James Axler - Perdition Valley

Slowly, both of the men eased their aggressive stances. But their hands didn’t stray far from their blasters.

“This be Broke Neck,” the sec man replied with a touch of pride. “And where you folks from?”

“All over,” Ryan answered truthfully. “Here and there, north and south.”

“Yeah? A real son of Trader, are ya?” the man said, chuckling.

“We traveled with him some,” J.B. replied over the nasal snorting of his horse.

There was a pause as a second guard appeared on top of the wall. The clean-shaven man was holding a loaded crossbow. The two sec men held a short conference.

“Now that might be flat-rock, or it could be a stretch,” the first sec man said, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

“Either way, that’s a lot of iron for a bunch of pilgrims,” the clean-shaven sec man said.

“That’s because we’re not pilgrims,” Ryan answered, slightly annoyed. “You folks interested in doing biz, or should we keep moving?”

The muffled footsteps on top of the trailer got louder as one of the sec men walked to the very edge and angled his lantern to make it shine on the companions. “Yeah, yeah, just keep your jets cool, rist,” the sec man said gruffly. “I was just…Black dust, ya only got one eye! Clem, look! One eye, by thunder!”

The second guard rushed over. “It’s Ryan!” he whispered in shock. “Gotta be! Look there, one of them is dark, another pale, she’s got red hair, and that guy is wearing glass on his face. Never did understand that part before.”

Already alert, the companions instantly drew their assortment of blasters, snapping off safeties and working bolts without the slightest regard of being seen. Instantly, both guards leveled their weps.

Then the man with the beard slowly lowered his rifle and placed it on the wall. “Easy there, folks, easy now. We don’t want any blood split between us.”

“And what if my name is Ryan?” the Deathlands warrior asked, the SIG-Sauer tight in his grip.

“Then the baron will wanna talk to you right away,” the other sec man replied, resting the crossbow on a shoulder. “We’ve been expecting ya for a long time, but thought you’d be coming from the south in the direction of the ocean gulf.”

Mildred lifted both eyebrows at that, but said nothing. The rest of the companions followed suit. What was going on here? There was only one possible answer that made any sense.

“Seems like your doomie made a mistake,” the physician stated.

The two sec men frowned at that. “Baron Harmond don’t make many bad calls,” he stated gruffly. “More likely you’re lying.”

“But even if ya are, don’t matter,” the other man added brusquely. “The baron wants to meet anybody with just one eye. If you’re Ryan, good. If not, we can offer ya haven from the coldhearts hunting folks like you.”

Haven. There was a word the companions hadn’t heard, or been offered, for a very long time. Aside from Two-Son ville to the south, their reception in the Zone had been poor at best.

“We accept your offer of haven,” Krysty said, her hair flexing gently around her shoulders. If there was any danger here, she couldn’t sense it. But then, when dealing with a doomie, anything was possible.

“No offense, but I have never heard of a doomie baron before,” Mildred shouted up to the guard.

“No offense taken. Baron Harmond is prob the only one around.” The bearded sec man advanced a step, then lowered the lantern for a better look. “Your name Doc?” he asked.

Puzzled at first, Mildred started to speak, then realized the connection. Doc… “Close enough,” she acknowledged warily. “But I prefer Mildred.”

“Fair enough,” the sec man muttered, looking her over closely. “Funny, you don’t seem frozen to me.”

That comment caught all of the companions by surprise. Way back in the twentieth century, Mildred had gone into the hospital for a simple operation, but there had been serious complications and the doctors had desperately attempted to save her life by using an experimental cryogenic freezer unit. The device had worked, and Mildred awoke a hundred years later, alive and healthy, but nearly a full century after the near-total destruction of civilization.

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