Downrigger Drift (8 page)

Refreshed in more ways than one, Ryan and Krysty walked out of the barracks, both dressed in new, well-fitting clothes.

“I’ll say this, they knew how to make stuff that lasted back then.” Krysty flexed and shifted, enjoying the feel of her new dark blue jumpsuit, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, the zipper on the front down just enough to let the air in. After the shower, she had spent a good ten minutes carefully cleaning the muck off her boots, and now the chiseled falcons gleamed again. Her hair, now washed and treated with something called conditioner, flowed past her shoulders in a soft, dark red wave.

Ryan had taken advantage of the vast clothes stores they had found as well, changing his pants for a new set of olive fatigues with large cargo pockets on the sides, slitting the bottoms so he could pull them on and off over his boots. He also wore a new sleeveless black T-shirt that fit him almost like a second skin. His old, soiled boots had been falling apart, so Ryan had chosen the expedient route and selected a new pair of shiny black combat boots, flexing them with each step to break them in while they were safe. In the Deathlands, sore feet could be just as deadly as a bullet.

He also carried a selection of clothes for J.B. and Mildred, including a few towels in case she wanted to clean up more at the infirmary.

As they retraced their steps, Ryan was already thinking about what to do next. “Probably be here for a few days while the boys recover.” His stomach rumbled, cutting him off in midsentence.

Krysty glanced at him sideways, a sly smile curling her lips. “Sounds like someone worked up an appetite.”

“As I recall, I wasn’t the only one,” Ryan replied. “Although that does mean food’s the first thing on the list, which means finding a way outside. Still got a few bullets for the rifle, so looks like that’s up to me.”

“Assuming we’re able to go outside in the first place. We still have no idea where we are,” Krysty mused. “Or if the nearby animals are even edible.”

“Yeah, but let’s take one thing at a time, okay? Once food’s taken care of, then we search for ammunition. If this is a base, they should have that in good supply. Then, mebbe a vehicle, since I imagine none of us want to try to get back to the mat-trans.”

Krysty shuddered. “Not in this lifetime, lover.”

Ryan nodded. “That makes two of us, and I can’t imagine the others feeling any different. I just hope we haven’t ended up in the desert. If there isn’t anything we can drive out of here, we may have to go back.”

“Other than the lack of food, we’re pretty comfortable here, so if it’s inclement outside, we could hole up here for a while if need be.”

“Until we start nibbling on our fingers and toes, no thanks. Let’s see how Mildred’s doing, and then you and I can go find an exit.”

They arrived back at the infirmary to find Mildred struggling to stay awake while watching over her two charges. Neither one’s condition seemed to have changed much, but the doctor was optimistic.

“They haven’t gotten any worse, which is the best thing I could have hoped for. Means there’s no allergic reaction. Now we just have to get enough into them to fight the infection itself.”

“Why don’t you get some rest, Mildred? We can watch them for a while,” Krysty said.

The other woman turned to face them, a wry smile on her face. “Funny, you’d think that’s exactly what I’d want to do, except every time I nod off, I keep imagining I hear those damn little rodent piggy mutie feet clattering around me, and I come awake, looking around thinking the little bastards’re going for my ankles. Just before you came in, I almost drew my pistol, I was so sure they were in the room. Sometimes these redoubts are too quiet.”

“Mebbe there’s something here that would help you sleep?”

Mildred jabbed a finger at the two sleeping men. “I don’t want to risk being doped if either of them starts having any problems. Nope, I’m in it for the long haul. If they make it into the second bag without a bad reaction, then I’ll probably be able to sack out.”

“Well, if you aren’t going to rest, you might as well get cleaned up.” Krysty offered the new clothes along with a bright white towel while she rattled off the directions to the living quarters. “And the showers work just fine.”

Mildred pushed herself to her feet and took the bundle. “Now that I will take you up on. Hold down the fort here, and I’ll be back in fifteen.” She headed out the door and down the hall.

“We’ll be here,” Krysty said to her retreating back before turning to Ryan. “Or at least, I will be. You got
that look in your eye like you want to check out the rest of the complex.”

“That obvious, huh?” Ryan grinned. “Might not be the smartest move. Those damn muties might have found another way up here.”

Krysty’s eyebrow went up. “Think it was safe to let Mildred go off by herself?”

“Didn’t see any sign of them in the parts we scouted. She should be all right. Other sections, however, might be another story…”

“But you’re itching to take a look around anyway, aren’t you?”

