Ryan looked at Krysty, and she moved closer to the old man. “They’ll be along soon,” the redhead said soothingly. “You wait here.”
“Yes, of course,” he said amiably, pocketing the knife. “I would not want to miss them. We are going for a picnic down by the river.”
Just then, a faint light appeared down the corridor.
“Heads up,” Ryan said, snapping his rifle into a combat position. The rest assumed a half circle, blasters ready. As if awakening from a long dream,
Doc put his back to the wall and drew the LeMat, the fog of memories clearing from his face.
“Same marks,” Mildred announced, switching off her flash when she reached them. “Knife and sun.”
His face masked by the moving candle shadows, Ryan frowned deeply. “So it seems that a gang somehow gained entrance into the redoubt and fought each other to the death.” He glanced about. “But why? Over what?”
“Armory,” Jak said as if that settled the matter. J.B. agreed. Blasters were life in the Deathlands. “I don’t think so,” Ryan disagreed. “These boys have old weapons, nothing new from military storage.”
“Reasonable,” Doc said, biting a lip. “I would not be surprised to find out there’s nothing here of value.”
“Yet they fought to the death over something,” Dean pointed out.
“Mebbe it was for the redoubt itself,” Krysty suggested. “It’s a natural fort that no present-day marauders could ever breach by force.”
“Which raises the question, how did they get in?” Mildred asked pointedly. “The front door is nuke-proof and locked with a code.”
“Let’s go find out,” said Ryan, clearing the action of his SSG-70. The long blaster made smooth noises of polished steel moving easily over oiled grooves. “Shoot anything that moves, but try and wound if you can.”
“Right. We want these assholes alive for questioning.”
As the seven moved to the end of the corridor, the candles revealed the elevator was totally destroyed, its metal frame twisted in wild shapes. The ceiling was bare struts and wiring, the tiles gone, and the terrazzo floor was cracked like hot glass dropped into cold water.
The doors to the stairwell were torn apart, but the metal steps on the other side were still intact. Ryan pointed at J.B., Doc and Jak to go down. Then he tapped his bare wrist, flashed five fingers three times and pointed upward. Next he pointed at Krysty, himself, Dean and Mildred. They nodded and the group split apart, three heading downward, four going up as quietly as possible.
Moving along the stairs, Ryan and his people kept to the side of the steps where the metal would be the strongest and least likely to make noise. Old wood might occasionally creak by itself, just adjusting to temperature and moisture. But old metal was silent, until you stepped where age and rust had weakened it; then steel would squeal louder than pigs getting butchered by an amateur.
Pausing at the first landing, they listened intently, but no sounds disturbed the graveyard peace of the redoubt. Satisfied, they moved on. The doorway to the next level stood gaping open, faint light spilling from the hallway beyond. In a two-on-two rotation formation, they proceeded in, Krysty stepping to one side past the door to allow Ryan to pass her. As he went to the wall, Dean came in fast and crouched low on the floor. Mildred centered last and replaced Krysty at the door, covering their rear, as the redheaded glided past Dean. Staying alert, watching one another’s backs, they covered the entire floor, prepared for another trap or ambush. This level of the redoubt proved to be the barracks, every door bearing an empty slot for a nameplate. Each small room was equipped with a single bed, closet, desk, sink, shower and rotting corpse. Some were lying in the middle of the floor with bullet wounds in their foreheads, some with arrows through their chests. A body was found in the closet gut-stabbed. Another was sprawled in the hallway, his body almost cut in two by a shotgun blast. But most of the slain were lying peacefully in bed, their throats slashed, the blankets stiff with dried brown blood.