Moon Fate
Moon Fate
16 in the Deathland series James Axler
Chapter One
The morning was scorching hot, and a light wind carried the sharp scent of sagebrush to the nostrils of Ryan Cawdor and his son, Dean. They stood together, drawing in deep breaths of the New Mexico air.
It hadn’t been a bad jump.
Dean had been sick, and Ryan had suffered a small nosebleed. But now they were out of the claustrophobic depths of the ruined redoubt, only a few miles from Jak Lauren’s homestead, where they could both have a good hot bath that would wash away the yellow taint of sulfur that clung to them. A near deadly adventure in the cold north had left the pair coated with the stinking stuff.
“We need a good mealeggs, potatoes and some thick-sliced ham,” Ryan said, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “And sleep for a day and a half.”
“Sure, then” He paused, shading his eyes as he stared across the plain from the high ground. “What’s that, Dad?”
“Dust storm, or”
“Looks like smoke.” Dean sniffed. “Yeah. You can actually smell it. Burned wood and a kind of scent like charred meat.”
The column of dark smoke rose and curled high above the desert until it vanished.
It came from the direction of Jak and Christina Lauren’s home.
Ryan felt his heart shrink into cold marble.
“Come on, Dean,” he said quietly. “Best go take a look.”
BEHIND THEM in the redoubt’s heart, the walls of the silvery armaglass that formed the gateway chamber were beginning to fill with a pallid mist, and the disks in floor and ceiling were starting to glow.
Someone had triggered the mat-trans mechanism and was in the process of making a jump.
Someone.
Something?
Chapter Two
The shadows shortened around them as they picked their way across the scorching desert. Every now and then the monotony of the plateau was broken by a towering saguaro, while the light breeze rustled among the dust-dry mesquite.
The dark pillar of smoke grew thinner and paler, more like a hickory camp fire.
“Could be something caught on the stove,” Ryan said.
Dean nodded.
It was close to noon when they drew near to the edge of the ridge. Once they were on the other side they’d be able to see across the wide valley to the Lauren homestead in the distance.
The wind had veered more northerly, whipping up occasional bunches of tumbleweed. A small hawk with a golden beak and a brilliantly crimson breast soared in the sky, wings spread, riding a thermal, eyes scanning the barren land below. The two walking figures had been spotted immediately as they left the redoubt. But they were too large, and their gait was too regular to interest the bird of prey.
Dean paused near the rim, still fifty paces short of being able to see over.
“Not the cooking stove, is it?” he said.
Ryan also stopped, bracing his shoulders to try to ease out some of the stiffness he’d acquired during the past few murderous days up north.
“Mebbee, son. Mebbee not.”
The boy’s young-old face turned to him. “You think it’s trouble.”
“I think it could be.”
The boy spun on his heel and started to run toward the point where the plateau began to fall away. Ryan shouted after him, warning the boy to keep clear of the skyline. Dean slowed and then crouched, crawling the rest of the way on hands and knees. He stared at the scene a long time, then turned to face his father who was walking steadily toward him.
“Not the cooking stove,” he said flatly.
The land was shrouded in a shimmering curtain of haze, with the temperature well above the hundred mark. It was difficult to see clearly when outlines were blurred. But father and son could see well enough to realize that the smoke had its origin on the spread owned by Christina and Jak.
RYAN CARRIED his 9 mm P-226 SIG-Sauer with the built-in baffle silencer, his son had a big Browning Hi-Power tucked into his belt.
But he knew that a couple of blasters weren’t likely to prove much use against whatever it was that had attacked the fortified homestead and reduced it to smoldering ashes. Other than Christina and Jak, both well armed, Ryan’s traveling companions, J. B. Dix, Krysty Wroth, Mildred Wyeth and Doc Tanner, had been there, with enough firepower between them to hold off a small army.