James Axler – Rat King

also lost their blasters.

But surprisingly they had neglected to take Doc’s swordstick from him. The dark

ebony cane with the silver lion’s head looked like a walking stick from pre-dark

days, and perhaps their captors had assumed it was an aid to the old man. He had

already seen that Ryan still had his scarf wound around his neck. It was heavily

weighted at the ends, and was a deceptively useful stealth weapon. It, too, also

had the advantage of seeming to be innocuous.

Two weapons left, then. Their first mistake. That was encouraging. If there was

one error, then there would be the opportunity for others.

Suddenly feeling overcome with a wave of exhaustion, J.B. made his way back to

his own bed, trying not to show surprise at the discovery of Doc’s swordstick.

He sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath, which sawed his lungs.

“Dark night,” he croaked through dry lips, “what was in that gren?”

He figured that he had awakened first because he had managed to avoid gulping as

much of the gas as the others. And yet it had still had this effect on him…how

would the others feel when they began to come around?

He took off his wire-rimmed spectacles and polished them with his kerchief.

Their captors knew he was awake. They’d figure the others wouldn’t be far

behind. And they’d know that they wouldn’t be in any condition for a fight.

The only thing to do right now was sit it out.

BY THE ARMORER’S wrist chron, it was just over fifteen minutes before Ryan

stirred.

“Feel like a nuke shit in a pox-riddled gaudy house,” he muttered in a low,

quiet voice, forcing his eye open.

He still felt as if he were separated from his body. His eye focused on J.B.,

sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Effects take a little while to wear off. Feels like you’ve had every tendon in

your body severed and then soldered back together. Otherwise it’s not too bad.”

Ryan forced a smile. A joke from J.B. was a rare thing, and could only mean that

his old friend had the situation as assessed and secured as was humanly

possible. Ryan’s hand instinctively slipped down to his waist and leg, feeling

for the panga, touching only the empty sheath.

“They took everything. Only left Doc his walking stick.” J.B. spoke carefully,

indicating with a slight tilt of his fedora the sec camera behind him.

Ryan took it in at a glance. He didn’t know whether they could be heard, as well

as seen, but he wasn’t taking any chances with predark technology that was in

the hands of people who obviously knew how to use it.

Krysty moaned as she raised her head behind them. J.B. repeated his warning

about the aftereffects of the gas gren.

“Gaia! This and a jump in the same day… It’s no wonder I feel like a herd of

mutie pigs has trampled over every bone in my body.”

“Tell me about it, girl,” Mildred murmured as she began to tentatively move her

own limbs.

Jak had obviously taken in more of the gas, as it was some time before he

recovered consciousness, during which time Dean had opened his eyes.

“Anyone know who did this?” Jak asked finally, shaking his head to clear his

vision. “Tell me and I chill with pleasure.”

Only Doc remained unconscious. Mildred grabbed her backpack and went over to

him. In addition to bits of cloth used as bandages, it usually contained medical

supplies traded at villes or plundered from redoubts and ruined sites across

Deathlands. The bag now revealed itself to be empty.

“Shit. Whoever they are, they’ve taken everything.”

“Figured they would. The bastards are thorough.” J.B. pushed his fedora back on

his head. “Mostly,” he added.

Mildred felt Doc’s pulse, which raced out of control. The old man was sweating

and moaning, his REM making his eyelids twitch uncontrollably. The physician

cursed the people who held them, and cursed the Deathlands. Why had they taken

the few medical supplies she had?

“Is he going to be okay?” Dean asked. “He doesn’t look too good.”