They tried the punch. Ryan wrinkled his mouth at the taste. It was flavored with
herbs and obviously was strongly alcoholic. But as he rolled it cautiously
around his mouth, he detected a strange, bitter aftertaste. He spat it out on
the earthen floor.
“Fireblast! That’s evil stuff.”
J.B. put his mug down on the table. “Don’t care for it. Tastes like wolfbane.”
Lori had taken more than a bit of it before her face showed her dislike. “Not
like,” she said.
“Seems drinkable,” belched Finnegan. “Bit of… yeah, not so good.”
Okie, Krysty and Doc put down their beakers, untasted. Ryan looked across at
J.B. biting his lip, knowing that the Armorer shared his doubts. But neither of
them said anything. After all their years together, they didn’t need to.
Ryan tipped the bowl in a dark corner of the room. The punch flowed into the
dirt and left only a faint damp patch. When Herne returned, he seemed pleased to
find that the punch was gone.
“I shall leave you now to sleep. Our celebrations begin at dawn. I doubt they
will disturb you.”
TOWARD MIDNIGHT Finnegan fell asleep, snoring loudly. J.B. checked him, the
light of the dying fire reflecting redly off his glasses. “Seems well out. Can’t
wake him easily. Heart’s all right. Breathin’s deep but steady. Best take turns
to watch him.”
The hut shook as a momentary earthquake vibrated across the land. Tremors had
become so common that nobody even noticed them.
They quickly arranged a roster to sleep so that one of them would always be
awake, checking that Finn wasn’t ill. Ryan guessed Finn couldn’t have drunk
enough of the punch to do him any permanent harm. But the mere idea of it was
enough to make them more cautious overall. Okie agreed to sleep across the
doorway, and all of them kept their blasters ready and primed. J.B. suggested
breaking out, there and then, taking Henn with them, but Ryan was for patience.
“The food was fine and it doesn’t seem dangerous here. Plus we’re warm. It might
not have been a sleeper in the drink—could be just strong liquor. Finn hasn’t
had any for weeks now. We’ll watch ’em.”
RYAN CAWDOR AND KRYSTY WROTH were now accepted by the others as a couple. They
went together, drove together and slept together. Once in the redoubt, Okie had
made a play for Ryan in front of Krysty, putting her hand directly on the front
of his trousers, smiling at his instant reaction, glancing at Krysty.
“Looks like he’s ready for a fuckin’ change,” she had said.
Ryan had tensed, ready to deck her with a roundhouse right, pulling himself away
from her grasp.
Krysty moved toward Okie, smiling at her with even white teeth. “Ever try
anythin’ like that again, slut, and I’ll put two holes through the back of your
head.”
Ryan had rarely heard such menace in a human voice. Okie backed off, her eyes
flicking nervously from Krysty to Ryan. “Only a joke, Krysty. Can’t you take a
fuckin’ joke?”
“Yeah. See me laughin’? Make sure, Okie, you know the difference between a
threat and a promise. Then you’ll know what that was.”
Okie never tried it again.
Now Krysty and Ryan were pressed together in a single bed, like spoons in a box.
She faced away from him, her hair brushing against his chest, making his nipples
feel tender. He almost immediately became erect, but both of them were sleeping
fully dressed, even down to their boots. But she could still feel his need for
her.
“Have to be a quickie, lover,” she whispered.
“Better than nothin’. Want a hand?”
“No. You handle your part and I’ll do the rest.”
While he unzipped his trousers, she wriggled out of hers, pulling them down to
her knees. She kept her panties on, moving them to one side to accommodate him.
He felt the warmth of her muscular buttocks cupping him and he slid easily into
her warm waiting depths. She moaned softly at the size that slowly filled her.
He moved in faster and deeper, keeping the rhythm even so that she could share
his pleasure.
“Yes, lover,” Krysty whispered. “Keep it for… yeah, that’s good. Hold me tight.”