James Axler - Vengeance Trail

He suddenly remembered. Wags appearing out of nowhere. Uniformed coldhearts with blasters. A great flickering muzzle-flash, pale yellow in the sun. A blow like a sledgehammer to the upper chest.

Falling.

“Krysty,” he croaked. His voice was like a gate that hadn’t been opened in a hundred years.

A strange high-pitched chittering sounded in the darkness right by his head, causing him to start. After the fact he realized it had said, “What’s the matter with his eye? He can’t seem to see us.”

“You forget, Light Sleeper,” said a second voice, lower-pitched enough that Ryan understood it in real time. “Real humans don’t see in the dark as we do. Their eyes are so small.”

Real humans. That could mean only one thing—he’d been captured by muties. He remembered his previous brief flirtation with consciousness, as he lay broken on a rock, half-hanging over the maw of the Big Ditch. The small, furtive figures sidling toward him in the twilight, the misshapen hand reaching out for him…

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