Ryan shrugged. “Mebbe. They seem all right, and with you here watching over them, shouldn’t be any problem.”

Krysty walked over to him, putting her arms around his neck. “You know the first rule of going into any new place—don’t go anywhere alone.”

Ryan resisted the urge to roll his eye. The rule was one of his own, established very early on, when they had first found the redoubts. “Yeah, yeah, but I didn’t—you were with me, remember?”

“I certainly do, but we haven’t been everywhere yet. However, it does seem like no one’s been here in decades, so it should be safe.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him, lingering there for a few seconds. “You just promise me that you’ll come back at the first sign of anything strange.”

“After that bastard trip through the basement, I’m not looking for any more trouble.” Ryan kissed her again before heading to the door. “If I find the exit, depending on what’s out there, I may poke my head out to try and see where we’ve ended up.”

“Ryan…”

“Hey, if you want to eat salt and pepper soup in the kitchen, go ahead, but I’d much rather have something a bit more filling. Don’t worry. I promise I won’t go far.” And before she could protest or caution him again, Ryan disappeared down the corridor.

K
RYSTY’S CONCERNS
were unfounded. In the next hour, all Ryan found were many more rooms, some filled, some empty, but no sign of life.

In many places, it was just like the barracks—equipment laid in, ready for people to take up residence or duty, but absolutely no sign of any inhabitation. One small room was filled with racks upon racks of thick, waterproofed canvas coats and rubber overshoes, in every size imaginable. Another large room, labeled Food Storage, held hope for Ryan, but when he opened the door, the dusty shelves were completely empty.

Using the posted wall maps as his guide, he made his way to yet another room, this one marked Ammunition. Holding his breath, Ryan opened the door and found himself standing before a wide array of wooden and metal boxes, all stamped with the familiar block printing consistent with the U.S. military of long ago.

Roaming up and down the aisles, he was delighted to find copious 9 mm bullets for his SIG-Sauer and J.B.’s Uzi, and took a few minutes to refill his own pistol’s magazines. There were several thousand rounds of 7.62 mm for his Steyr sniper rifle, as well. He even found a few boxes of shotgun shells, and selected a mix of double-00 buckshot, rifled slugs and even a double-handful of the rare fléchette rounds for the M-4000. He also found 12-gauge shells for the lower barrel of Doc’s LeMat, and a box of .357 shells for Jak’s Magnum. The only caliber he came up short on was .38 caliber, leaving
Krysty’s and Mildred’s blasters still low on rounds. As he searched for them, he considered trying to have both women switch to a different weapon, particularly one that took the more common 9 mm bullets they often found in redoubts. However, after a futile search for any kind of weapons in the rest of the room, he resigned himself to leaving things as they were for the time being. Loading the needed ammunition into an olive-drab metal box, he left it by the door, intending to pick it up on the way back.

The last thing he wanted to check out before heading back was a broad passageway, wide enough to drive a medium war wag down, that appeared to be the entrance to the complex, complete with the usual vanadium steel door. The dull steel door itself looked as solid as the day it had been installed, keeping the elements at bay for more than a hundred years and looking as if it could do so for another thousand.

Drawing his blaster, Ryan thumbed back the hammer and readied it while he keyed in the code that would open the door. Several outside doors had a lever that allowed the door to be opened in increments. This one didn’t. With a ponderous groan, the colossal door rose, revealing the outside for the first time.

The entrance was set in a recess in the ground, and the first thing Ryan saw was a profusion of dry, yellowed weeds that had grown up in the cracks between the concrete slabs serving as pavement leading to the door. The air that wafted in was hot and dry, carrying with it a puff of hot dust. Yellow sunlight illuminated the ground, and he caught of glimpse of a lavender sky overhead, punctuated by fleecy, lemon yellow clouds. Other than that, nothing moved nearby.

Blaster leading the way, Ryan checked the outside
keypad to make sure it still functioned before entering the code to close the door. Moving to the crumbling concrete wall holding up the earthen embankment, he edged out farther, checking above the redoubt entrance first in case an animal—or human—was waiting to pounce on the first thing to come out of the complex in a long, long time.

Nothing leaped onto him from the overhang. Other than the wind blowing a fine cloud of dust, the entrance was deserted. Ryan crept up the side of the slash in the ground until he could see the surrounding landscape.

