James Axler - Tainted Cascade

Grimly, Doc and Krysty grabbed blasters and ammo, while Jak took the boomerangs, as well as a small hatchet. The boomerangs had a rounded nose, with tufts of human hair embedded into the wood. Obviously, these were used to capture runaway slaves alive. But Jak had a very different use in mind.

“Don’t leave us!” a woman pleaded, reaching out with a dirty hand.

“Take us with you!” a scrawny man added. “We can help fight! Please!”

Wordlessly, Ryan tossed them the iron key from the pocket of a fat corpse. A woman made the catch, but a man tried to snatch it away and a fight started inside the cage, the naked prisoners yelling and punching one another like lunatics.

“Work together or you’ll get chilled!” Krysty yelled in annoyance, slashing the reins. But the caged slaves seemed to be beyond reason, scrambling and crawling over one another in a mad attempt to get the key first, or die trying.

Turning away from the growing madness, the companions each chose a horse, then cut it free from the brace and yoke.

“Stupidity is its own reward,” Doc growled in disgust, painfully climbing onto the back of a roan horse and kicking with his bare heels. Well trained, the horse immediately broke into a gallop, nearly tossing the scholar off its rear end. Grabbing a double fistful of mane, Doc held on for dear life and wrapped his pale legs around the mare’s powerful chest as best he could.

With Ryan and Krysty in the lead, the companions headed away from the battleground and toward the rocky hills. But when a rise in the grasslands took them out of sight, they immediately changed directions and headed toward the setting sun.

Splashing into a shallow river, Ryan saw streaks of glass ribbons in the mud, the marks of a nuke crater. Without thinking, he tried to listen to the clicks of his rad counter, then cursed himself for a fool. Gone. Every thing he had gathered so painfully over the long years was gone. A blind rage filled the man, and Ryan swore a blood oath to seek savage retribution on the cowardly thieves.

“We better get out of this triple-fast!” J.B. warned, the hooves of his mare throwing out a constant spray. More of the glass ribbons were coming into view, the risk of getting aced by rad poisoning rapidly escalating.

“Okay, back we go!” Ryan agreed, sending his stallion onto the grassland. He had hoped to get behind the last couple of outriders, but now that was impossible. There was no other choice but to charge at them headlong.

Returning to the second wag, the companions saw the fight was still raging inside the cage, and they rode past the fools at a full gallop. They were sickened by the stupe actions of the slaves. But then, most folks were dumber than muties. That was how the fragging world got destroyed in the first place, Ryan thought, greedy fools fighting over things they should have been smart enough to share.

Racing into the thinning smoke, the companions primed their weapons and waited for the first sight of the enemy. In spite of its grim purpose, there was an almost dreamlike quality in their charge, their speed through the billowing smoke softening the grassy landscape into a greenish blur.

At the sound of the approaching hooves, the slavers hidden in the bushes began to wildly fire their weapons into the smoke. Wisely, the companions spread out to avoid offering a group target. Then the smoke cleared, and there were the outriders, crouching low in the bushes, their longblasters sticking out like the quills of a porcupine. Instantly, everybody fired.

With a start, Ryan actually felt the passage of a miniball as it hummed past his head, and Jak was thrown off his mare as the animal unexpectedly bucked, blood erupting from her muscular neck. The teenager hit the ground hard, losing his longblaster, but he came up in a run, waving the hatchet and throwing the boomerang.

Spinning fast, the weapon skimmed across the bushes and slammed into the chest of a slaver, sending him toppling backward. Before the man could rise again, Jak arrived and whacked him with the hatchet, the blade rising and falling in crimson fury.

Bringing his stallion to a stop, Ryan slid off the back end and ran into the thorny bushes in a crouch, uncaring of the cuts and scrapes incurred. There was a rustle to his left, and Ryan almost fired when he spotted Krysty, racing low to the ground, her blaster and machete at the ready. Doc fired his longblaster into a tree, hitting nothing. Dropping the weapon, he swung around the crossbow and continued onward.

A stand of cacti bellowed thunder and dark smoke, a miniball just missing J.B. to ace the horse behind the man. Popping up into view, Jak threw another boomerang. Dodging to the left, Ryan fired his blaster, scoring a horrible shriek. Then the bushes exploded with activity, the cloud of smoke strobing with the muzzle-flashes of blasters shooting in every direction. The big miniballs hummed through the murky air. Horses screamed, men cursed and something exploded with stunning force, wildly shaking every bush, tree and cactus. Then there was only a ringing silence, and nothing moved for a very long time.

Gradually, the smoke cleared, and the companions stiffly rose from the bushes, their bodies covered with dozens of tiny scratches from the thorns and brambles. Their weapons already reloaded, Ryan and the others carefully surveyed the field, dutifully counting the as sorted body parts until reaching the correct number. Six outriders, six heads. Check.

“That’s all of them,” Ryan declared, resting the heavy longblaster on a shoulder. That’s when he noticed the clusters of splinters sticking out of his arm, some shrapnel from the cage. Gingerly, he plucked out the slivers, then did the same to his hip. Fragging things were everywhere! Even his back itched something fierce.

“Hold still a sec, lover,” Krysty said, stepping behind the man. He did, and there came a sharp pain from between his shoulder blades, followed by blessed relief.

Grunting his thanks, Ryan motioned for the woman to turn around. She was free of slivers, just dirty, bruised and streaked with blood. Luckily, none of it from her.

Going to a corpse, Jak looked hard at the body, then smiled and pulled off the boots. Slipping them on, the teenager stomped the leather into place, then went after the rest of the clothing. His pale skin was already starting to get sunburned, and Jak needed some cover fast or else he’d be in real pain for the next week.

In short order, the companions looted the aced men, taking random items of clothing, gun belts, ammo pouches, flint, knives and everything else that was useful. The boots were old leather, but still very strong, while the oversize clothing reeked of sweat and other things the companions tried not to think about.

“Oh, great god Laundry Soap, where are you when I need you?” Mildred said to herself, fighting the urge to scratch everywhere.

Going to investigate the dead horses, Ryan and the others found a couple more flintlocks, a couple of .22 zipguns, plus a great deal more ammunition and food. But none of their missing belongings.

“Must be in one of the other wags,” Krysty said, not really believing the words. “Or on the horses that ran away?”

“Nuking hell,” Ryan growled. “The weapons are gone. If these fat fools had our rapid-fires they would have used them in the fight.” Brushing back his long hair with stiff fingers, Ryan exhaled deeply. “Somebody else has our things now.”

“The dastards who poisoned the water?” Doc postulated, draping a saddlebag of food over a shoulder.

“Now I’m sorry we aced all of the slavers,” J.B. said, slinging a pepperbox rifle across his chest. “I knew a nasty little trick I learned from a Hun once that would have gotten one of the bastards talking fast enough.” His new cumbersome weapon had a dozen small chambers that each had to be individually charged with powder and ball, but they fired together with the pull of one trigger. The combined effect was devastating to anybody standing within a couple of yards, and generally harmless to anything a yard past that. But still, it was better than nothing.