James Axler – Judas Strike

There was a shadow cast from overhead and Doc landed in the prison cell, an M-16 cradled in his arms. “Prudence dictates decorum,” the scholar said, working the bolt on the rapidfire.

“Sweep it,” Ryan ordered, jerking a thumb at the door.

Doc stuck the fluted barrel of the M-16 out of the doorway and fired a burst in both directions. Screams announced hits, and the two men charged out of the cell, blasters firing. Already wounded, the cannies waiting in ambush were aced in seconds, their flintlocks remaining unfired. Stooping, Ryan picked up two of the weapons and fired one, then screamed as if in pain and fired the other.

“That’ll make them think we’re wounded,” he said, casting the spent blasters away. “They’ll get brave, easier to chill.”

“Exemplary, my dear Mr. Cawdor,” Doc rumbled, tucking one of the ammo pouches from the dead into a pocket of his frock coat.

With catlike speed, Jak appeared from the cell with the second M-16. J.B. was right behind, the Uzi sweeping for targets. A spare ammo clip from the recovered munitions bag was tucked into his belt for fast access.

“What this?” Jak demanded, squinting in the dim light.

“Some sort of underground lair,” Doc said. “Highly appropriate for eaters of the dead. Almost ironic.”

The corridor walls were stacked rows of bamboo tucked into place behind thick wooden beams that supported a jigsaw of wooden pieces: roofing shingles, tabletops, decorative louvered doors, plywood, ship planks, anything that would serve as roofing. Every few yards, there was a niche in the wall with a clay bowl full of some greasy substance, a burning piece of cloth serving as a crude wick. The passageway extended to the left for only a short distance before ending at a mound of fresh-turned earth—the cave-in from the C-4 blast. The right ended at a sharp left turn. There was no noise or voices discernible, only the slow echoing drip of water striking stone from somewhere distant.

“Smells odd,” Jak stated, crinkling his nose.

“They’re burning human fat in the lamps,” Ryan said grimly.

“Devs.”

“Agreed.”

“Well, leaving won’t be a problem,” Ryan stated, looking over the collapsed tunnel. “We can climb the cave-in and reach the ground easy.”

“Indeed. As long as the folks on the other side don’t dig their way out,” Doc reminded him curtly. “Perhaps I should stay as rear guard, to prevent such an occurrence.”

“Good idea,” Ryan said. “Anybody with us when we came back, and I’ll use code.”

Hesitating for a moment, Doc offered the man the M-16, but he pushed it back. “You may need it,” Ryan said, glancing at the ton of collapsed soil.

The scholar nodded. “Understood.”

“Hey, what that?” Jak asked, retrieving a small piece of dirty cloth from the floor. It wasn’t a wick for one of the candle bowls, or a used snot rag. On a hunch, he held it to the clothing of the dead men and it was completely different.

“This Ann?” the teenager asked, showing it to the others.

Ryan took the rag and looked it over closely. “Same color,” he said thoughtfully. “And it has been ripped loose, not cut. Mebbe she’s laying a trail for us to follow.”

“Or a trap for us to walk blindly into,” J.B. stated, straightening his glasses.

“Come on,” Ryan said, advancing, “Let’s find her and get out of here.”

He took the point and crouched to sneak a peek around the corner of the tunnel. There was a long passageway beyond that stretched for yards before ending at another intersection. Rising, he led the way down the corridor, pausing at a dark section of earth that rose ever so slightly above the rest of the floor. Ryan scuffed his combat boot on the ground and detected a subtle movement under the newly turned soil. He fired twice into the ground. There was a muffled cry and blood began to ooze from the earth.

“Triple stupe,” he stated coldly. “Old trick. Trader taught it to us over beers at Charlie’s bar.”

“Called it a Hanoi Handjob,” J.B. added.

“No shit?” Jak asked nervously, brushing back his snowy hair. The cannies buried a man to wait like a land mine for one of them to step on, and then he’d attack. It was brilliant. The teenager now scrutinized the dirt floor and the jigsaw-puzzle ceiling much more closely for any additional living traps.