Immediately, Mildred clicked her flashlight and the passageway was brightly illuminated by white light. Now they could see a piece of thin yellow twine stretched across the passageway, the color of the string almost identical to the illumination coming from the smelly fish-oil lanterns.
“Used their own lanterns to hide the twine,” Ryan said, running his hands along the taut length. “Damn, it’s attached to the pin of a gren. Yellow striped, Willy Pete.”
White phosphorous? “Leave it be,” J.B. suggested, jerking his head back down the tunnel. “In case of company.”
“Good idea,” Ryan said, standing and sheathing his blade. “Mildred, keep the light on it. Everybody stay sharp going over.”
Carefully the companions stepped over the trigger mechanism while Ryan checked ahead for more traps. But that was the only one found. Hopefully the only one there was.
Proceeding up the cinder-block stairs at a crawl, he reached the top and another banded door. Langford hadn’t missed a trick. Checking it for traps, Ryan then slid his knife into the jamb and depressed the spring bolt. A push, and the door swung open easily.
Beyond was a large room, bookshelves full of volumes lining the walls, and large steamer trucks arranged in neat rows along the carpeted floor. The glass flue of a lantern hanging from the ceiling reflected the light of their own lantern, throwing distorted shadows everywhere.
“Bastard maze,” the Deathlands warrior growled, stepping into the library. The shag carpet crunched with age at every step, making more unwanted noise.
“Books! I’ll start the lantern,” Mildred said, lifting it off the hook. Cradling the lantern, she raised the flue and lit it with her butane lighter. The stubby wick ignited with a clear blue flame, and bright white light flooded the room.
“That’s alcohol!” J.B. gasped, grabbing the lantern away. Quickly he yanked up the flue and turned down the wick until it died.
“Must be a quart,” Ryan said. “Excellent. That’s about half of what we need for the generator. See if there are any more around.”
The companions spread out in a standard search pattern while Mildred hung the fish-oil lantern from the ceiling hook.
“Two more,” Dean reported from a corner, lifting them into view. “But both are empty.”
“Got another door,” J.B. called, studying the latch, but Krysty moved past the man.
“Don’t bother,” she said, reaching past him and turning the knob. The door swung aside, revealing a large room with brick walls and heavy wooden furniture. A table covered with extra clothing and some blasters stood before a glowing fireplace.
“Baron’s bedroom,” Krysty said, checking the other side of the door. As expected, it was carved and painted to resemble brick. More of his work, or another gift from the original builders?
“Now we know how he got in and out,” she said, easing the door shut.
“Let’s see what’s in the trunks,” Ryan suggested, and the companions started tearing through the huge collection.
Breaking open the lock, Jak lifted the lid to find a nude centerfold of a woman on the inside of the lid, the photo slightly reddish from a layer of varnish. The trunk was packed with gold and silver jewelry.
“Junk,” the teenager declared.
“Mebbe,” J.B. said, and started tossing away the antiques. Soon they reached the bottom of a drawer. Lifting it out, both men gasped as they uncovered a rack of automatic rifles gleaming with oil. Stacks of clips covering the bottom of the trunk.
“M-16s!” Dean cried in delight, snatching one of the military rapidfires.
“Kept all the good stuff for himself,” Ryan noted, lifting another autoblaster from the nest. He worked the bolt and checked the action. The rapidfire was worn, but with no sign of carbolic-acid corrosion from putting it away dirty.
Dropping the magazine, the man thumbed out a cartridge. Using the edge of his panga, he pried loose the lead ball at the front of the brass and cast it aside. Sheathing the blade, he then poured the contents of the cartridge into the palm of his hand.
“Black powder,” he cursed in annoyance. “This would jam after only a few rounds. Even if the powder had enough kick to operate the blowback bolt.”