Grimly Ryan nodded in agreement as he holstered the SIG-Sauer pistol and slid the Steyr SSG-70 off his shoulder. The longblaster was freshly cleaned from before the jump, its rotary mag filled with live rounds.
Working the bolt, the one-eyed man eased off the safety. Behind him, the others spread out in the short arc of a firing line, every weapon trained on the door. Another thump sounded.
“Open it,” Ryan said, the longblaster held ready.
Flexing his hands, J.B. gripped the wheel, then paused, and released it. Pulling a can of oil from a pocket, he carefully dripped a few drops of the precious lub onto the stem of the wheel, then along the jamb of the door where hinges should be located.
Tucking the can away, the Armorer tightened his fingerless leather gloves, took hold and started to turn the wheel.
It refused to budge at first, then suddenly gave a scream of rusted metal and spun freely, almost out of control. The lock disengaged with a muffled thump, and J.B. quickly moved out to one side and swung the Uzi into its usual position.
Reaching out with the muzzle of the Steyr, Ryan gave the door a hard tap and it swung easily aside. Instantly a cloud of dark fumes flowed into the chamber. Covering their mouths, the companions hastily retreated into the mat-trans unit to get away from the spreading gas. As the cloud filled the chamber, it reached the candles on the wall, and they winked out instantly.
Chapter Two
The companions scrambled to find bits of cloth to use as masks against the encroaching cloud when a familiar smell reached them and everybody relaxed.
“Shit,” Jak exhaled, annoyed. “Wag exhaust.”
“Inside a gateway?” Dean demanded, fighting back a cough. The fumes were killing his throat.
“At least,” J.B. said, shoving his hat farther back on his head, “there’s nobody in the next room.”
“Hopefully,” Mildred warned.
“Making me feel dizzy,” Krysty said, touching her temples. In response, her hair was lying limply on her shoulders, hardly moving.
“Can’t stay here,” Ryan said, noticing a lack of openings for vents or fans. “I’m on point. Let’s go.”
Quickly the companions prepared their weapons. Jak eased one of his many knives loose and cocked back the hammer on his Colt Python. Krysty checked the load in her S&W .38 revolver, while Mildred did the same with her Czech-made ZKR .38 target pistol. Dean dropped the clip of his 9 mm Browning Hi-Power to check the load, then slammed the mag back into the grip of his semiautomatic blaster.
Meanwhile, J.B. pulled back the bolt on his Uzi submachine gun, and reached behind to pump the action on his S&W M-4000 shotgun. Loaded with flechette rounds, the weapon would blow a person or creature into shreds at twenty yards.
Holding his huge LeMat steady, Doc rotated the cylinder to visually inspect the loads.
Longblaster in one hand, 9 mm pistol in the other, Ryan headed across the chamber, J.B. and Krysty flanking him. As the three entered the next room, the others waited from the doorway ready to give cover in case of trouble.
Both of his blasters sweeping for targets, Ryan stepped through the oval doorway and blinked at the harsh fumes tainting the murky atmosphere. Moving stealthily, he dimly saw a control console, some shelves to the left and a hulking collection of machinery to the right. The room continued for another few yards, then ended in another steel door exactly like the first.
“J.B., Krysty, behind the console,” Ryan ordered, leveling his Steyr.
As they took the position, Ryan listened at the door for a moment, then started to turn the wheel. He struggled against the rust, finally forcing the wheel to turn, the heavy levers withdrawing from the four sides of the frame and coming free with a rain of corrosion sprinkling to the floor. As the door disengaged, Ryan pulled it aside. Raw sunlight and fresh air poured into the room, carrying the smell of a jungle.
As the fresh air blew into the gateway, it broke the cobwebs apart and stirred tiny dust devils to dance madly about the metal floor. Blinking at the harsh daylight, Ryan stepped onto a predark concrete sidewalk, tall weeds growing in the cracks. Past the sidewalk was a large expanse of bare ground, the wrecks of wags and assorted debris dotting the black soil in an irregular pattern. A telephone pole rested almost sideways amid the broken things, the remains of insulted cables dangling impotently from the rotting crossbars.