Remember Tomorrow (12 page)

Two enemy gunners stepped out of cover, keeping low and firing indiscriminately at the area where the companions had been standing. It didn’t matter. All five of them were sheltering behind buttresses. Ryan was the farthest up, while on the other side Mildred and Krysty shared shelter. Jak was on the right of the tunnel, like Ryan, while Doc was one buttress removed from Mildred and Krysty. This left Ryan and Jak in better cover, but with a worse angle of fire.

The two enemy gunners cut loose, while another two—with their blasters slung over their shoulders—ran out, crouching low, to try to take their compatriots back into cover. For the man headed for the runner with the punctured thigh, it was an easy task. He grabbed his man and hauled him back while the hail of SMG fire kept the companions pinned back behind their scant cover. But for the runner headed for the spine hit, it was much more difficult. His objective was closer to the companions and less able to move.

The runner looked terrified, but he kept moving, stooping even lower to grab his target and try to haul him to safety. He cursed loudly and incomprehensibly as he took the outstretched hand of the stricken marksman, who was beginning to fade from this world.

His target’s lack of energy and his own panic were to cost both of them dear. Ryan sighted the stricken man. To take him out would be a mercy, as a cripple couldn’t survive long in the Deathlands. One shot from the Steyr drilled a hole in his back, puncturing his lungs and drowning him in his own blood. It was a marginally better fate than chilling slowly from his spine wound.

The impact made his attempted rescuer curse louder and step back in shock, straightening. This brought him into the line of fire of the blasters that had previously been covering him, firing over his head. The hail of fire caught him in the head and shoulders, fine sprays of blood, bone and brain matter raining out of his disintegrating skull as his torso was jerked like a spastic puppet by the multiple impacts. The momentum kept him upright long after he had bought the farm and he only slumped to the concrete when the firing ceased.

Above the deafening noise of the SMGs, Ryan could hear an incoherent voice yelling. The blasterfire died quickly and the corpse slumped to the floor.

There was a pause that seemed to lengthen out into an eternity as both sides held their fire. For the companions, there was nothing for them to target, the enemy forces were concealed around the end of the dogleg bend. But the enemy didn’t appear to be too keen on firing at the companions either. The silence settled into a blanket that seemed to settle uncomfortably over the scene.

Ryan looked across to Jak. The albino gave a brief nod and then, as Ryan kept him covered, he dropped to the ground and quickly slithered across the floor to come up again next to his leader. It took a matter of seconds and if there were any enemies watching, they weren’t quick enough to snap off any fire.

“What think?” Jak whispered.

“Too damn quiet for my liking,” Ryan replied. “What the fuck are they doing around there? No sign of an attack, for all we know they could have pulled back.”

Jak shook his head. “Would have heard. Sitting waiting.”

“Yeah, but for what?” Ryan wondered. “If we stay here, they can just sit us out like before. But without any grens to hit the bend, we’re risking running into a hail of fire.”

“Could open sec door,” Jak murmured, looking back over his shoulder to the closed door that provided them with a dead end.

“They could have men waiting for us on the other side. We’d be exposed.”

“Mebbe, but why not use it to hit us now?”

Ryan considered what Jak suggested. If the enemy had men stationed behind the sec door, then the right time to hit them would have been while they were being assaulted from the front.

Although they spoke quietly, Doc was close enough to catch what was being said. He drifted out from cover, moving quickly from buttress to buttress, until he was opposite Ryan and Jak. There was no way that the buttresses could cover three people, but standing directly opposite allowed him to speak without too great a chance of the enemy—some three hundred yards away, around a bend—overhearing.

“A word, my dear Ryan,” Doc stated. “It occurs to me that our enemy has a great knowledge of the redoubt. Perhaps one handed down for many years.”

“Great, Doc, could work that out myself,” Ryan answered, a little puzzled.

“I fear that you may, perhaps, be missing my point,” Doc mused.

