James Axler – Rat King

as any enemy sec men.

“Gas gren of some kind. Try to cover your mouths, breathe as shallow as

possible,” he yelled, pulling a kerchief from one of his pockets and thrusting

it over his nose and mouth.

A pale white mist, similar to that preceding a jump, started to infuse the room.

It had no smell, but an immediate effect. Ryan felt his eye mist with tears as

the gas pricked at it.

“Fireblast! Need to get the hell out of here.” His words came slowly. It seemed

as though his brain were cut off from his body, the thoughts traveling miles to

reach limbs that felt heavy and leaden. The SIG seemed to weigh more than usual,

the weight dragging his arm down.

The others were now out in the room, and they seemed to be moving in slow

motion.

“Nerve gas. They must be able to seal the room— otherwise the air-conditioning

system would spread it through the whole place.” Mildred gasped out the words,

trying hard to breathe shallow as she sunk to her hands and knees. “John, they

must want us alive. Why?” She collapsed unconscious as she forced out the

question, trying to look around for the Armorer.

J.B. was close to the floor, figuring that the gas would rise, being lighter

than air, and that the air nearer the ground would be clearer, at least giving

him a chance of staying conscious long enough to see what their captors looked

like.

Ryan was on the floor beside him. Both men were struggling to stay conscious.

J.B. swum in and out of focus in Ryan’s good eye.

“Well organized. Not crazy muties for sure. Precise, like well-drilled sec men,”

the Armorer forced out.

It sounded to Ryan as if J.B. were talking in slow motion, the words drawn out

and distorted. Blackness closed in at the edge of his vision, as if he were

entering a long, dark tunnel.

The Armorer was the last one to pass out. He didn’t last long enough to see the

door open.

WHEN J.B. OPENED his eyes again, he found that he was staring at the ceiling of

a dorm. Hauling himself onto the edge of the bed, he could see that all six of

his companions were laid out on the beds, as well. It was one of the smaller

sleepers in a redoubt, usually accommodating only four beds. But even with the

extra three beds, there was still room to move around and stretch aching

muscles. Outside the closed door, he could hear distant activity. From the sound

of it, a large number of people inhabited the redoubt.

Figuring it a certainty that they were heavily guarded on the outside, he looked

around for a sec camera like the one Jak had spotted above the chamber door. The

dorms didn’t usually have them, but then this was obviously no ordinary redoubt.

The sec camera was above the door, pivoting on a bracket and covering the entire

room in a sweep. The only blind spot would be right up against the door, which

was next to useless. Its steadily flashing red light showed that somebody was

watching them.

A quick search of his pockets while he gained his equilibrium on the edge of the

bed showed the Armorer that his pockets had been stripped of all ammunition, and

that his knife had also been taken. That his blasters would have been taken from

him he had assumed as a matter of course.

He stood and found that his muscles were sluggish, and that his arms and legs

felt as though all the tendons had been sliced through. Pain lanced through

them, and they failed to respond immediately.

His first, tentative steps were toward Mildred. She was still out cold, as he

could see when he thumbed back her eyelid to reveal the eyeball rolled up in the

socket. At his touch she moaned slightly and shifted in her deep sleep.

Moving with increasing ease and speed among the rest of the party, J.B. was able

to determine that all of them were still unconscious. Jak’s coat and knives had

been taken from him, as had Ryan’s SIG-Sauer and panga. Both Dean and Doc had