James Axler – Stoneface

He patted her buttocks, and she slowly tucked the blaster into a back holster beneath her jacket. She returned to her position behind the chair. She didn’t take her eye off Ryan.

“You must forgive my warlord,” Hellstrom said with a smile. “Fleur prefers a more active, physical type of debate rather than verbal oneupmanship. She can be rather difficult when she’s feeling testy.”

Ryan started to say something, thought better of it and leathered his pistol.

Zadfrak reached the base of Hellstrom’s chair. His body went slack, but he managed to raise one violently trembling hand beseechingly. He spoke in a croaking whisper.

Ryan didn’t understand what he said, but interest suddenly flickered in Hellstrom’s dark eyes. Taking a white linen glove from the pocket of his blazer, he slipped it on his right hand and leaned forward. Grasping a handful of Zadfrak’s sweat-drenched hair, he pulled the man’s head up level with his knees and leaned forward.

When Zadfrak stopped whispering, Hellstrom gently lowered the man’s head, allowing him to pillow it on his white-shod feet.

Stripping off the glove, Hellstrom tossed it on the floor and announced, “Zadfrak has been welcomed back into the Family, his past sins expunged, his status restored. He deserves a Family funeral and memorial service with all the attendant honors.”

Gesturing to a pair of X-men, he said, “Take him to his old quarters. Make his last hours as comfortable and pain free as possible.”

“Oversee the preparations of the pyre,” he directed Fleur.

To Ryan, he said, “Of course, you and your people are invited to remain here. It was Zadfrak’s last request that you be treated as honored guests of his Family.”

Fluttering a hand through the air, he added, “Please avail yourself of Helskel’s hospitality. There are spare rooms on the floor above, and you’re welcome to them gratis. Your jack is no good here.”

The skin between Ryan’s shoulder blades crawled. He still sensed the half-dozen blaster bores behind him. None of the tension was evident in his voice when he said, “Thanks. We’ll be pleased to visit for a while.”

Chapter Six

Ryan and the companions took their gear from the Land Rover and stowed it in the three upstairs rooms reserved for their use. The rooms were small, but furnished with brass-railed beds and chairs. A bathroom was down the hall, done in gleaming porcelain with chrome-plated fixtures.

After getting settled, the six friends met on the street outside the saloon, then took a tour of the ville, letting the settlement flow around them. The mingled odors, the colors, the people and the strange music made by old predark instruments were interesting but also unsettling. All of them had been in odd places during their treks across Deathlands, but never had they visited a ville that throbbed with such a pulse of incredibly strong but joyful evil.

By engaging a few of the street merchants in conversation, they learned that the permanent residents of Helskel lived in an insular world, a universe completely separated from the rest of the ravaged continent. Their world was Helskel. Changes, rebuilding processes, old and new baronies were of absolutely no interest, and, in effect, didn’t exist for them. This was their microcosmic kingdom, and anyone desiring to live among them had to think like them, believe like them and be like them.

After bumping into this thick-headed attitude a number of times during the afternoon, J.B. was irritated enough to ask Mildred, “What’s all this crap they spout about Charlie?”

As they walked, Mildred explained in terse, low-voiced sentences. “Charles Manson was one of the most famous criminals of predark history. I was just a little kid when he was arrested, but I remember the publicity storm. He and his family were so famous, they became part of popular culture.”

Noting the blank expression on Jak’s face, Doc said, “The media, like television, radio, movies, magazines.”

“Anyway,” Mildred continued, “Manson was terrifying in a lot of ways. He relished publicity and even while he was in prison, his cult of followers who had murdered people at his command were still his subjects. Most of his followers, his ‘family,’ were women, and they shaved their heads as part of some ritual on his behalf. When he carved an X into his forehead, they did too.”