“Then mebbe you should get to it, and quick,” Ryan informed him.

“A fair point,” Doc agreed. “I shall, without any further ado. My point is simply this—if these people have had what they consider a unique access to the redoubt, then they would not have countenanced the notion that someone else may also have such knowledge. To wit, they may not consider that anyone else may have a knowledge of the codes used to operate the sec doors. And thus, they may have reasoned that simply to close the corridor off would be enough to both deter and stay us. Therefore, they may not have stationed anyone on the other side of the door for the simple reason that they would not have need. To contain us here and then pick us off would be all the strategy they needed.”

“If that was simple, I hope to hell that you never have to go into detail,” Ryan muttered. “But you’re right. That would explain why they haven’t used the sec door to hit us from behind.”

“Ryan, if cover, then I hit code. We need to put up heavy fire when opens, they be on us,” Jak said quickly.

Ryan agreed. To get past the sec door would give them a get out from this closed situation. But the enemy would hear the door opening and would hit them hard. They’d have no choice. The companions would have to move quickly and make every shot count. Without J.B.’s Uzi and the spare ammo he carried, they could only fight for so long against such heavy SMG use.

“Jak, tell Mildred and Krysty on your way back, then hit the code when I give you the signal. We all have to be ready to move.” His mind racing, he could think of only one way to buy the necessary space. He looked across to Doc. “Wait until they start to come into view—they’ll have to when the door opens—and hit them right in the middle with everything you’ve got,” he said, indicating the LeMat.

Doc cradled the ancient pistol to him, his hand resting on the barrel that delivered the shot charge. In this relatively enclosed space, the hot metal dispersing in the air would be the best weapon they could call to hand.

“I shall endeavor to do my best,” Doc solemnly intoned.

Ryan tapped Jak on the back. “Go.”

Keeping low and moving in an irregular zigzagging pattern, Jak moved back, taking as much cover as possible, toward the sec door, pausing only to deliver instructions to Mildred and Krysty, who had remained just out of earshot. He reached the next support buttress to the sec-door arch. There was a ten-foot gap and to cross it and tap in the code would leave him with his back exposed for a vital second or two.

Ryan saw Jak take up his position. He checked the Steyr and the Sig Sauer. For ease of movement he would swap the rifle for the handblaster as they retreated, but he wanted to make sure that he had both primed and ready for a firefight. Next, Ryan looked back at his people. Jak, impassive as ever, was poised and ready, seemingly at ease and ready to move with the speed and accuracy of a snake. Mildred and Krysty were behind their cover. Both had their blasters ready and their balance poised to make a break for the sec door as it opened. Finally, he looked across at Doc. The old man would be the slowest out of the blocks, but the firepower of the LeMat dictated that he should stay at the front with Ryan. The old man stood rigid and firm, jaw set grimly, a light in his eyes that showed him to be somewhere else in his mind, about to fight yet another old battle. He met Ryan’s eye and indicated his readiness with an inclination of the head.

Ryan looked back at Jak and nodded. Now.

Jak darted to the sec-door panel and punched in the code. The door began to move, the whirring of the predark machinery seeming somehow louder than usual in the encompassing silence. Mildred and Krysty raised their blasters and began to track backward, leaving cover and moving toward the door. Ryan and Doc faced the dogleg bend, waiting for the first signs of advance.

There was an incoherent cry from beyond the corner of the tunnel. The enemy had been content to sit back and wait rather than incur losses and hadn’t even bothered to mount a watch on what the companions were doing.

Yelling and cursing, a group of enemy came around the bend, firing indiscriminately, peppering the corridor with blasterfire. Doc and Ryan stood firm, despite the ricochets and lumps of concrete that flew around them. They didn’t dare look back to see how their companions were doing. Ryan was too busy trying to pick off runners with the Sig Sauer, while Doc waited, patient and yet anxious, trying to pick the optimum moment to fire.

