James Axler - Black Harvest

“Name’s Ryan.”

“Then you are the leader?”

“You can assume that if you like.”

The baron said nothing for a moment. “As you’ve probably noticed, I’ve got a decent sec force here with plenty of well-trained men and some of the best blasters around.”

“We noticed.”

“Hard to come by,” J.B. interjected. “Some of those blasters look right out of the box.”

“Baron DeMann,” Ryan said, “this is J.B. He’s the weapons expert of our group.”

“A man who appreciates fine craftsmanship and design, no doubt.”

“Did you get your blasters new?” J.B. asked, avoiding any mention of the redoubt.

“I can’t be sure,” the baron replied. “I sell drugs. Good drugs that people need to survive. And when people are dying, they can get rather desperate. I can pretty well name my price for my drugs. I know that may sound hard, but I’m a trader and traders don’t give their wares away when they can hang on to them and get top jack.”

Ryan nodded. He’d seen top traders in action, and the baron’s assessment was right on.

“So, if I’m in the market for anything, be it blasters or blankets, I make sure I get the very best available. The best blasters, the best blankets, the best food, wine…”

“Wags,” J.B. said.

“Everything,” the baron responded. “The best that jack can buy.”

The baron paused and everyone took the opportunity to take a bite of food.

“I also like to think I have the best sec force of any ville in the area. They’re the best equipped and well trained, but one can never be sure about such things.”

“I’ve seen plenty sec men,” Ryan said. “Yours look as disciplined as any.”

“But are they the best?”

“Won’t know that until they’re tested in a firefight.”

“Exactly,” the baron said. Then he went silent, staring at Ryan a moment, as if expecting the man to comment.

“Not sure I follow you,” Ryan said.

“I have a favor to ask of you and your friends.”

Ryan shrugged. “No harm in asking.”

“We have an obstacle course we use for training sec men. In addition to blaster practice, I also use it for pitting sec man against sec man in order to see where they should fall in terms of rank.”

“Must make for a lot of dead sec men.”

The baron laughed. “No, not at all. I have blasters that fire tiny balls filled with colored water. They’re just like regular blasters, but can’t chill people. A good tool for training, and for turning poor sec men into good ones.”

“Point to all this?” J.B. asked.

“Well, my sec chief was wondering if you and your group might agree to test several of his best sec men in a contest.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, thanks. We’ve had plenty of real firefights out in the Deathlands. We don’t fight for sport.”

“I can appreciate that, and I would have the same opinion if I were in your shoes.”

“Then you know my answer.”

The baron said nothing for a while, thinking through the problem. “Ah, you need a reason to fight.”

“That’s right, usually it’s to keep from getting chilled.”

“A wise position, but I’m not about to try and chill you just so you’ll participate in my test. However, might I suggest that you agree to participate in exchange for the hospitality I’ve shown you and your friends.”

Ryan gestured to the food on the table. “We didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Quite right.” The baron nodded. “Then what if I said that if you bested my sec men, I’d be willing to provide you with as much ammo as you need when you leave my ville, as well as any medicines and supplies, uh, Mildred, might want to take with her. I’m sure those sorts of things are still useful to you in your travels.”

Ryan looked to J.B. “Running low all around.”

He turned to Krysty.

“Who knows?” she added. “Might be fun, firing a blaster and not chilling somebody for a change.”

Ryan sighed. “All right, we’ll play your game, but J.B. checks all the weapons before we begin, just to make sure we’re all using the same ammo.”

“Of course.”

“When?”

“Is tomorrow afternoon too soon?”

ROBARDS WALKED slowly down the street to Eleander’s residence. Thanks to one of the outlanders, he now had to bring the woman to the dining hall and have her eat and talk to the baron’s guests.

Dammit!

This was an unfortunate turn of events, but not a problem.

There were ways…

The sec chief turned to the sec man following him. “Go find Katz. Tell him what the problem is and bring him to Eleander’s home. And make it fast.”

The sec man turned and ran, double time.

MILDRED TAPPED on Jak’s door with the toe of her boot.

“Who there?” Jak asked. His words were followed by the sound of his .357 Magnum Colt Python being cocked.

“It’s Mildred,” she said. “Brought you some food.”

There was a metallic click on the other side of the door and Mildred knew it was safe to enter.

“I figured you’d be hungry,” she said, pushing open the door and entering the room.

“Guessed right,” he answered. He was sitting up on his cot, one arm hanging limply from the shoulder, the other rubbing a hand in circular motions over his empty growling stomach.

She put the food on the rough wooden stand next to the bed, then sat on the empty bed next to him.

“How’s your shoulder? Does it hurt?”

“No.” Jak shook his head. “You fixed good.”

Mildred lifted the dressing and saw that although there were still a few wet spots to the wound, it was generally healing nicely. She touched the bruised flesh with the point of her finger and Jak grimaced.

“You know, for someone who doesn’t say many words, you’re not a very good liar.”

Jak smiled.

“I’ll clean the dressing later. Right now you should eat. Build up your strength.”

“Food good?”

“Oh, yeah.” She placed a plate on his lap and gave him a fork. “Best we’ve had in months.”

THE WAG HAD PERFORMED flawlessly, taking its rider across the rad-choked land between the two villes in less than six hours. He had stopped twice along the way, once to refill his tank with alcohol, the other to refill himself with food and water.

Now he was approaching Indyville, the engine still running smoothly as the dusty miles fell beneath his wheels.

The ville’s lookouts would have spotted him by now, and the entire ville’s sec force would be on alert. That was good, because by the time he arrived there, the baron would be aware of his approach and curious to know what he wanted.

Now, as he neared the ville’s perimeter, the road got rougher. The surface of the road was spotted with holes and was covered with rocks and chunks of asphalt. He slowed the wag by half, the engine’s song falling from a high whine to a throaty growl.

The gates to the ville grew larger in his sights. Sec men stood on either side of the rolling door made of rusty rebar and sheet metal. One of the sec men signaled to him to slow down by waving both his arms over his head.

He waved back with just his right hand.

The entrance to the ville was less than a quarter of a mile away, and he slowed the wag further. Closer in, there were dead things on the road—the carcasses and bones of long-dead animals, fallen trees, strategically positioned rocks and the odd corpse of a mutie who made the mistake of trying to get into the ville. It was a strange way to protect the outer edges of the ville, but it was doing a good job of it.

The driver was forced to slow to a crawl, just to find a way through the maze of death and ruin.

But at last he was at the gates of the ville. He brought the wag to a stop, but left the engine running just in case it might not start again.