tablets. No arms. That is not the purpose of the Redoubt.”
“Then what is, Doc?” asked Ryan, hunching his shoulders against the oppressive
feel of the place. Buried underground with nowhere to run was a bad feeling.
“This is the gateway to Hades, Mr. Cawdor. Look upon the wall where Cerberus
himself stands watch. The gateway to the river to the deeps to the darks to the
high mountain. All is dust…” And he turned away, tears streaming down his lined
cheeks.
J.B. caught Ryan’s eye and shook his head. “Let it lie, friend. No more help
there for a while.”
“We can’t go out,” Ryan said, “so we best go in.”
Hun took Doc’s arm, leading him along in the middle of the shrunken party. First
Ryan, then Okie and Henn. The green-haired girl and the old man. Krysty and
Finnegan. And J. B. Dix at the rear.
Eight of them, bearing the faint torch of the future, into the past.
RYAN LED THEM PAST the picture that had caught Doc’s gaze. Garishly painted with
a crude skill like a comic book illustration, it showed a slavering black hound.
Three heads grew out of a single corded neck, their jaws wide open, fire and
blood gushing between yellow teeth. The eyes were crimson, the colors bright
despite the creature’s age. Underneath, in an ornate Gothic script, was written
the single word: “Cerberus.”
Apart from that one picture, the place was bare. Ryan had seen Stockpiles that
had been ravaged, but they were always a total shambles with rotting food and
torn containers everywhere. This was different. It was as if a team of men had
carefully gone through the entire place, stripping everything off walls,
removing every stick of furniture. Nothing remained.
Nothing beyond the stale, flat air and the echoing sound of their own boots.
The walls remained curved, with strips of corrugated steel supports running
clear over the roof. Behind them Ryan heard the distant sound of a shell hitting
the closed door, but he knew the door to be strong enough to withstand anything
short of an antitank shell.
They headed inward, toward the bowels of the mountain. The tunnel that they
followed ran straight for several hundred paces with about a dozen chambers
opening off it. Each one was stripped bare. Some of the walls showed the faint
marks where cabinets or desks had once stood against them.
Out of habit, Ryan flicked on the rad counter clipped to the inside of his long
coat, by the lapel. It murmured and cheeped a little, with the background
crackling it always gave out in the Deathlands. But nothing here to worry-about.
Nobody spoke as they moved cautiously on. There was a deadliness in the Redoubt
that oppressed the spirit. Doc was mumbling to himself, a quiet string of
nonsense. Ryan wished to the bottom of his heart that the old man hadn’t lost so
much of his mind under the tender care of Teague and Strasser. He was absolutely
certain that Doc held the key to limitless secrets. How could he have known
about the fog and Cerberus and the code to the door that had saved all their
lives?
“Should I call in to Conn?” asked Henn. “If we go much hellfired deeper they
won’t be able to hear it.”
Ryan shook his head at the suggestion. “No point, Henn. That door and this
concrete will stop anything gettin’ out.”
The corridor reached a T-junction. It was a momentary temptation to split the
party, but Ryan elected to keep together. Eight wasn’t a big enough group to
divide and then hope to survive a firefight. Despite what Doc had said, there
might be another entrance. Or the Indians might be able to force the main door,
now that they had the added incentive of pursuing them inside.
He led them to the left, wandering along a snaking passage for some minutes
until it ended abruptly in a rock-fall. It looked as if half the hill had come
bursting in through the roof.
There was a doorway partly buried under the stone, and Ryan scrambled up to push
it open. It moved back uneasily on warped hinges and he glimpsed light and some