James Axler – Stoneface

“I’ll answer what questions seem fitting when we reach our destination.” Hellstrom’s tone was cold, barely civil. He didn’t look in Mildred’s direction.

Ryan reflected that since Hellstrom based his life on the racist beliefs of Manson, Mildred and her obvious relationship with J.B. was a source of great offense to him.

It never failed to surprise and sadden Ryan how the worst aspects of predark had survived; rarely had the kinder, more enlightened perceptions made it through the nukecaust, the skydark and the big freeze.

Ryan glanced past Hellstrom, focusing on the panorama of broken hills displayed beyond the windshield. He knew if he looked at Hellstrom, he wouldn’t be able to disguise the loathing in his face.

In the distance, a mountain seemed to grow. Towering and dark, the play of sunlight on the broken, eroded edges of butte rock seemed to form faces. Then the mountain receded as the AMAC dropped down the side of a slope. There was grass in the shallow valley, and a creek ran between a grove of cottonwood trees. As the vehicle rumbled on, the walls on either side lifted higher, almost joining together at places, making a narrow passageway.

Krysty suddenly stiffened, her eyes widening.

“Danger,” she said in a clear voice.

Ryan and his group drew their side arms. Hellstrom didn’t question her announcement, but called to the man in the front peering through the periscope.

“What do you see?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” the man responded, eyes pressed against the viewer. “Getting a three-sixty recce, but all I see are some birds Oh, shit!”

The driver immediately lessened the pressure of his foot on the accelerator. Ryan moved forward, shouldering Fleur aside. He looked out the windshield, then lifted his gaze to the valley walls.

They sat on spotted ponies on facing rims of the arroyo, perhaps two dozen, twelve on each side. Scalps dangled from rope reins here and there. White, blue, red and yellow paint hideously distorted their faces into masks of naked, cruel hatred. They wore breechclouts and moccasins, with feathers in their long black hair.

The Sioux braced the butts of automatic rifles against their thighs, the barrels pointing upward. Their gazes were locked onto the vehicle as it rolled slowly beneath them.

At a word from Hellstrom, two of the sec men left their seats and crouched behind the M-249 machine guns.

“They’re just watching us,” Ryan said.

Hellstrom hitched over in his chair and looked up. “Like I figured,” he said bitterly. “It’s that fucking Touch-the-Sky and his band of zealots.”

Ryan thought it best not to mention that he had met Touch-the-Sky, but he did say, “What can they do to us in here?”

Fleur looked at him contemptuously. “It’s not what they can do, Cawdor, it’s what we can do.”

Hellstrom spoke to the sec men at the machine guns. “Explain it to them.”

With rattling roars, the pair of M-249s opened up. Gouts of dirt exploded from the facing rims of the arroyo, flinging up rock and grit in high fountains. Spent shell casings clattered to the floor of the AMAC. Cordite stung the eyes and the nose. Behind it all was the steady double hammer of the machine guns. Even inside the AMAC, the whine of ricochets was audible, and they heard the patter of bullet-pulverized stone raining atop the vehicle.

The AMAC continued to roll forward slowly, passing beneath the position of the Sioux. The double streams of autofire kept on chewing up the edges of the arroyo, and Ryan saw that the Indians had disappeared from the rims. “They’re gone!” he shouted angrily. “You’re just wasting ammunition!”

Hellstrom swung his head, spearing him with an icy glare. The two men locked gazes. Without removing his eyes from Ryan’s face, the white-clad man declared loudly, “Ceasefire.”

The sec men complied immediately, the weapons falling silent at precisely the same time.

“Keep a lookout,” Hellstrom ordered the man at the periscope.

Then he said sharply to Ryan, “It’s my ammunition to waste, isn’t it, Cawdor?”

“And it’s our hair to lose,” Ryan snapped. “It’s an old trick of the Sioux, to keep an enemy hosing their ammo around, shooting at shadows until all the blasters are drained. That’s when they mount an attack.”