a look inside.

“Clear,” he reported.

Doc and Dean pulled the heavy door aside, and Ryan walked into the box, careful not to hit Ann’s head on the badly cut doorway. Inside, there were tables made from wooden spools for holding coils of cables, and chairs of bamboo tied together with vines. Most of the knots were already frayed and unraveling. A ratty bed with rags sticking out of the mattress stood in a corner, and there was a stone fireplace with stacks of seasoned wood. Inside was an empty aluminum pot sitting on a triangle of bricks. One of the tables was stacked with pieces of blasters, flintlocks and predark revolvers, mixed together. Lying in alabaster clamshells was a collection of tools—worn hammers, blunt chisels, twisted screwdrivers and the like. Everything was smeared with fatty grease to keep away rust, and bunches of dried herbs hung from the metal wall to keep flies off the protective lard.

There was no sign of the baron, or any sec men.

“Set her here,” Mildred directed, going to the only bed.

Ryan placed the girl on the dirty mattress and looked around for a blanket of some kind to cover her. Nothing was in sight. Without comment, Doc slid off his frock coat and placed it over the still girl.

“Would have thought steel boxes would make for a good home,” J.B. said, pushing back his hat. “Obviously not.” There was no second floor, or another door to use for escape. Probably too tough to cut the plate steel.

Dean took a seat on one of the tables, the old wood creaking under his weight. “Think that dozer moved the boxes to make the wall?” he asked.

“No, they used slaves,” his father replied bluntly, lifting a set of shackles from the tool bench. “I’ll bet there’s a lot of flesh and blood crushed between these layers of steel.”

“Get a fire going,” Mildred ordered, pulling a chair close to the bed. “We need more heat in here, and make some bouillon. No coffee or tea. She needs salt.”

Jak went to the fireplace and got busy. Doc dropped his backpack and began to rummage around for MRE packs.

“Can you save her?” Ryan asked, leaning against the wall. “She knows something about the gateway.”

Mildred shrugged. In a proper hospital with a full medical staff, there would be no problem. Ann was warm, and cleaner. She had received clean water, and broth was coming. Antibiotics was what she needed now. Spreading the canvas flap of her med kit, Mildred took out a plastic sandwich box, popped the top and removed a plastic film canister, the kind photographers kept undeveloped rolls of film in. Burping the top, Mildred opened the canister and removed a folded foil board. Military antibiotics, the good stuff. She hadn’t seen better in years. However, even under ideal conditions the medicine would stay potent for ten years. Mildred could only hope there was a little life left after a full century.

Using a thumb, she pressed five of the tablets out of their bubbles and tucked the rest away. Knowing the stuff would taste as bitter as hell, Mildred crashed the tablets and mixed them with a full pack of sugar from a MRE pack. Adding some water, she swirled the mixture around and poured it down the throat of her patient. Ann murmured in response and made a face.

“Sour,” Ann said, smacking her lips.

“Okay, what happened on Spider Island?” Ryan asked, kneeling so they were face to face.

“Lieutenant Brandon had his sec men raid our ville,” Ann whispered, new strength in her voice. “He was looking for you.” She broke into a ragged cough.

Ryan frowned. Fireblast! He hadn’t considered that possibility. After blowing the bridge, the sec men did a recce on both islands and tortured the escaped slaves for any info they had on the companions. The women knew nothing, but that wouldn’t have stopped Brandon.