James Axler - Hell Road Warriors

“Very useful.” Toulalan looked up toward the LAV guarding the convoy. “And your pale friend?”

“Jak’s the best fighter I know, and he’s a tracker.”

“Excellent.” Toulalan looked over at J.B. The Armorer was getting deep into his beer. “And your cannoneer?”

“Armorer. He can fix any blaster you got.”

“Excellent.” Toulalan looked at Mildred. “And her?”

“She’s a healer, and you tell Six ‘hands off.’”

“Understood.” Toulalan ran an appreciative eye over Krysty. “And her.”

Ryan smiled. “She’s mine.”

“Ah.”

“She’s a crack shot,” Ryan said.

“Better and better.”

Toulalan looked askance at Doc. “And him?”

Doc was well into his wine and speaking French to a good-looking young woman wearing a coverall and a tool belt. Ryan had to admit the old man was something of a sight wherever they showed up.

The one-eyed man smiled. “Doc’s our…resident scholar.”

“Ah!” Toulalan laughed. “Very good!”

Ryan watched Six walk by. He never stopped walking the perimeter, but each time he passed the feast he cast long looks at Mildred.

“Your man Six doesn’t like muties.”

Toulalan made noise. “Who does?”

Krysty’s body went rigid against Ryan. He kept his tone neutral. “You don’t tolerate them?”

“In the Deathlands, do you?” the man countered.

“Some villes do. Some don’t.”

“Ah. Well, in Val-d’Or those born mutant are culled.” Toulalan shrugged again. He seemed to consider the matter to be of little consequence. “Life is hard enough without nurturing horrors.”

Krysty’s hand clenched Ryan’s knee.

Ryan kept his voice neutral. “What’re you proposing?”

“Accompany us west. As far as you like. My convoy will be far stronger with you among us. As for you, there’s safety in numbers. Alone, even a wag as powerful as a LAV is vulnerable.”

Everything Toulalan said was true. Ryan took another beer. “Authority?”

Toulalan shrugged again. “I’m the leader of this convoy. You’re the leader of your people. If I wish something of any of your people, I’ll ask you. You’ll accept my authority over the convoy and obey my orders until the day you find you can’t. On that day you and I’ll shake hands and part as friends.” Toulalan held up his glass again. “If you join us, the only thing I’ll promise you is food like you have never known until that food runs out. That will be your—how do you say it in Deathlands, jack? And when the bounty of the Diefenbunker runs out…” Toulalan shrugged again. “Well, you have tasted Six’s pig.”

It was a damn tempting offer. “I’ll have to talk with my people.”

“But of course. Take your time. You may give me your answer in the morning, and whatever that answer should be, I insist you and your friends stay for breakfast.”

“Mighty kind, and I’ll think on your offer.” Ryan rose and took Krysty’s hand. He looked over at the mandolin player and the flautist. A young man playing a hand drum had joined them. “Right now I’m gonna dance with Krysty.” The redheaded beauty grinned in delight and stood to join him.

RYAN SIGHED as Krysty collapsed forward onto his chest. He pulled the top blanket back over them both. He handed her the canteen without being asked, and Krysty gulped water thirstily. She gasped and tilted the spout to Ryan’s lips. He drank deeply and relaxed back, staring up into the Northern Lights. “What do you think?”

Krysty sighed. “It’s greener here. The air is cleaner. Open country. Just lying here I can feel Gaia more strongly.”

“Toulalan said the good times don’t last long.”

“Neither does a man’s orgasm, but I don’t hear you complaining much.”

Ryan snorted and got back on topic. “And?”

“Lot of good food. Mildred isn’t going to want to leave until every last crumb is gone.”

Ryan couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Mildred so happy. “The sec man, Six, he’s eyeballing her long and hard.”

Krysty chuckled. “Mildred said ‘brother-man’ probably hasn’t seen any chocolate good thing in a long time.”

Ryan got the gist of it. “And?”

“And Doc could use a rest from jumping. Gaia knows so could the rest of us. Besides, Toulalan said we can leave whenever we like, and I think I believe him. He seems like a decent man.”

Ryan knew Krysty’s moods all too well. Despite the wine, the dancing and the lovemaking, he knew she had been simmering since supper. “You aren’t happy.”

“No.” Krysty’s voice grew cold. “I’m not.”

Ryan had a real strong suspicion about what was bothering her. “And?”

“You heard him.” Krysty clutched Ryan tightly. “He kills muties. And I’m one.”

Bigotry was all too alive and well in the Deathlands, only now most often it was directed at the integrity of someone’s DNA rather than any race, creed or color.

“If you want to go, we’re gone. Right now.”

Krysty rolled off Ryan and stared up into the night. “I didn’t say that.”

They were quiet for long moments as they stared into the shimmering veils of the light show above. Krysty was a mutie. It didn’t show outwardly, unless her hair flexed around her head when she was in distress. Most places in the Deathlands tolerated muties if they weren’t too deformed, or if their mutation proved useful somehow. A lot of places drove them out. All too many summarily executed muties upon discovery. It made Krysty sick to have to hide her own leap in evolution; but Ryan knew she would hide it, and take it, for the sake of the man she loved, and her friends.

“We’re in this together, lover,” Ryan told her. “I’ll defend you to the death.”

Krysty snuggled closer. “I know.”

Chapter Four

Ryan awoke to the smell of real coffee. The Northern Lights shimmered in shifting golden sheets in the morning light. Mildred stood over Ryan and Krysty’s bedroll grinning from ear to ear. She held two steaming sierra cups. “Wakey, wakey eggs and bakey!” Ryan sat up sniffing. The majority of the coffee he had drunk in his life was instant from one-hundred-year-old redoubt MRE packs, or old cans of coffee on redoubt shelves. Most people in the Deathlands drank chicory or a brew of herbs called coffee sub, and even that traded at a premium. The smell of what Mildred held set Ryan’s mouth to salivating. He took the cup and drank deeply.

“French roast.” Mildred sighed. “Who would have guessed?”

Ryan drained the mug and was grateful that Krysty had agreed that they stay with the convoy for another day or two and see how it went. Ryan rolled out of the blankets and shucked into his pants, drawn immediately to the smell coming from the mess wag. “Pancakes?”

“Oh yeah,” Mildred enthused. “With syrup, sausages and mimosas.”

“What’s mimosa?”

“Champagne and orange juice.”

Ryan’s face showed that he thought that sounded like an excellent waste of two rather rare commodities. Mildred took a patient breath. “You’ll like it. I promise you.”

Ryan and Krysty sauntered over to the mess wag for breakfast. He found that he did like mimosas. Krysty loved them. The friends sat at a table being waited on hand and foot. The redheaded beauty gave Ryan’s leg a squeeze and whispered, “If we stay here much longer, Doc might just put on a pound or two.”

Doc normally ate with relish, but maintained his spare frame. This morning he was enjoying a hearty breakfast, but he was smiling as he engaged one of the drivers in conversation. Canada was agreeing with him. It was agreeing with them all. If the pastoral beauty of the place was only going to last a few more weeks, then Ryan was tempted to wring every last second out of it. According to the map and Toulalan there were other Diefenbunkers ahead, and the one they’d exited contained one of the biggest stockpiles Ryan had ever encountered. He wanted to be there when Toulalan unlocked the next one.