James Axler – Rat King

squeezed them out and applied them to J.B.’s fevered brow.

“Can’t say I don’t agree with you,” Ryan said, squatting by the hurricane lamp

and drawing patterns in the dirt with his finger. “Fact of the matter is, I’m

itching to get out there, but it just isn’t possible.”

“I know,” Mildred whispered. “I just feel the frustration, too, I guess.”

Ryan didn’t answer. There was nothing to say. The plan had been worked by

himself and Jak, but this was one of those rare occasions where Ryan could do

nothing but sit and wait.

The albino had noticed that the adobe wall at the back of the hut had a small

gap of a few inches, forming a hollow that bit into the wall and the earth

beneath. It formed a small channel into which the inhabitants of the hut had to

urinate and defecate, a kind of primitive sewer.

Jak and Dean were small and slender enough to squeeze through the gap without

disturbing the fragile wall too much. The albino teen was certain that the back

of the hut wouldn’t be guarded, and if it was, then the guards wouldn’t expect

anyone to crawl out through the channel. The sec men in the ville were too used

to defeating any enemy using the storms. They had little idea of what to

actually do with any captives.

It was a theory in which he had been proved correct. He and Dean had squeezed

through and come around to the sole guard at the front of the hut without

encountering anyone else.

Now they were on their way to where Abner lay sleeping, while Ryan, Mildred and

Krysty stood watch over J.B.

“SO WHERE DOES this guy Abner live, anyway?” Dean whispered to Jak as they slunk

from shadow to shadow, in and out of the huts and shacks. It was incredibly

quiet, as though all life ceased with sundown. Perhaps it did. If the ville

scratched a living from the soil, with only the occasional opportunity to trade,

then it was probable that the inhabitants were ruled by the rise and fall of the

sun, working the land as long and hard as they could.

If that was so, then it would make it easier for them to find Abner and make him

see their point of view.

If they could ever work out where he was.

Jak stood in the shadows, his ruby eyes raking the darkness. His night vision

was better, in some ways, than his day vision. Because his albino traits left

him sensitive to the light, he was able to make out shapes in the darkness

without an excess of light blinding him.

“Guess look for biggest shack. No baron live in shithole,” he answered finally.

“The whole place is a shithole,” Dean replied with a grin.

Jak returned the grin. “Some less shit than others. Like that…”

Dean followed Jak’s arm. About fifty yards in front of them lay a shack with a

veranda. It was the only one they’d seen so far that had such a structure. And

there was more—two sec men were seated in old cane chairs at each end of the

veranda, cradling handblasters. It was impossible to tell from that range, and

in this light, but by the shape of them Jak suspected that one was a .44 Magnum,

long barreled and deadly. The other was a .50 Magnum Desert Eagle. Both were

deadly blasters, even given that they probably weren’t in the best of condition.

None of the blasters Jak had seen so far in this ville were well cared for.

“Looks like it could be the place,” Dean murmured.

Jak nodded. “Big shack, two sec men…not home of shit shoveler, even in

shithole.”

They withdrew farther into the shadows to watch and observe. They stayed there

for almost half an hour, crouched in the dark and ignoring the cramp in their

aching limbs. Neither had been able to rest adequately before setting out to

search for the dwelling.

Nothing happened. The guards didn’t move, seeming to be sleeping fitfully. There

was no movement other than the snuffling of a stray dog.

“These guys are slack,” Dean commented eventually, shifting to rid himself of