James Axler – Road Wars

Cheap cast replicas of Second World War Brownings and Mausers and Walthers lay alongside an immaculate, cased, five-chambered flintlock revolver, made by Collier over two hundred and fifty years earlier.

“The Civil War blasters are the nicest,” the Armorer commented. “Why not ditch the crap and keep those?”

The baron had been forced to sit down, fighting for breath. He looked up, nodding. “Should. Mebbe I will. I started collecting that period.”

J.B. walked slowly past the rows of weapons, mainly handblasters. “Eighteen forty Colt Army. Forty-four caliber. Colt Navy next to it. Eighteen sixty-one. Thirty-six. I reckon one of the finest, best-balanced blasters anybody ever made. Anyplace. Anytime. Lovely gun. Nice .44 Remington New Model Army. Thirty-six caliber Savage. Some English blasters. Beaumont-Adams.” He showed it to Ryan. “This was the first of the genuinely manufactured double-action revolvers. Double-trigger Tranter, eighty bore. Dark night, Baron! Man could lose himself up here.”

“Delighted you you like them, Mr. Dix. If only you and Cawdor would”

Ryan shook his head. “What we said still holds. We have to be up north and time’s passing.”

“I understand.”

There was a circular display of muskets, similar to that of the swords, and Ryan stood and stared at it. The stocks were dusty and dull, and some of the metal parts showed rust and verdigris, signs of shameful neglect.

“I think I need to rest,” Tenbos said, tearing them away from the display of firearms. “I slept badly and rose too early. I think some morphine might make me a more presentable human being. Why don’t you two go down to the first floor and have some food. It’ll be ready by now.”

“We can help you down,” Ryan offered.

“No, no. Ask one of the sec men to bring the small brown vial from my bedside table.”

“Sure?”

Tenbos nodded, then turned toward J.B. “And you have given me a new heart, my friend. If I may call you that. Pass this way again in a month or so, perhaps if you return toward your homes. And you will see everything as sparkling and clean as a new-minted bullet. I promise you that.”

“Might take you up on that, Baron.”

They left the lofty chamber, winding their ways down the stairs, pausing to pass on the message from Tenbos about the morphine to one of the armed guards. He nodded. “Baron gets this way. More and more often these days. Least you got him up and moving. More than those ass-shafting little bastards ever try and do for him.” He called after them.

“Watch your backs, outlanders. Best advice I can give you.” Ryan waved a hand. “Thanks.”

SLICED HAM, smoked above hickory, with eggs over easy and some fried bread, made a good breakfast. The cook came and asked if they wanted anything to take on their journey and promised to make up a pack of food as well as filling up their canteens and tanks with fresh water from the ville’s own well.

As Ryan and J.B. had walked into the rather gloomy dining room, Teddy and Robby had been eating at the far end of the table, heads close together, talking animatedly. As soon as they saw the two outlanders, they’d risen hurriedly and left. Both remembered to paste bright smiles on their sullen faces.

Ryan and J.B. ignored them, concentrating on their own meal, charging up their batteries ready to continue their odyssey to the Northwest.

One of the sec men had warned them of travelers’ reports of unseasonable falls of snow in that direction, though the climate in Deathlands had been irretrievably altered by the massive nukings of skydark and nobody could rely on finding the weather that they expected.

“More to drink or eat?” the cook asked, wiping his large red hands on his greasy apron. “Baron said to give you all the best we had.”

“I’m stuffed,” Ryan said. “Thanks, though. Know where Baron Tenbos is?”

“Don’t believe that he’s come down from the gun collection yet. He hasn’t been up there at the top of the tower for such a long while.” He turned to go. “Saw the two boys going up the stairs,” he added.