At first glance, he thought they might be in the part of Deathlands formerly known as the Great Plains. The landscape looked similar, with rolling hills and grasslands turned a parched yellow and brown under the relentless sun. But as he scanned the landscape, he saw large patches of trees around, their leafy shade contrasting with the dry ground.

More interesting was the ruins of large buildings. The grasses, waist-high in places, surrounded the crumbled piles of concrete and rusted metal. Some off in the distance looked as if they might still be intact, and Ryan was about to take a walk over and investigate the nearest when a large animal stepped out from around the crumbling corner of a building about thirty yards away and stopped upon seeing the interloper in its domain.

For a moment, Ryan and the large beast just stared at each other. Large was a misnomer. Although looking like a deer in every respect, it was at least six feet high at the shoulder, and its head loomed far above Ryan’s. Its rack was equally impressive, at least five feet across, and filled with dozens of sharp points.

The massive buck’s eyes narrowed, and it pawed
the ground, its hoof, easily the size of Ryan’s head, furrowing the dry earth underneath.

Ryan tried to keep its gaze locked on him as he moved his left hand slowly around his back to the butt of the Steyr rifle slung over his right shoulder. If he could just reach it, he could tip it down into his right hand, then bring it up and fire—if the buck didn’t charge and impale him first.

The deer shook its huge head, the antlers shaking back and forth. Then, it reared up on its back legs for a moment before shooting forward, right at him.

Ryan’s palm slapped the stock, and he pushed the rifle off his shoulder. The weapon fell into his right hand, and he twisted it around to bring it up.

The buck accelerated, gaining speed with every step, its pounding hooves seeming to shake the very ground as it hurtled toward him.

Ryan clapped his left hand on the stock as he raised and aimed the rifle, knowing there’d only be one shot before the animal was upon him. Dropping to one knee, he fixed the animal’s chest in his sights, hoping to fire before it lowered its head to impale him on the sharp forest of bone rushing at his face and chest.

The deer was less than ten yards away when Ryan shot, just as it began to lower its head. The 7.62 mm bullet smashed into its nose, slicing through it into the mouth, where it split the tongue in two before continuing its tumbling flight, exiting the jaw and carrying a fist-sized chunk of its neck away, including severing the main artery that carried blood to the brain. Seconds away from dying, the gigantic deer stumbled and nearby fell, but its inertia carried it forward in one final lunge, as if it was trying to kill the lowly creature that had just destroyed it.

Ryan skipped back as the huge head slammed into the earth right where he had been standing, the body thudding into the ground right behind it. Sucking in a deep breath, he wiped sweat from his brow before cautiously approaching the massive animal. It tried to lash out at him one last time as he walked forward, but could only move its head weakly from side to side. Drawing his panga, and careful to avoid the lethal rack in case the buck was faking, Ryan knelt and slit its throat, his mouth watering at the idea of fresh meat. Within ten minutes he’d bled it out as best as he could, then hacked off a massive portion of a hindquarter, and hoisted it onto his back, heedless of the blood dripping on his new pants. He headed back to the redoubt entrance, his mouth watering in anticipated taste of roasted deer steak.

The next few days passed in relative comfort. J.B. and Jak responded well to Mildred’s improvised antibiotic cocktail; both awoke the next day, and were strong enough to eat some of the venison soup with dried garlic and wild onion Ryan and Krysty had made in one of the giant stainless-steel pots in the kitchen.

After bringing his bounty back to the kitchen, Ryan had found a small handcart and several large black plastic bags. Pushing the load back out to his kill, he found a small band of savage, skinny coyotes already eyeing his prize. A few carefully placed shots had scared them away, and Ryan had taken his time carving off the best pieces before it spoiled in the hot sun, knowing there would be more than enough left for the scavenging pack to feast on after he was done. The refrigerator in the kitchen worked just fine, and he’d wheeled the whole cart inside and hung the cuts in the chill air. That night’s meal, chunks of venison roasted over an open flame, was one of the best in his memory.

He’d spent the next couple of days exploring the rest of the redoubt, and some of the outlying buildings, always careful to keep the Steyr handy in case he ran into another big buck. Although he spotted some in the parched fields nearby, the stink of the decomposing deer’s body had to have kept them away.

Most of the buildings were ruins, filled with rusty
remains of unidentifiable equipment that often crumbled to powder when he picked them up. However, one of the more promising ones was still intact, albeit with a rusty lock that broke in his hand when he picked it up. Ryan forced the resisting door open and stood next to the square of sunlight that pierced the interior gloom, just in case someone had beaten him to whatever was inside. When he was sure it was safe, he peeked inside and let out a low whistle.

