Perception Fault (10 page)

As soon as the major rounded the corner of the Magnolia, his pace quickened until he was almost trotting down the street, nodding to civilians as he passed, tossing off quick answering salutes to fellow sec men.

“Bastard rank-and-file,” he muttered. Times like this—when he’d actually prefer to be inconspicuous—the uniform impeded him to no end. But going in civilian clothes would take too much time now. If he wanted to make his rendezvous, he’d have to hurry.

Stepping quickly to the back of the building, he saw the squat, hulking shape of the mil wag and driver he’d told to meet him here. “Where to, sir?” the sec man asked, about to turn the key.

“That’s a negative. I’m commandeering this vehicle myself. You’re to report back to your quarters, and tell no one about this. I’ll return this vehicle to the motor pool after I’m finished.”

The man’s salute was firm at first, but wavered as he heard his instructions. “Yes, sir. Um, sir, permission to speak freely?”

Kelor stifled a sigh and nodded. “Yes?”

“Given the recent attack, the regs say that no one should be out by themselves. Requesting permission to accompany you on your mission.”

Kelor smiled. It was all too easy. Just give the average man something to believe in, something larger than
himself, and he’d gladly risk his own life to save another. “I appreciate your devotion to duty, Private Hanstead. Tell you what. I’ve got a turn in the Magnolia coming up, but as a reward for your adherence to the regulations, I’d like you to go in my place.”

The young man’s eyes goggled. “Sir, do you really mean that?”

Kelor smiled again, this one easy and real. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t, Hanstead. Why don’t you head back to barracks and get cleaned up. Once I’ve finished my business, I’ll head back here and arrange for that pass to be waiting.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Hanstead scampered off, and Kelor swung into the driver’s seat, hitting the ignition and easing the wag into gear. The vehicle balked a bit before accelerating, and Kelor frowned as he listened to the rough engine. Stores of gas are getting worse and worse every day, he thought. Got to see about tracking down more from somewhere. Need to get updated numbers on the summer crops and cattle, too. If that bastard Tellen keeps rustling heads, it’s gonna be a long, meatless winter.

His thoughts turned from logistics and supply problems to the new arrivals in town. They were stone-cold chillers, every one of them, even the old man. And that redhead was damn fine. But he’d bet she’d feed any man’s nuts to him if she didn’t want to play.

He’d been paralleling the main wall a few blocks to the west, but as he left he angled deeper into the city, away from the main fortifications and into the ring of houses still protected by the metal wall. He scanned the deserted streets, an ancient, creased map on his knee, looking for a tumbledown house at a particular intersection.

The wag sputtered as he rounded a corner, and Kelor fed it more gas to keep the vehicle going. The last thing he wanted to be was on foot this far out from the main cordon. Just because they were behind the wall didn’t mean there weren’t predators that found their way inside.

“Bastard place’s gotta be around here somewhere— Ah, there it is.”

The houses here were little more than crumbling ruins, ravaged by a century of harsh Rocky Mountain weather. One in particular, a weathered, pale gray ranch listing to one side, caught his attention, primarily due to the large, white X that had been painted on the door, looking fresh and clean as if it had been done the day before, which probably wasn’t too far from the truth.

Kelor grimaced as he pulled up to the worn curb in front of the house, checking that his Beretta PX4 .40-caliber blaster was secure in its hip holster before moving in. It was unnerving how they got inside the perimeter so easily, even with the random patrols through certain neighborhoods. After all, if one or two could get in here, what’s to stop ten, or twenty, or fifty? But he was in too deep now to stop—too much was riding on his ability to produce what was needed.

Halfway up the cracked sidewalk, he thought he heard a skittering noise around the left side of the house. Easing his blaster out of the holster, he pulled back the slide to chamber a round and crept to the corner of the house, raising his blaster before lunging around the corner of the building, pistol extended to aim at…

Nothing. Dried brown grass crunched under his feet, and a few yards away a weathered wooden fence stood, gaps in the barrier providing a glimpse into the next yard, but no signs of life. Kelor exhaled and raised his
blaster, shaking his head. All that skulking around was making him paranoid.

Glancing around warily nonetheless, he walked back to the front door and listened at it before trying the knob. As soon as he touched it, the slab of wood fell into the room with a crash, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

As soon as the door hit, Kelor stepped inside and swept the room with the laser sight on his Beretta, looking for the slightest movement. Every time he went out for one of these meetings, he expected a double-cross to be pulled, with him chilled on the floor. So far the information he had provided had been invaluable, but Kelor wasn’t stupe enough to think his usefulness would last forever, especially given what his contact had in mind.

