what was once Washington State; new deserts have appeared; the Badlands are even
worse.
Large areas of the country lie under an umbrella of dust and debris that clings
to the atmosphere in strange forms: in some places as a boiling, red-scarred
belt of cloud maybe a mile thick; in others as a dense blanket of toxic smog and
floating nuclear junk. A coverlet of destruction mantling a land of doom.
Little wonder, then, that the entire continent, north to south, east to west,
coast to coast, is known to those who inhabit it as Deathlands.
THREE GENERATIONS HAVE NOW PASSED since the Nuke, time enough for bizarre,
mutated life-forms to have developed, both human and animal. In some mutants the
genetic codes have become completely scrambled, giving life to monstrous beings,
men and women with hideous deformities; in others, the rearrangement has been
far more subtle. Extrasensory perception and the weird ability to “see” the
immediate future are two of the special talents typically possessed by certain
mutants.
In all the coastal Baronies, mutants are feared and hated; in some they are
hunted down and ruthlessly exterminated. Small groups of “muties” have fled up
to the far northeast, to where old Maine bordered old New Brunswick. There are
no customs houses now. Here, amid the cool, dark pine and larch woods, largely
untouched by radiation showers, they have integrated with the Forest People,
isolated and secretive folk who rarely travel.
Far more roam the Central Deathlands, where it’s still pretty much a
free-for-all society. There is no interest at all in what goes on in the rest of
the world. Why should there be? Here is what matters. And now. A fight for
survival in what is still a hostile and deadly environment, a grim world of
danger and sudden death and teeming horrors from which there seems to be no
escape.
AND YET, AND YET…
Strange stories have been handed down from one generation to the next. Wild
hints circulate. It is said that the old-time scientists made certain
discoveries back before the Nuke—bizarre and sensational discoveries that were
never made public. It is rumored that there are awesome secrets still to be
uncovered in the Deathlands, deep-level “Redoubts” stuffed with breathtaking
scientific marvels, fabulous technological treasure troves. It is even whispered
that there is an escape route: that somewhere, beyond the Deathlands, there lies
a land of “lost happiness.”
Absurd, of course. Irrational. A foolishly nostalgic dream conjured up to
compensate for living a life of horror in a land of death.
Or is it…?
Chapter One
REACHER COULD SMELL BLOOD.
It was there in his nostrils, a coppery odor, redolent of death and horror. Then
it was gone. It had lasted a microsecond, as it always did, and then there was
nothing there at all but the memory of it.
That and the icy chill stroking his spine like skeletal fingers and the
blood-red haze that clouded his mind. He shivered, groaned softly, clutched at
his brow.
Death was ahead. The warning had been given. The weird antennae of his psyche
had fingered the future, told him of blood and destruction. But the how and the
why of it, the exact where and when, were never granted, not to him. Reacher was
not a true Doomseer; exact details were denied him. He could only perceive the
psychic smell of it. And he knew it would be soon, very soon. Within minutes.
There was nothing he could do about it, nothing on earth he could do to stop it.
McCandless growled excitedly, “The mutie’s got something. He’s pickin’ something
up.”
Reacher felt a hand shake him roughly on the shoulder. It broke his
concentration, scattered the scarlet fog in his mind. He stumbled forward,
dropped to his knees, his hands scraping rock and sharp-edged stones at the side
of the old tarmac road.
“C’mon, c’mon!” McCandless’s voice rose from a growl to a vicious snarl. “On ya
feet, mutie. What is it? Whatya seen? Where’s the danger coming from?”
Still half-dazed from the effects of the sudden mind-zap, Reacher struggled to
his feet, blinking his eyes rapidly. He stared around him as though seeing the
terrain, his surroundings, for the first time, as though waking up from a dream.