The building was filled with vehicles, from the squat, tan Humvees Ryan had seen some wealthy barons use as heavily modified sec vehicles, to larger tracked personnel carriers and other wheeled vehicles, including two he thought might serve their needs if they were to drive out of here.

As soon as J.B. and Jak were well enough to walk, Ryan and the rest of the group went outside to the garage. The first thing the Armorer insisted on doing was finding out exactly where they were with the aid of his miniature sextant, calculating their longitude and comparing it on the laminated map he carried.

“According to this, we’re on the west side of what used to be Wisconsin, right in the middle of the continent, about ten miles away from the Mississippi River.”

Ryan got right to the point. “Where’s the nearest mat-trans?”

J.B. licked his lips and pointed due west. “On the other side of the river are those jungles of Minnesota, and the nearest redoubt with a working mat-trans.”

Even in the heat, Mildred hugged herself and shivered, although she tried to pass it off as the shadow from a cloud passing under the sun. Ryan knew all too well why that idea didn’t hold much attraction for her. The last time they had visited the steaming rain forest
to the west, where they had first found Mildred in her cryo-freeze chamber, they had also encountered a ville of brutal Vikings who had tried to sacrifice the black woman to their pagan gods. Ryan and the others had broken up the attempted murder before Mildred’s blood had been spilled, and they’d left the area soon after.

“Course, that assumes we can ford the river. Even up here it’s pretty wide, and if any bridges are nearby, they’re probably heavily guarded. Take a lot of jack to cross, otherwise we have to search for another way.”

As he leaned on his sword stick, Doc’s eyes roamed the barren landscape before turning to the group. “Everything our stalwart companion has said indicates that going west, young man, does not sound like a suitable journey. Mayhap we can find a more suitable location to use as our means of egress.”

J.B. brought his map close to his face, squinting in the bright light. “Remember Chicago? It’s about four hundred miles away, if the roads hold up.” He held the map out to Ryan. “We cross the state, should be there in four or five days, depending on what lies between us and it.”

“What about mutie women there?” Jak piped up, his mane of hair restrained by a green army cap that shaded his sensitive eyes from the sun.

Ryan grinned at the mention of the underground tribe they’d encountered on their last trip through the nuked city. “I think we’ll have something to dissuade them if they make a play for anyone again. Come on. I want to show you all something.”

It took all of Ryan’s, Krysty’s and Mildred’s efforts to heave the large garage door up enough for them to be able to drive a vehicle out underneath.

Although J.B. had been improving rapidly, the sight of the military vehicles ignited a fire that Ryan was all too familiar with. Adjusting his spectacles, the smaller man wandered up and down the rows created by the parked troop carriers and off-road vehicles, his lips moving soundlessly as he studied olive-drab profiles, weapons systems and mysterious acronyms.

After ten minutes, he emerged, blinking owlishly in the sunlight. “Well, all these were stored pretty well, for what it’s worth. Like to get one of the bigger ones out, but I’m not sure it’ll run. Otherwise, there’s the four-wheel model there, a LAV 150 Commando, that would do the job, especially since it’s amphibious, so we can ford any smaller streams we might come across. It’s only supposed to hold a crew of three, plus two more, so it’ll be a bit cramped, but we’ll manage.”

The rest of the day was spent jockeying the other vehicles out of the cavernous storage area to get at the larger vehicle—a LAV 300, J.B. called it—and see if they could get it running. Unfortunately, the electrical system was shot. No matter what J.B. tried—charging the battery, replacing fuses—the large machine’s engine refused to turn over.

“Too bad. That would have been riding in style. Well, let’s try the Commando tomorrow.”

On that one they had better luck. J.B. spent the evening sipping broth and reading the thick manual, then Ryan and he took most of the morning to go over the engine, changing the oil, checking the spark plugs and making sure its fuel was good before trying to fire it up. The rumble of the gas engine split the hot silence outside, its exhaust belching white smoke that quickly dissipated in the still afternoon air.

“Let’s take her for a spin.” J.B. climbed into the
driver’s seat while Ryan took the commander’s position. As he passed the gunner’s station, he noticed a joystick control and small monitor there. “Hey, haven’t we seen this before?”

J.B. glanced back, and his lips split in a rare smile. “Yeah, I was gonna show you that in a bit. Now buckle up.”