The living room was desert-dry, with a thick layer of dust on the carpeted floor, revealing two sets of footprints heading toward the entryway to the room beyond. Kelor approached the entryway on the right-hand side, skirting the perimeter of the room until he was next to the opening, close enough to see the faded white counters of a kitchen inside. Peeking his head in for a moment, the major established that no one was waiting in the room for him, then ducked through the doorway, checking each corner, just to make sure.

When Kelor was certain the room was empty and secure, he looked at the aluminum-legged table in the middle of the kitchen. Unlike everything else, the table-top was free of dust and debris. On it rested a rectangular, dark green box with a keypad and illuminated screen on the front, right next to a handset. Approaching it warily, Kelor picked up the handset and put it to his ear. “Hello?”

“You’re late.” The voice was cool and controlled, causing a shiver to run down Kelor’s spine every time he heard it.

“Yeah, I had to oversee cleaning up the mess your people created when they attacked early. I warned you the shift change was at 1:00 p.m., and going any earlier would jeopardize the entire timeline, but they just couldn’t wait, could they?”

“That’s inconsequential in the face of the results. The Carrington girl was supposed to be lured out and cut off so she could be captured. Instead, I lose even more men while providing the diversion so she can be taken, only to have her snatched out from under my nose by some ragtag group of outlanders?”

“Hey, I gave you everything you needed. How in the nuking hell was I supposed to account for a group wandering in to upset your plan? Besides, as I saw it, they carved through your men like a knife through butter, not to mention going through your entire force to get to the wall, so if anything, that says more about your men than my intel.”

There was silence from the other end of the radio, and Kelor forced himself to keep breathing, aware he’d scored a minor victory. The voice on the other end changed tack. “What have you found out about them?”

“Group of six, two women, four men, all more than able. Led by a black-haired, rangy son of a bitch named Ryan Cawdor—”

“Ryan Cawdor! Are you sure?”

“Sure as I shook his hand while he introduced himself. Why, do you know him?”

“Only by reputation. He used to travel with the Trader years back, till he struck out on his own. Thought
he was dead, but every so often his name seems to pop up here or there. He’s a dangerous man.”

“They’re all having dinner with Carrington tonight. Perhaps I should be there.”

“No, if the old man didn’t invite you, don’t insert yourself. You may have other things to attend to. Anything else of interest?”

“Yeah, they got an old man with them. Didn’t catch his name, Doc something or other. White hair, maybe in his late fifties, early sixties, hard to tell. Anyway, he seemed to know more about this area than he should have, particularly given that they hadn’t been here before.”

“That you know of,” the voice interjected.

“Regardless, Cawdor mentioned Colorado Springs as being abandoned. Nothing about stickies in the area, which your men encountered last month. Anyway, the old man mentioned some sites that he
definitely
shouldn’t have known about—like Cheyenne Mountain and NORAD.”

“Hmm, now that
is
interesting. That settles it—I want to meet Cawdor. Tonight.”

It was a good thing Kelor’s throat was already dry, because he didn’t choke when he heard the request, but only coughed instead. Although it was stifling inside the small room, the chill he’d felt earlier reappeared, dancing along his spine up to the nape and back down again. “Are you out of your mind? Slipping out to these little meetings is one thing, but trying to get you in the city would get me killed if we get caught.”

“Well, then, you’d simply better make sure you
don’t
get caught, Major. Set it up, and let me know how and when you’re ready to bring us in. And don’t even think
about trying to hand me over, or the first bullet out of my blaster’ll go right between your eyes.”

“Don’t be stupe, who’s going to believe I happened to capture you while driving around the city? I’ve got as much to lose here as you do, you know.”

“Yes, and as much to gain by staying the course, as well.”

“Only if you can pull off taking the city.”

“That’s why I have you on the inside, Major. However, the lack of progress made so far has been a bit—disturbing. Perhaps these new arrivals will be exactly what I need. Set up the meeting, but don’t tell Cawdor. It’s always better to have the element of surprise on one’s side.”

Kelor couldn’t help himself. “Yeah, like when he surprised your men on the hillside.”

Instead of anger, the tone turned thoughtful. “Hmm, no doubt. A man like that could prove useful if he can be persuaded to join the right side. Get it done, and take the radio with you so you can report directly to me once it’s done.”

Kelor was about to twist the power knob off when the voice spoke once more. “Oh, and Major, my men reported signs of stickies near the house, so I’d be careful out there if I were you. I look forward to hearing from you shortly.”

