James Axler – Stoneface

It was Lars Hellstrom, standing before the mat-trans unit, holding an automatic rifle in one hand and a revolver in the other. The right sleeve of his white coat was black with blood.

Ryan spoke into the speaker grid. “Lars. Wondering when you’d show up.”

Hellstrom’s reaction was almost comical. He skipped around, glaring wildly up at the beetle, face contorting. His mouth worked for a long second, with no sounds coming from it. Finally he bellowed, “Cawdor? Cawdor! You deceived me! You betrayed me!”

“Sorry, Lars, but after thinking it over, I’m afraid I must refuse your job offer. The hours stink, and the pay is lousy.”

Hellstrom began to tremble, eyelids flickering, spittle collecting at the corners of his mouth. In a voice that shivered with the intensity of the emotions he was struggling to control, he said, “You stupe bastard. You stupe, suicidal bastard. You don’t know what you’ve done.”

Ryan snarled out a laugh. “I know exactly what I’ve done. I’ve cut off this sick trade between you and this monument of predark insanity. You’re cast back out onto Deathlands, to survive or to die on your own. I hope you die, and if we ever meet face-to-face again, I’ll make sure of it. That’s not a threat, Lars. It’s a fucking prophecy.”

Hellstrom stood frozen, his body quaking violently, a thousand changing sparks of light dancing in his dark eyes. Then he threw back his head and screamed, a howl of agony, terror and rage torn from the roots of his soul. Saliva sprayed from his mouth, one hand clawed at the side of his face, the long nails tearing gouges from his hairline to his chin.

“I’ll track you down, Cawdor!” he shrieked. “I’ll find you and I’ll keep you alive for years, in constant, unending pain! You’ll promise me anything, give me anything, do anything, just so I’ll chill you! And if you die before I find you again, I’ll dig up your stinking corpse and spend my days pissing in its mouth! Your punishment begins now, Cawdor! It will never end!”

The tone, the crash of his strident voice, the unregenerate, unforgiving madness in his eyes almost caused Ryan to drop his blaster in surprise. To witness Hellstrom losing his iron control and flaming up in a torch of insane fury was a more fearful picture than he had imagined. For a moment he contemplated making a mat-trans jump to the cave and finishing his business with the patriarch of Helskel.

“Ryan!” J.B. shouted. “Come on, dammit!”

Peering over the console, he saw J.B. and Jak standing in the open door of the mat-trans unit chamber. They were staring past him, and Ryan heard the slap of running feet on the smooth alloy flooring, rushing up from behind.

He half turned, sweeping the ranks of the business-suited men with a prolonged burst from the SIG-Sauer. They screamed as the hail of full-metal-jacket rounds ripped through them. The few who weren’t drilled scrambled for cover, flinging ineffectual pistol fire in his general direction.

“Ryan!” Krysty’s voice was high and tight with tension.

But Ryan wasn’t satisfied with the carnage. The Anthill still stood, a symbol of everything vile, depraved and self-serving that had survived the nukecaust. He wanted to claw the mountain stronghold down, stone by stone, crush it into rubble and stomp it flat.

He fired another four rounds at the stumbling, mewling straw men and roared, at the top of his voice, “I’ll be back, you ice-blooded bastards!”

Ryan slapped the destination key, the one bearing the triangle symbol, and raced across the room to the gateway chamber. Jak slammed the door behind him, and the jump mechanism was triggered.

Everyone but Mildred eyed him strangely. Threats and vows of vengeance were uncharacteristic of Ryan Cawdor. Turning to J.B., he asked, “What was the setting on that time pencil fuse?”

J.B. shook his head. “About two minutes.”

“Then we’ve got about thirty seconds left,” Ryan said grimly.

“Let’s pray to Gaia that’s enough time,” Krysty murmured fervently.

The metal disks in the floor and ceiling of the mat-trans chamber shimmered, the glow slowly intensifying, like a condensed fire. A fine mist gathered and wafted down from the overhead convertor assembly. A vibrating hum arose, climbing quickly to a high-pitched whine.