James Axler – Stoneface

Ryan noticed that Zadfrak had eaten very little, but was sipping carefully at his cup of coffee sub. “Not much of an appetite?” he asked.

“My stomach always feels like it’s full of broken glass. Can’t eat much more than mush.”

“Tell us about this Helskel,” Krysty suggested.

He shrugged. “It’s a place. In Manson’s country.”

“Man’s Son’s country?” J.B. echoed. “Sounds like some kind of religious retreat.”

“It is, yeah. Kind of.”

“That where got bike?” Jak asked.

Zadfrak nodded. “Yeah.”

“Too bad lost it.”

“Lots more where that one came from. Wags, too.” He nodded toward the Land Rover. “Better than that one.”

“What about fuel for them?” J.B. challenged. “That isn’t easy to come by, unless you got a refinery setup.”

“We do. And lots more. We got blasters of all kinds, all calibers. Plenty of ass, too.”

“Sounds like heaven on earth,” J.B. said sarcastically, trying to avoid meeting Mildred’s icy glare.

Ryan doubted everything he’d heard. Colossal liars were legion in the Deathlands. But, to be polite, he asked, “Is all this stuff predark?”

Zadfrak took a sip from his tin cup. “Yeah. It all works, too. Lots of stuff stockpiled in the nose.”

“The nose ?” Doc asked. “Did I hear you right? The nose?”

Lifting his head, the man said, sounding suddenly fearful, “Forget it. I get delirious sometimes. My head gets mixed up.”

“Whose nose?” Jak prompted.

“I said forget it! I may be half-chilled, but I’m still loyal to the Family.”

“So your kin lives in Helskel,” Mildred said. “How many?”

Zadfrak stood quickly, dashing the contents of his cup into the darkness. “I’m feeling like shit. Need to sleep.”

With that, he turned and shuffled away, sleeping bag rolled under one arm.

“That,” J.B. whispered, “is one of the strangest men I ever met.”

“Story doesn’t add up,” Krysty murmured. “If Helskel isn’t a figment of his imagination, then it’s got to be a new ville.”

“Especially with his talk about predark stuff in perfect working condition,” J.B. agreed.

Ryan was too tired to weigh the truth of Zadfrak’s tale. “Let’s turn in. Doc, you got first watch.”

“I’ll spell you at midnight,” J.B. said, checking his wrist chron. “After that, it’s whoever I feel like rousing.”

Mildred pushed herself stiffly to her feet. “Long as it isn’t me.”

Everyone retired to their tents. Ryan, as tired as he was, even with Krysty’s head on his shoulder, found sleep elusive. His mind toyed with the images Zadfrak’s words had conjured, settling on the man’s sneering dismissal of the local Indian tribes in the region.

Hundreds of years ago, Pa Sappa, the Black Hills, were held in high religious regard by Plains tribes. They were holy places, power points watched over by Wankan Tankan, the Great Spirit. Since the nukecaust, many of the tribes had reasserted their ancient claims over lands stolen from them by the predark government. Though hostilities between the tribes and non-Amerindians weren’t as bloody as two hundred years earlier, people still traveled through their lands holding on to their topknots.

It was hard to believe that Zadfrak’s family could have chased the Cheyenne and the Lakota and Ogallala Sioux out of the Black Hills, no matter how well armed he claimed Helskel to be.

Ryan finally fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming in fragments of a great bat-winged evil hovering overhead, of something as ancient as the land they traveled across. It was a dream of flight and pursuit and grinning, demonic faces.

The brief trilling of a songbird awakened him at daybreak. Peering out through the tent flap, he saw the sky was gray with “wolf’s tail,” the oyster hue of false dawn.

Careful not to disturb Krysty, Ryan took his gunbelt and crawled out of the tent, softfooting behind the wag to relieve himself. Buttoning up, he peered around the wag to see if Zadfrak was still asleep.

He was gone, his borrowed sleeping bag zipped open and spread out on the ground. Ryan made a quick circuit of the perimeter of the camp, but saw no sign of J.B. or anyone who had replaced him on watch. Checking the tents, he saw everyone was accounted forexcept for Doc and J.B.