James Axler – Stoneface

“Who might that be?” Instantly Ryan regretted asking the question.

“You know him. Dog.” Seeing his eye narrow, she added, “He made the grade, but he’s addicted to a certain vice. He’ll be up to his ears in it by now, and somebody has to get him in shape for the council. He respects you. Mebbe you can see to it.”

It was such an obvious attempt at entrapment that Ryan almost spit on the toes of her boots. “Why should I? I am not Family.”

“You may not realize it, but your position in Helskel is very precarious. The patriarch doesn’t trust you. If you bring Dog in, he may alter his thinking and believe you’re cooperating from your own free will. Besides, it’s the duty of a warlord to look after the warriors.”

Ryan stared unblinkingly into Fleur’s single eye for a long silent moment. She stared back. He asked, “Where can I find him?”

Fleur hooked a thumb over her left shoulder. “Last house on the last lane.” She smiled cryptically. “Be prepared to use your fists, Cawdor. Dog may not want to co me.”

Ryan smiled just as cryptically. “I’ll do my best.”

He walked around her, down the dusky, dusty streets of Helskel. Cooperating with Fleur’s flimsy story was a big risk, but he couldn’t back down in front of her, nor could he resist the urge to find out what she had planned.

He followed a twisting side lane, passing a number of shoddy shanties at the far end of the path. He heard the faint whine of reedy music emanating from the last of the slapdash structures. It was little more than a lean-to, with crudely hewn clapboard walls and a door that hung crookedly from leather hinges.

As he approached it, keeping to the lengthening shadows, the door banged open and a man stumbled out into the lane. Ryan stepped back in the murk, not moving, hand resting lightly on his blaster. The man passed within a few feet of him, and by the light of the rising moon and the setting sun, Ryan saw his face.

It was the face of a mindless brute. Ryan had seen more intelligence in the eyes of animals. The man mumbled to himself as he staggered, then barked out a snarl of a laugh.

With a thrill of loathing, Ryan realized that the vice Fleur had spoken of was the werewolf weed.

It was a rare drug, hard to find even in the hinterland of Deathlands. Composed of a mutated form of marijuana and various hallucinogens like peyote, the werewolf weed stimulated the hindbrain, causing an atavistic regression. It was at the same time an unpopular and popular drug. Its sole attraction for the user was to wallow in artificial bestiality for a time. Ryan had heard that some bands of marauders appreciated its influence before a raid, since it made them fearless and predatory. Unfortunately they would just as soon turn on their own comrades as an enemy while in its brutal grip.

Ryan catfooted up to the shanty and peered into the open door. The yellow glow of a kerosene lamp was dimmed by a wall of hot, acrid smoke. A skinny man playing a wooden flute crouched in a corner. On the floor lay a number of naked men and women, engaged in various sex acts. Their faces were slack, they growled like animals, they clawed and bit and slapped at each other. A man was bleeding profusely from a bite at the base of his neck, and a woman, her naked body glistening with sweat, was tolerating anal penetration from a grunting biker. There was no sign of Dog.

Stomach churning with sour bile, Ryan turned away and headed back up the path. A scuffling of feet from the shadows to his right drew his attention. He fisted his blaster and whirled.

A stooping, naked figure crept out of the pool of darkness. For a moment Ryan didn’t recognize the slack-jawed, blank-eyed, gape-mouthed face staring into his own. Then, with a sense of revulsion, he recognized the naked man as Dog. The X slash on his forehead had scabbed over, and his ears protruded from his shaven skull.