There was a click as the voice on the other end switched off. Kelor did the same, then reached over to pick up the radio. As he did, he heard the scrape of something crossing the threshold of the front door.

Already pissed off by what he was being forced to do, Kelor raised his blaster as he whirled to see a naked female stickie shambling toward him, suckered hands outstretched to tear the skin from his body. Instinct
took over, and the major put three rounds into the mutie when it was just a few feet away, the .40-caliber rounds smashing through its forehead and exploding out the back of the creature’s skull. The corpse swayed on its feet for a moment, then crashed into dust, ichor leaking out of its shattered head, dripping over the black collar around its neck and onto the floor.

“Nuking hell, where do these fuckers keep coming from?” Kelor wondered as he replaced his low magazine with a fresh one. Keeping his blaster at the ready, he left the house, radio tucked under his arm, his mind whirling at the task he’d been assigned. His senses sharp for any more muties, he trotted to the wag, got in and drove back toward the center of the city.

“Well, no reason for everyone to hang out here,” Ryan said, catching Mildred and J.B. edging toward the door out of the corner of his eye. “Why don’t we all take it easy, but not too easy, until, say—” he looked at the marvel that was a working digital clock near the bedside, which read 2:03 p.m. “—five-thirty, when we all regroup here, okay?”

J.B. had kept his eyes on the television screen when he paused at the door. “You aren’t worried about being watched here? These guys got tech we haven’t seen in years, ’cept like Jak said before. Strange we haven’t heard about them elsewhere. With riches like this, you’d think traders would carry the word far and wide.”

Ryan motioned everyone close. “Mebbe, mebbe not. After all, it’s not like a lot of folks are humping up to or over the Rockies anymore. There’s just not that much left on the Cific worth anyone’s time. Might be another question for Mr. Carrington tonight. But before anyone goes strolling around, here’s our cover story.” He related the improvised tale he’d spun for Major Kelor earlier, making sure everyone got what little of it there was down pat. “Obviously, no talk of redoubts or any of that stuff. Our meal tonight will be interesting enough without us pouring fuel on the fire.” He distributed the various key cards to the rest of the group, then took Krysty’s hand. “Now all of you can scram.”

The others filed out, leaving Krysty and Ryan alone. “Subtle, lover, real subtle.”

“What do you mean? I don’t know about you, but I’m planning on taking a nap till dinner.”

“Oh, no, you’re not. I refuse to let that filthy body of yours ruin these clean sheets just yet.” Krysty spread the comforter back and bent to smell the clean cotton beneath. “Gaia, smells just like lemons and springtime. How do they do all this?”

“I don’t know yet, but it’ll make for some interesting dinner conversation.” Ryan looked down at the front of his dust and sweat-stained shirt and caught a whiff of himself. “Phew. Okay, you just might have something there. Tell you what—why don’t we take them up on that offer to wash our clothes while we clean up here ourselves.” Picking up the phone receiver, he pressed the button for the front desk and was immediately rewarded by a familiar voice on the other end. “Front desk, this is Carter, how may I help you, Mr. Cawdor?”

Ryan stared at the piece of plastic in his hand, wondering how the clerk had known who was calling. “Uh, yeah, we’d like to get our clothes cleaned.”

“Excellent, we’d be happy to take care of that for you. If you’d like, you may leave them in the main room, and someone will be along shortly to collect them.”

“Tell you what, we’ll leave them outside the door. We’re likely to be occupied.”

“Very well, Mr. Cawdor.”

Ryan replaced the phone and turned to Krysty, a satisfied smile on his face. “That takes care of that.”

Kicking off her boots, Krysty unzipped the front of her jumpsuit, revealing her full breasts contained by her simple cotton bra. “Best idea you’ve had all day, lover.”

Having slipped off his longcoat, Ryan was doing the same with his combat boots, feeling secure enough to actually let his feet breathe for once. He shucked his drab-green fatigue pants and pulled off the black T-shirt. Scooping up both his and Krysty’s clothes, he headed to the door and cracked it open. Peeking outside to see the hallway deserted, he placed the clothes next to the door, then closed it again. “Better than the one that got us in here?”

Krysty had been heading to the bathroom, but turned at the door to regard him with her penetrating, emerald-eyed gaze. “Yeah, loads better. That one took Gaia’s own grace to get us through without one of us getting chilled. I’ll follow you to the gates of hell, lover, you know that, but sometimes I do wonder what goes on in that head of yours, to think charging into an army is a good idea.”

