James Axler – Rat King

the most stupid of them might have caught on by now.

It never occurred to Murphy that it wasn’t that simple, that the outsiders

couldn’t see them coming, and that they couldn’t mount solid defenses because

they didn’t have enough old tech to compete.

“Bridge coming up, sir.” The driver, Pri Firclas Bailey breathed hoarsely. The

dust always got into his lungs, making him hawk and spit and fight for every

breath. But he was a good soldier and never complained. Murphy admired that.

That was why Bailey was one of his chosen few.

“Very good. Take it slow, as usual.”

“Sure thing, sir. Not much chance of there being any of that scum around, not in

this,” Bailey wheezed between coughs.

“Nah, why else choose a shitty time like this?” Murphy replied with a grin. He

picked up the handset of the crackling radio. “Alpha One to Beta, Gamma, Delta.

Praise the Lord, there’s a bridge coming to take us to the promised land. Follow

the one true path. Don’t go for the endless sleep. Over and out.”

He put the handset back, only half listening to the crackly and distorted

replies from the other three wags. He knew that they would be following orders

and following him. He trusted his men implicitly in a combat situation. They

knew the penalties for deviation—always assuming that they could get back to

base.

The bridge across the chasm was camouflaged. Murphy’s grandfather had built it

about as far away from the old two-lane blacktop as he could, then covered it

with a camouflage paint that made it hard to pick out from a distance. He

figured that the outsiders always followed the line of the old road, wary of

straying too far because of the mutie wildlife. To build the road here made

sense, and the camouflage paint was the final touch. Although such paints had

already existed in pre-dark times, this was something special. This had a

chemical in it that made it adaptable to weather conditions and levels of

humidity, with a life of a hundred years.

Which meant that it had a couple of decades left before it became visible for

any outsiders brave enough to wander this far. Hell, Murphy thought, in a couple

of decades there wouldn’t be any of that scum left.

The wags rattled over the bridge, which sagged ominously as the first wag hit

the metal. Even though he trusted it implicitly, Murphy’s guts still gave a

little tremor of fear every time he hit the bridge.

Over the chasm, they headed onward through the storm. Wallace wanted a fresh

supply of body parts, and Murphy had a blood lust to quell. The unfinished

business with Cawdor and his people was still eating at him. Hell, he might even

find them there, if they’d managed to avoid getting chilled by the outsiders.

The thought of it made him feel warm inside.

The wags were now careering through the brush where the mutie squirrels lived.

The evil little critters evinced a certain death wish. Their territory was being

invaded again, and they didn’t like it.

The wags rattled and thumped as the bodies of the squirrels hit the sides,

high-pitched squeals of pain and anger, fury and death penetrating the

canvas-and-metal shell. Small rips appeared where the most tenacious of the

creatures managed to get its jaws into the sides of the wags.

“Those little fuckers never learn, do they?” Bailey commented.

“They certainly don’t, son,” Murphy replied impassively. “Stupe bastards’ll

probably make themselves extinct at this rate. But you’ve gotta admire their

guts, Bailey.”

“Something like that, sir.” Bailey coughed, fighting to keep control of the wag

as the wheels skittered on bloody corpses.

“It’s okay, Bailey. We’ll soon be past the brush and into the homestretch. And

that’s where the action really begins.” Murphy unholstered his blue 9 mm Beretta

and kissed the barrel.

That had never failed him yet.

JAK WAS SQUATTED on a mound of earth just past the last beacon fire, now damped

down for the daylight hours. Dean was with him. While Jak was still and

impassive, staring into the storm, Dean was itchy and fidgety, unable to settle.