James Axler – Rat King

nothing.

“John needs to be rested and cleaned up,” she said to Mac. “So if you show us

where we’re sleeping, and get me some hot water…”

She trailed off, noticing that the potbellied sec man was looking at her

uncomfortably.

“Reckon it may not be that simple, missy,” he said softly. “See, all outlanders

or insiders are killed to appease sunup. Without sacrifice to the sun, well, the

storms could get worse.”

Mildred regarded him coldly, suddenly aware once again of the light scouring of

dust and the perpetual breeze. It was much less than at its worst, but still

ever present.

Mac flinched before her stony gaze.

“You mean to tell me that after all we did to try and save that freakin’ rag

woman and that fat giant, after all we did together to fight off those freakin’

squirrels, you’ll sell us down the river and let us be chilled to try and stop a

storm that never ceases?”

Mac couldn’t look at her. He stared at one of the huts. “Mebbe Abner will make

the decision…under the circumstances. But it’s not up to me.”

“Not up to you,” Mildred spit back, looking at J.B., whose eyes flickered wildly

behind closed lids, encountering terrors in his delirium that only he could ever

understand.

“It’s okay, Mildred,” Ryan said softly. They had their blasters and other

weapons, but they were a man short and in the middle of the ville. He wanted to

buy some time, and if it meant being nice to these bastards, then so be it.

“No, let the black woman speak.”

The voice was wheezing, old and had a sly quality that immediately pricked

Ryan’s suspicion. It came from the edge of the clearing, and the speaker walked

through the small crowd as it parted for him.

He was shorter than Mac, and if anything, even more potbellied than the sec man.

His breathing was labored, and his long, thinning and straggly hair was a dirty

gray streaked with black. His long mustache and beard were similarly peppered.

“Are you the baron of this ville?” Ryan asked him.

The man looked puzzled. “Baron? That’s not a word I know for what I am. I’m the

leader of this here ville, if that’s what you mean. Just like my pappy before

me, and his pappy. We always have been, long as there’s been a ville. I’ve heard

other outlanders talk of barons, but not the insiders with the stupe uniforms.”

“We’re outlanders, I guess, certainly not from the redoubt.”

“The what?” the old man asked, furrowing his brow.

“He means the place where the insiders come from,” Mac offered. “Guess that’s

what they call it.”

The old man nodded, then smiled at them. “Anyways, you can call me Abner. Least

I can do, all things considered. Got to be friendly now.”

“Why?” Ryan asked.

Abner smiled again, ingenuously. “Hell, boy, the sun don’t like it if we’re not

real friendly to those we chill for him.”

Chapter Sixteen

The hut in which they were imprisoned was a round adobe structure of mud and

straw. The walls were flimsy, with patches where the mud had caked dry too

quickly and not been bound by the straw which was visible in the flickering

shadows cast by the old hurricane lamp that sputtered smokily in the center of

the hut.

J.B. lay near the center, an equally foul-smelling poultice on his wounds.

“Are you sure this will work?” Mildred asked Krysty skeptically. “Back when I

was in med school, they weren’t exactly hot for herbal medicines.”

Krysty shook her head. “I know, but when it’s all you’ve got… When I was young,

back in Harmony, Mother Sonja taught me how to blend healing things from the

most unlikely sources. It might smell like shit, and no one knows how it works,

but if there aren’t any meds, then it’s got to be worth a shot.”

Mildred joined Krysty by J.B.’s side. In the light of the flickering lamp, his

brow was dripping with sweat, matting his already soaking hair and running in

rivulets down his face and neck.

Mildred stroked his forehead gently, feeling the heat rise from him. He