Ryan eased himself into the commander’s seat, then J.B. depressed the clutch, shifted into gear, eased the Gas down and got the Commando rolling. The steering was stiff at first, but as the amphibious ground car warmed up, J.B. was able to turn the wheel with less effort. The engine sounded surprisingly good, but he drove it in a large circle, then back to the front of the garage, where he let it idle for a minute before turning it off.

“Well, that should get us most of the way there, at least. It’s got a range of four hundred miles, and we’ll bring extra gas, but who knows what the terrain is like between here and there. Figure we’ll head out at first light tomorrow?”

“Yeah, use the rest of the day to load up and smoke the rest of that venison. Now, what’s this device you’re gonna show me?”

J.B. scrambled out of the driver’s seat and into the gunners, moving as spry as a kid with his first blaster. Ryan settled back, ready for a torrent of words to spill forth on the only subject that got J.B. excited—munitions.

“This little number’s called the XM101 Common Remotely Operated Weapons System, or CROWS for short. Basically, instead of a manually operated turret, where your shooter has to view their targets by eyeball, this system lets you acquire your target, rangefind and shoot from the comfort of your armored cockpit.”

J.B. grasped the joystick and moved it to the left, then the right. Above them, Ryan heard a mechanical whirring as something moved on the roof. J.B. turned on the small LCD screen, which flared to life and showed the desolate landscape outside. “The camera is independently mounted from the blaster, so you can be tracking someone, but it can be pointed in a different direction. Less chance of scaring whoever you’re looking at that way.”

Ryan snorted. “Yeah, that option comes up so often out here.”

“Well, at least you can watch your target before deciding to reduce them to a bloody smear. The gunner has full 360 viewing capability—eyes in the back of his head. It can also elevate to a sixty-degree angle, and decline to a twenty-degree angle, giving us a fantastic field of fire. But that isn’t even the best part.”

“Oh?”

J.B. flipped up a bright red switch cover, revealing a bright red switch underneath. He flipped it up, and a gunsight appeared on the screen, zeroing in on the leafless tree trunk. A number appeared in the upper right hand corner—43.71 yards—and the crosshairs flashed from red to green.

J.B. pressed the large trigger mounted on the front of the joystick, and a loud, rumbling burst erupted from the top of the vehicle. Ryan pressed his hands to his ears, but as soon as the cacophony had begun, it was over. Checking the screen, he found the tree had simply vanished. The waist-thick trunk had been blown into thousands of splinters, leaving only a jagged couple of feet of stump.

The Armorer’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “The main weapon is the GAU-4 gas-operated Vulcan 20
mm rotary cannon. With a fire rate of 4000 rounds per minute and a range of at least three thousand yards, it’s more than a match for any small to medium group we may encounter. It’s devastating at close range, as you just saw. I just have to refill the hundred or so rounds I just used in that two-second burst.”

Ryan still hadn’t taken his eyes off the screen, and what was left of the tree. One second it had been there, the next it had disintegrated into toothpicks. “Just the thing to keep us covered on our drive through the countryside, you think?”

“Exactly.”

Ryan made sure the rest of the group spent most of the day packing whatever they needed to head out at first light the next day. From Jak creating replacement throwing knives on a grinder in a small workshop to caching extra gas and water—and being careful not to mix the two up—to Mildred creating small packs of vitamin pills and practically ordering everyone to take them, everyone made sure they were ready to roll come morning.

After dinner, Ryan and Krysty took this last opportunity to get a little privacy by moving into one of the empty quarters. They had actually gotten the idea from J.B. and Mildred, who had slipped away earlier in the evening.

With full bellies and a pleasant, relaxed sense of security for once, their lovemaking had been slow and enjoyable. Krysty had taken the lead, straddling Ryan so that she rose above him like a glorious, nude Valkyrie, her dark red hair tumbling freely around her shoulders, just brushing the tops of her breasts. Ryan had filled his hands for several minutes, then moved on to other parts until they were both panting and satiated.

Afterward, he spooned with her on a pair of bunk beds they had pushed together for just this purpose.

“Haven’t felt this good in a while, lover,” she murmured sleepily.

“Mmm. Always best to enjoy the good times while you can. They’re usually over all too quick.” Ryan kissed her on the cheek, then allowed himself to drift off to sleep, for once unfettered by dark dreams or ominous thoughts of tomorrow.