James Axler - Bloodfire

“Thank you,” Ryan said politely. “However, we are still considering the offer.”

“If—” she paused and then rushed forward with the words “—if you’re going to cook the flesh, may I stay and watch? I have never eaten food before.”

Mildred patted the ground nearby, and the girl sat with the effortless grace of a ballerina. The physician wanted a better look at the Core, and this was a prime opportunity.

“First we dig a hole,” Mildred said, drawing her knife, “so the wind doesn’t put out the fire.” And protected within the ruins, nobody should be able to see the flames. Mildred knew Gaza was still somewhere out there. Perhaps he had given up hunting the companions, but maybe not, and it was always wiser to plan on what an enemy can do, instead of what he might do.

The girl watched excitedly while Mildred got to work digging the cooking pit. Meanwhile, the rest of the companions went to check the other buildings, soon coming back with armloads of fuel, wooden tables and chairs and bookshelves to build a respectable fire. Soon the campfire was going, and Mildred roasted the meat well to prevent any parasites from being conveyed to new hosts. The smell was thick and greasy and sent waves of hunger through the companions. Their last meal had been MRE rations, and before that, cold dog stew at the ville.

“By the way,” Ryan asked, turning the steaks with a whittled stick, “ever heard of a norm called the Trader?”

“Yes,” came the surprising reply from the girl, who seemed as fascinated as much by the fire as what it was doing to the slabs of meat. “He is the enemy of our enemy.”

“Ah, Gaza,” Ryan said, taking a shot in the dark. He was local and utterly ruthless. That made him a prime candidate.

Staring into the flames, Dnal nodded. “Yes! He controls scorpions, we worship the Holy Ones. They dislike each other greatly and always battle to the death.”

Well, not always, Ryan thought to himself. But here in the Great Salt it was probably true.

When the meat was dark brown and sizzling with fat drippings, Ryan carved up portions and served them. Using their U.S. Army mess kits, the companions filled the steel plates with juicy steak and started eating. The meat was stringy and difficult to chew, but it filled their stomachs and eased the growing pangs of hunger. That was more than enough for the moment.

Dnal watched their every move as if it was brand-new, and timidly accepted a roasted morsel to nibble on the edges. Through the slit in her bandages the girl had a very human-appearing mouth, tongue and teeth. Of course that meant nothing these days; muties came in every shape and size.

She inspected the food, sniffing at it for a while before taking a tiny nibble, and then popping the rest into her mouth. Chewing experimentally, Dnal almost immediately started to gag. Spitting the half-chewed meat onto the ground, she then grabbed the small gourd and deeply drank the jinkaja to cleanse her mouth.

“Hideous!” Dnal cried, wiping some blue juice from her mouth on the back of the wrappings covering her arms. “It was like consuming hot waste straight from the backside of some animal!”

“Definitely needs more salt,” J.B. said languidly, glancing at the Great Salt desert only yards away from the ruins. If the girl understood the joke, she didn’t find it amusing.

“You okay?” Mildred asked, touching Dnal’s shoulder. The bones under the coverings felt human, as did the muscle play. As far as the physician could tell, this was a perfectly ordinary fifteen-year-old girl. Maybe only the minds of the Core were unique, amplified a millennium into the genetic future of humanity.

Shying away from the steaks spitting on the fire, Dnal nodded vigorously. “I am undamaged,” she said, moving her mouth as if trying to get of the terrible taste. “Merely…wiser now.”

Rising, she started for the open doorway, then turned and paused, pulling a spear into view from where it had been hidden, leaning against the other side of the brick wall.

“I thank you for the hospitality,” Dnal said solemnly, and gave a small bow.

Somehow it reminded Ryan of when they had jumped to Japan and tangled with those samurai and the shogun king. Each bow meant something different to them, and no outsider ever really understood what the gestures fully meant.

“We thank you and your father in return,” Ryan said, giving a even smaller bow from his sitting position.

At that, Dnal tilted her masked head. “How did you know Alar was my father?” she asked quizzically.

Ryan continued eating and said nothing. As if a chief would have sent anybody else but blood kin to palaver with the outlanders visiting the tribe.

“If I may, I would like to ask a question, dear child,” Doc said as casually as possible, patting his greasy mouth clean with a grayish linen handkerchief. “Can we really leave whenever we wish?”

“Of course!” Dnal answered, sounding slightly insulted that the word of the Core should be questioned, especially by meat eaters. “Go anytime, and anywhere.”

Then she turned and pointed. “Except to the south. That is the blessed land, the origin of the Core and none may go except for the leader of the Core. For any others, it means death.”

J.B. shot Ryan a glance, and the Deathlands warrior subtly nodded in agreement. The land to the south was probably radioactive, he thought, glancing at the rad counter on his lapel. But the device indicated that they were in a safe zone. If so, why did the Core mutate into telepaths? Was it the bug juice? Merely another reason never to touch a single drop of the stuff.

“What about those?” Dean asked, waving at the nearby ruins.

“This is where we mine for the metal of our weapons and the clothing that protects us from the sand,” she said. “Explore all you wish, take anything you find.”

Turning on a heel, Dnal started to walk away into the wind, the loose ends of her wrappings jerking with whipcrack snaps. Then over a shoulder she added, “It doesn’t matter what you do. There is no water for a hundred miles. When your thirst is great enough, you will return to drink and join the Core.” As the girl walked, she soon vanished into the darkness and the windblown sand.

“Yeah?” Jak growled, easing the safety back on the blaster in his holster. “Like hell will.”

“Indeed, my taciturn friend,” Doc rumbled, placing aside his mess kit. “I do believe that it would be preferable to put lead in my head then join these antediluvian freaks.”

“How much water do we have?” Dean asked, wiping his hands clean on the sand and then on his pants.

“Three days,” Mildred answered promptly. “Not counting the poisoned stuff we’re saving for an emergency.”

“How far away?” Krysty whispered in a strained voice.

Looking at the stars overhead, J.B. hazarded a guess. He wouldn’t be able to shoot their exact position until the sun rose. “To reach the Grandee?” he said, rubbing his chin, “I’d say about three days on foot. If we move fast and head straight south.”

“Across the forbidden zone?” Dean said, casting a glance over a shoulder at the featureless blackness stretching behind them.

“Yep.”

“Damn,” Mildred murmured unhappily. “We have no choice, then.”

“Agreed. We better cook all of the meat tonight,” Ryan said, returning to his meal. “Gonna need it when we start running for our lives at dawn.”

The rough brick pressed uncomfortably against Dean’s cheek as he peeked through a crack in the wall. The companions had risen just before dawn and hidden themselves in the maze of old preDark ruins. His father figured that since a lot of large sections of pavement and sidewalk were still lying about, the Core wouldn’t be able to travel through the sand under the dead city and would have to walk on the surface. He proved to be right when Dean spotted a group of the Core eerily rise from the loose sand a hundred yards away and then head for the location that had been their campsite.