Ryan walked to the bathroom, pausing in the doorway to admire Krysty’s voluptuousness as she fiddled with the tub controls. “Simple enough. If we kept going west, we’d be stuck with what was left of Tellen’s army between us and the city. When an army’s been repelled from their target, they’re already beaten and demoralized. They’re not paying attention to their surroundings anymore, they just want to go home. Done fast and hard, a single unit—like ours—can break through the line before they can regroup and reach our objective. Just like we did back there.”

Krysty was running the bath water, smiling in delight when the water came out clear and clean. “All right, all right, enough with the tactics lesson. Just get your lanky ass in here.” She examined small bottles near the side of the bathtub, selected one and dumped its entire contents into the swirling water.

“Lanky? Lanky? Doc is lanky. Jak is—well, skinny as a two-sided rail, I guess.” Ryan padded barefoot up behind Krysty and scooped her up in his arms, relishing the feel of her skin against his, even as sweaty and dirty as they both were. But that would just make getting clean that much more fun. “I am anything but lanky.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” Snaking an arm around his neck, Krysty turned her face to his, her mouth seeking his in a firm kiss that, as usual, almost made his toes curl. He gently let her down, enjoying the lip-to-lip contact as their bodies pressed together, her breasts brushing against his chest while her other hand snaked lower, seeking another part of his anatomy. “And there’s some parts of you that are definitely anything
but
lanky.”

“Glad you approve. What do you say we get into that big tub and soap each other all over before heading to that even bigger bed for an hour or two?”

“I’d like nothing better, lover.”

“W
HAT’S THE RUSH
, Mildred?” J.B. asked with a small smile as she tugged him by the hand toward the room at the far end of the hall.

“John, John, John. If you have to ask, it’s obvious we haven’t had enough privacy in the past few weeks.” Snatching the key card from his hand, she inserted it into the slot and pushed the door open. “Showers in military bases or baths in freezing mountain streams at sunrise are one thing, but a working bathroom in a five-star luxury hotel in this day and age is better than winning the lottery, and I intend to take full advantage of it.”

“I’m all for that.” J.B. shook his head at her strange terminology. Even after all this time, Mildred’s speech
could sometimes be as confusing as Doc’s. Shrugging off his battered leather jacket, he located the closet—behind a six-foot-high, intact, mirrored door—and hung it on a hanger, sliding the door closed.

“Also, I want my clothes cleaned—hell, I think I might just have them burned and get all new ones….” Mildred’s patter trailed off, and he turned to see her with her hands clapped to her mouth, staring at the phone.

Immediately his hands went to his mini-Uzi, and he trotted to her side. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

She took her hands away, and he was startled to see she was smiling, even as tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes. “Nothing, nothing at all. Everything is just fine.” She gently removed the submachine gun from his hands and walked over to the desk next to the closet, setting it down on top before coming back to him and taking both of his hands in hers. “For the next two hours, I do not want to hear a single word about power plants, enemy armies, this Carrington dude, his daughter, that creepy major what’s-his-name, chilling, stickies, blasters, or anything else we have to endure in this godforsaken world every single day. You understand me?”

Taking off his fedora, J.B. sent it across the room with a flick of his wrist, landing it on the wingback armchair in the corner. Leaning over, he kissed her on the mouth, quick and light at first, then deeper and with more urgency as her hands snuck around his waist to hold him tight and her mouth opened to his. Moving her to the bed, he peeled her shirt off, revealing a body that had once been a bit soft and fleshy when they had first found her in that cryo-chamber in the jungles of Minnesota all those months ago, but which had been
honed to hard planes of muscle by life in the Deathlands since. J.B. ran his hands, implements that knew dozens of ways of taking life, over her breasts, smiling as she moaned in response to his gentle ministrations. Bending lower, he took the enlarged nipple of her left one in his mouth, teasing it with deft flicks of his tongue.

“Ryan always said you were a man of few words, and I certainly know why—your actions speak a thousand times louder than any words ever could.” Her hands were busy at his belt, unbuckling the metal clasp and sliding his pants down his pale legs, where they met his boots. “Damn it. Just a sec.” She reached down to unlace his boots and wrench them off his feet, letting them thump to the floor.

J.B. supported her with his right arm as he laid her down on the bed. Straightening, he pulled off his own shirt and tossed it aside as he gazed down on her. “Sure you don’t want a bath first?”

“Hell, no, right now all I want is you. We’ll have plenty of time to get cleaned up later. Besides, I like the way you smell.”

J.B. took an experimental whiff of his pit and wrinkled his nose. “Cordite, sweat, dust and blood. If my stink is turning you on, you’ve got to get that nose checked out.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my nose, John. Now come here.” Reaching for him, Mildred pulled J.B. down onto the very soft, very comfortable bed.

