James Axler – Zero City

“No sign of any hospital to the south,” Doc reported, the wind ruffling his longish hair.

“Same for the east,” J.B. said, holding on to his glasses to keep them from flying away. The wind was brisk at this height, and he was having difficulty staying on his feet.

“There’s a library,” Doc said, pointing, his other hand holding tightly on to the window frame. “Always a good repository of…” The oldster squinted hard. “I say, are those trucks in the parking lot?”

“Vehicles?” J.B. asked, coming over to extend his telescope. “I would have thought the sec men had gathered everything with wheels for that bloody huge wall. Hey, those are U.S. Army trucks, and they’re filled with crates of military supplies. Hot damn!”

“Hmm, I do recall Jak saying that the sec men retrieved bodies from an attack by the muties,” Doc rumbled, his coat spreading out like wings from the stiff breeze. “That must be the location where they struck.”

“And the sec men took the bodies but left everything else?” J.B. admonished, lowering the telescope. “But that doesn’t make any sense… Oh, they took half of the supplies. A little something for the baron, a little for them.”

“And more for us.” Doc smiled, marking the location in his mind. “I wonder where they located the military supplies, still intact?”

“Can’t be the redoubt. If they got in, they would never leave. So it must have been a bomb shelter,” J.B. said thoughtfully as he lowered the telescope. “Just look at all the government buildings this city has! It must have been the capital of…well, wherever the hell we are. And the predark government always built plenty of bomb shelters to save the pencil pushers and ass kissers.”

Stepping away from the opening, Doc straightened his collar and smoothed his hair. “A most logical assumption, my good sir. What say we swing by there on our way back and see what the gods of chance have laid at our altar of need?”

“Sounds good,” J.B. said, checking his compass. “North is that way. Let’s see if we can spot the ville.”

“Certainly.”

As they walked around the burnished-metal rectangle of the elevator banks, neither man seemed to notice as the doors slid silently apart behind them, exposing the blackness within.

To the west was endless desert, only the hint of mountains lost in a purple haze of the horizon. But directly north of the skyscraper was the yellow river, and beyond that the nameless ville.

“By the Three Kennedys, look at those greenhouses,” Doc said, shielding his vision from the weak daylight with a raised hand.

Tilting back his hat, J.B. whistled. “Must have a hundred of them. Where the hell did they find any clean dirt? From under the ruins, mebbe?”

“Or they made it themselves,” Doc said, rubbing his chin. “Simply mince and boil your own night soil until it was sterilized, then mix with sand.”

“And that will grow crops?”

“Without question.”

Whew, the things the old man knew. “Searchlights to attract people and protect the ville from the muties, trained wolves and now greenhouses,” J.B. muttered, lifting the telescope for a view. “Their baron must be a genius!”

“Or a farmer.”

“Farmer with an army,” J.B. stated, spotting a commotion in the ringed compound. Adjusting the focus, he swept the milling crowd gathering before a raised platform. “Looks like they’re having a meeting of some kind.”

“Any sight of our comrades?” Doc asked worriedly, pressing his boot against the frame of the window. The gusts of wind tugged at their clothes, whipping about the loose cloth and keeping them slightly off balance. It was necessary to hold on to the window frame to keep from going over.

“Not yet,” J.B. replied. “Here, take a gander.” But turning to offer the telescope, he saw a furtive movement near the elevators. Then the man went cold as he spotted the tip of a gray wing sticking out from behind one of the support pillars.

“Ah, Doc,” he whispered, pocketing the telescope.

“Mm-hmm?”

J.B. casually withdrew a grenade. “Muties.”

Slowly, the oldster brushed back his billowing coat and drew the LeMat. “How many?”

Just then, they heard a skittering noise, like dozens of claws on a hard surface, followed by the faint crack of a piece of glass.