Mildred, Krysty and Jak ignored the mayhem around them. If they were hit, there was nothing they could do about it. Right then, they had to trust luck to get through the sec door and into cover on the other side. If they were really lucky, Doc and Ryan could pull back and they could keep the enemy at bay while they closed the door. That would buy them a few seconds in their flight, and seconds were the most precious thing they could wish for. Meantime, as they stood in the open, they snapped off shots at the oncoming gunners, hoping to at least make the least brave of the enemy dive for cover, even if they didn’t chill or injure a few.

The enemy was gaining ground. It was a matter of getting the right distance for a spread of shot with the right distance for power. Doc couldn’t think about it, only consider that tightening in his gut that told him it was now or never.

Doc calmly stepped out from behind the buttress, raised the LeMat and fired into the middle of the enemy fighters. The roar was deafening and he remained upright and unyielding, even though his face was cut and bleeding from concrete chips. He felt shells pluck at his clothes, tearing material and snicking at his flesh, creasing the skin and drawing blood. One hit him full in the shoulder, driving him right back, the impact making him grunt. But the hardy old man had so much adrenaline pumping through his body that the wound hardly registered.

The others, scrambling under the sec door, were also hit by the debris of ricochets; stray shells hit around them and even nicked them. Most were ricochets with the real sting taken out by the time they hit. But what was left was more than enough. Agonizing, flaming pain was something that became the only way to prove you were still alive, as the blood flowed from skin tears. Not enough to slow them, but enough to hurt like hell and drive them on.

Doc was immobile. It seemed as though he had stood firm for hours, but in truth it could not have been more than a moment. Ryan grabbed him and hauled him back, firing as he raced backward towards the sec door. Doc, jolted out of his stunned reverie, followed, loosing the ball charge from the LeMat, howling like some primeval beast in a combination of bloodlust, anger and agony.

The shot charge from the LeMat had done its work. The front ranks of the enemy fighters were down, many chilled instantly, others in intense pain and buying the farm from the injuries to their heads and bodies inflicted by the spray of hot metal. The floor of the tunnel was slick with blood and gore, making it hard for the fighters behind to keep their footing as they tried to pick their way around the corpses and the barely alive, firing all the while.

Not thinking about the air around him, alive with potentially lethal hot metal, Ryan took a flying dive at the sec door. Mildred and Krysty were on their knees from positions of cover, firing around Ryan and Doc, while Jak began to tap in the code to close the door.

Ryan’s hand was securely clamped on Doc’s coat collar, and as he launched himself he brought the old man with him. Doc hit the floor and skidded along with a thud that knocked the air out of his lungs and stopped his screaming.

They slid between the doors as SMG fire impotently peppered the thick metal doors, buzzing like angry insects as it deflected harmlessly away. The companions were up and moving out of range, Ryan and Doc having scrambled to their feet. Mildred dropped back to support Doc, who had been pulled upright by Ryan. The one-eyed man was having problems of his own. The wound in his arm had opened up a little more and his sleeve was now heavy with blood. There was no time to staunch the flow.

The same could be said for Doc, who was now losing blood quickly. Almost on the run, swearing heavily, Mildred searched her med bag for something with which to pad the wound until she could tend to it properly. Doc was pale and drawn, only his immense will keeping him from blacking out.

“Leave me,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m holding you back.”

“Like hell we will,” Ryan snapped. “We don’t even know where we’re going or if we’ll get there.”

“Head for the mat-trans. No fit state, but at least a jump’ll get us away,” Krysty breathed heavily.

Ryan nodded and they headed for the gateway level, none wanting to waste valuable breath on words. But they shared the same thoughts—these people knew the layouts of the redoubts, so even if they hadn’t guessed where the companions were headed, they at least knew all the corridors. That meant that rather than chase them, they were likely to send out scouts, so the companions could be met at any junction by enemy fighters.

It was useless just to watch their backs as they would in any other comparable situation. They had to watch everything.