A
S THE SINGLES
, Jak and Doc got the middle room by default. Jak cast an envious look at Ryan’s door as they headed into their room. “Wonder if got gaudies here?”

Doc clucked his tongue. “If they are anything like the rest of this gilded city, they will probably cost more
than a bereft lad such as yourself could afford. And then there is the potential problem of the major’s men keeping an eye on us, as I figure they will be doing anyway.”

Jak ran into the room and flopped on the bed. “Not scared him. Gets in way, chill him.”

“Which also would not endear us to the citizens of this remarkable ville.” Doc had picked up a small pamphlet on the nightstand near the side of the bed and was flipping through it. “If you are not going to get cleaned up, perhaps there is something on that devil’s box that can keep you entertained until dinner.”

His eyes widening, Doc picked up the phone and hit a button. “Yes, Carter, this is Dr. Tanner. Did my eyes deceive me, or do you actually have a working barbershop in this establishment? Halleujah! Yes, I will be right down, thank you. Please notify them to have a chair waiting upon my arrival.”

He hung up the phone and turned to Jak, who was already engrossed in the television and its remote control. “I take it you will be fine by yourself for a couple hours?”

With a grunt, Jak dismissed him with the wave of a hand, lost in the strange kaleidoscoping colors on the screen. Doc shrugged out of his frock coat, revealing a stained, torn, ivory-colored shirt that looked almost as old as he was, and trousers that had been washed and worn so many times they had faded from whatever their original color has been to a uniform dull gray. “I myself am about to sample the pleasures of this fine establishment.”

With that, he took up his frock coat and left the room and strolled to the elevator, his lion’s-head cane thudding softly on the floor with each step. At the polished
steel doors, he hit the button with the end of his cane, whistling softly as he waited. When the doors opened, he strolled in and pushed the button for the basement, still whistling his nameless tune as he descended.

When the doors opened, he strolled out into a large room with several columns spaced throughout the area. A bar stretched across the wall to his left, and several reclining barber chairs were arrayed around the space, a few occupied, and several others that were empty. The scent of soap, leather and aftershave hung in the air. A tear came to Doc’s eye along with unbidden memories of a time long, long ago, and he blinked it away with an effort.

A short Hispanic man with close-cropped hair and a white towel over his shoulder walked over. “Welcome to the barbershop, Mr. Tanner. Mr. Carter said to expect you. My name is Jésus, and I’ll be your barber. Anything special you would like?”

Doc puffed out his skinny chest and eyed the young man with an air of grandeur. “Sir, I want the whole shebang.”

Jésus didn’t bat an eye. “Very well. I suggest a quick steam while we clean those clothes.”

“Actually, you may toss this shirt and the trousers on the nearest dung pile, if you have one. I will be requiring a new white shirt, and trousers from your finest broadcloth.”

Jésus turned and picked up a thick, white, terrycloth bathrobe from a nearby chair. “In the meantime, perhaps this will be comfortable.”

Doc was one step ahead of him, pulling off the soiled shirt and handing it to him, then kicking off his boots and sending them skittering across the floor next to an empty chair. His pants were next, which were so dirty
they could have stood up by themselves. “Perhaps you could provide new drawers, sir.”

“Indeed. And I’ll arrange to have your coat cleaned.”

“Excellent.”

The next ninety minutes passed for Doc in a haze of relaxation like he hadn’t known since the nineteenth century. After his long steam, which relaxed every tight muscle in his body, he took a bracingly cold shower, then toweled off and slipped into the thick, soft, warm white robe. Jésus led him over to the chair and had him sit down. He wrapped a moist, hot towel around Doc’s face, arranging it to leave a small air hole near his nose, and let him sit for a few minutes, until Doc almost fell asleep. Then he whisked the towel away and stropped his old-fashioned razor until the edge gleamed in the light. Lathering up soap in a small container, he brushed it onto Doc’s chin and cheeks, then shaved him with sure, steady strokes, cleaning the blade on his towel after each stroke and going back until the old man’s face was as smooth as a newborn’s. He splashed on just a touch of aftershave, enough to cool Doc’s skin and wake him up, then sat him up and cut his hair. Finally, Jésus turned his chair around so Doc could get a glimpse of the new man he had become.

“Dear God…” Doc stared at himself, rubbing his weathered chin and forehead, examining the hollows of his cheeks, the jutting planes of his cheekbones and slightly sunken eyes under his neatly trimmed white hair. “I look…so old…”