James Axler – Stoneface

Mildred watched the sawing and chopping with a clinical eye. “The dry ice will burn the epidermal tissues, but it’ll preserve the organs, and I suppose that’s the whole point.”

“Disgusting,” was Doc’s observation.

Ryan and his party claimed tents as far away from the scene of dismemberment as possible without leaving the safety of the wag. But they were all too keyed up to sleep, and because their clothes still reeked strongly of gas, no one cared to share the close quarters of the tents just yet. Ryan was uncomfortable in his wet clothes, but fortunately the temperature didn’t drop to an intolerable degree. Everyone sat and watched the organ harvesting and talked in low tones.

“We don’t know if there’s a bomb wired to the wag’s ignition,” J.B. commented. “He could be bullshitting us.”

“True,” Krysty said, “but Hellstrom doesn’t strike me as the bluffing type.”

“All bluff,” Jak told them. “Seen kind before. Take away ass-kissers and nothing but coward.”

“He’s no coward,” Mildred objected. “He’s a pragmatist, just like we are. If we weren’t, we wouldn’t be sitting here.”

Ryan grunted. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure we should be. It might be better if we take them prisoner, try to deal with the Sioux for safe passage, or take them back to Helskel and ransom them off for our wag.”

“Both of those options have a certain merit,” Doc said. “But I fear they appear to have similar outcomes, as well.”

“With us being chilled?” Krysty inquired.

Doc nodded sagely.

Around two o’clock, the torso packing was completed. True to Fleur’s estimate, the wounded sec man called Zezo was pronounced dead shortly thereafter. Hellstrom gave the order to wrap his and the other sec men’s bodies in canvas in preparation for the return to Helskel, then he retired to the AMAC.

Ryan drifted into a dreamless sleep, his head pillowed on his arms. He had gotten very little rest the night before, and the exertions and accumulated fatigue of the past two days caught up with him.

He was awakened almost immediately, it seemed, by Krysty whispering into his ear, “Wake up, lover. Time to go.”

Ryan opened his eye. The blue-black backdrop of the sky was broken up by the pink and orange scraps of approaching dawn. He sat up, yawning, and Krysty sniffed the collar of his shirt and said, “Phew.” She ran a hand along his jawline.

“I look bad, huh?” he asked.

Krysty smiled wanly. “Well, you aren’t up to stickie standards yet, but I can see the start.”

The sec men were breaking camp, laboring tiredly to disassemble the tents and carry the security lamps into the AMAC. The one with the injured arm was hampered by a makeshift sling. Of the body bags there was no sign, but the Sioux corpses that didn’t fit Hellstrom’s needs were left to lie where they had fallen.

The bodies of the slain sec men had been shrouded in canvas and were lashed to the roof of the vehicle.

All of the companions were baggy-eyed and disheveled. None of them had caught so much as a catnap, and Ryan experienced a momentary pang of guilt. As it was, he didn’t feel the slightest bit refreshed. He felt rusty and mean.

One of the sec men strode over to them. “Knock down your tents and pack ’em out.”

Ryan rose stiffly to his feet. “You knock ’em down.”

The sec man’s eyes were rimmed and netted with red. He probably hadn’t gotten any sleep either. His growled retort was full of menace. “You heard me, one-eye.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Ryan said. “How about I knock you down and pack you out,” and he hit the sec man as hard as he could in the middle of the belly.

He doubled over, mewling. His hands clutched at his stomach convulsively, his breath fought to get back into his lungs. Sweat sprang out on his forehead.

“Let’s get some breakfast,” Ryan said, walking around the bent-over sec man and toward the AMAC. His friends followed him.

Hellstrom was inside the passenger area, looking fresh and clear-eyed. He greeted them with a rousing, “Good morning, good morning!”