MORTAL RIFTS

When Doc is taken captive by a band of marauders in what was once Nebraska, Ryan and the companions rally to get him back. But they aren’t just fighting the local muties. They’re also up against the area’s terrifying terrain, which shifts and morphs at a moment’s notice. With their options dwindling in this mazelike region that doesn’t obey the laws of physics, the team joins forces with a beautiful and deadly woman who evens the odds on the battlefield. But while this warrior seems to be on their side, she has a secret agenda that could spell the end for them all…

THE AMERICAN NIGHTMARE

Since the nukecaust, the American dream has been reduced to a daily fight for survival. In the hellish landscape of Deathlands, few dare to dream of a better tomorrow. But Ryan Cawdor and his companions press on, driven by the need for a future less treacherous than the present.

Doc heard scuffling down by his feet.

“What now? Rats, I suppose, come to feast on my flesh.” He reached around for a rock to throw but found nothing. “Begone, vermin!” The scuffling got louder.

Suddenly, he heard a different sound from the same place, a distinctive sound that could not be mistaken for any other. Giggling.

Doc’s heart hammered in his chest. He meant to snap some words of defiance to try to intimidate, but before he could, his visitor scrambled forward.

Hands grabbed hold of Doc’s ankles and wrenched his legs straight with an iron grip. Then he heard a voice, high-pitched and girlish in the lightless void. “You’re mine now. All mine.”

And all of a sudden, there were many more hands, coming from all directions. And all of them were grabbing at him…

Deathlands: Child of Slaughter
James Axler

Man, a mere inhabitant of earth, cannot overstep its boundaries! But though he is confined to its crust, he may penetrate into all its secrets.

—Jules Verne,

The Steam House

THE DEATHLANDS SAGA

This world is their legacy, a world born in the violent nuclear spasm of 2001 that was the bitter outcome of a struggle for global dominance.

There is no real escape from this shockscape where life always hangs in the balance, vulnerable to newly demonic nature, barbarism, lawlessness.

But they are the warrior survivalists, and they endure—in the way of the lion, the hawk and the tiger, true to nature’s heart despite its ruination.

Ryan Cawdor: The privileged son of an East Coast baron. Acquainted with betrayal from a tender age, he is a master of the hard realities.

Krysty Wroth: Harmony ville’s own Titian-haired beauty, a woman with the strength of tempered steel. Her premonitions and Gaia powers have been fostered by her Mother Sonja.

J. B. Dix, the Armorer: Weapons master and Ryan’s close ally, he, too, honed his skills traversing the Deathlands with the legendary Trader.

Doctor Theophilus Tanner: Torn from his family and a gentler life in 1896, Doc has been thrown into a future he couldn’t have imagined.

Dr. Mildred Wyeth: Her father was killed by the Ku Klux Klan, but her fate is not much lighter. Restored from predark cryogenic suspension, she brings twentieth-century healing skills to a nightmare.

Jak Lauren: A true child of the wastelands, reared on adversity, loss and danger, the albino teenager is a fierce fighter and loyal friend.

Dean Cawdor: Ryan’s young son by Sharona accepts the only world he knows, and yet he is the seedling bearing the promise of tomorrow.

In a world where all was lost, they are humanity’s last hope…

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

Quote

The Deathlands Saga

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Copyright

Chapter One

The blast took Ryan Cawdor and his companions by surprise, knocking everyone off their feet before they knew what had hit them.

As Ryan crashed to the ground, he twisted and gaped through the smoke for a glimpse of who or what had attacked them.

A slender mutie stood not fifty yards away, his crimson skin glinting in the blazing sunlight. He scowled at Ryan from behind the sights of a shoulder-mounted, jury-rigged gren launcher.

There was no time to shout a warning. The mutie’s hand was on the firing mechanism.

Ryan swung up his Steyr Scout Tactical longblaster, which already had a round chambered. Sucking in a deep breath to steady his hand, he sighted on the mutie and squeezed the trigger.

The one-eyed man was an experienced marksman. His shooting skills had played a major role in his surviving for so long in the hellish Deathlands—all that was left of the United States after the world blew up in 2001. So he knew for a fact that as soon as he pulled the trigger he’d fired a kill shot.

Ryan felt an unsettling stillness all around him, like the calm that descended before a terrible storm. Then he experienced an odd sensation, a combination of powerful suction and expulsion all at once, equally balanced.

Suddenly, a wave of force slammed into him. His body buzzed and shivered as he hung in the wave’s grip, caught like a moth in a spiderweb.

The wave held him there for a split second, then it let him go with a shock like a blow below the belt. As he gasped at the wrenching release, he saw the sun-scorched ground between him and the mutie ripple as if it was the surface of a lake.

A low hum started, building to a deep rumble that Ryan felt in his chest and bones. Then a flash of light exploded in front of him. When it faded, he saw that a tall rock wall now stood between him and the mutie.

It wasn’t an optical illusion. Ryan grimaced at a puff of dust springing from the striated reddish-brown rock wall. It was kicked up by the bullet he’d fired, the one that had been frozen and unfrozen in midair on its way to the mutie.

“Fireblast!” Ryan cursed.

“What the hell? Where did that come from?” asked J. B. Dix, Ryan’s longtime friend and one of his traveling companions. Known as the Armorer because of his mastery of all manner of weapons, J.B. was on the ground a few feet away. He’d been toppled by the gren blast like the rest of the team and was staying down out of the line of fire.

“Beats me.” Ryan rolled over to face forward again. Fresh rounds were punching across the flat land up ahead, fired from the blasters of the muties in the trenches. For the moment, at least, the greatest danger lay in that direction.

Lining up a nearby mutie in his sights, Ryan fired his Scout, grazing the side of the enemy’s head. Ryan’s companions smoothly followed his lead. J.B. flung himself around on his belly and whipped up his Mini-Uzi to open fire on the nearest trench.

“Where any this come from?” Jak, an albino who spoke as few words as possible, flipped onto his knees and aimed his .357 Magnum Colt Python at another trench. “Land look solid before. No trenches.” At the first sign of a mutie popping up, he cracked off a shot and the mutie’s head exploded like a watermelon on a target range.

“Nice shot!” Ricky Morales scrambled up beside Jak. If he felt any aftereffects from the gren blast, he didn’t show it.

Ricky swung up his De Lisle carbine and swept it left while Jak swept his Python right. Seconds later, both young men were filling the noonday air with sizzling lead and hitting mutie targets on opposite ends of the middle trench.

Mildred Wyeth and Doc Tanner chimed in soon enough, adding to the storm of blasterfire over the flats. That left only one member of the team whose blaster was silent.

That member was Krysty Wroth, Ryan Cawdor’s life mate.

Quickly noticing the absence of the bark of her Glock 18C blaster, Ryan checked left, then right. There she was, twisting in the dust some twenty yards away, hands tangled in her long red hair.

“Krysty!” Ryan shouted over the cacophony of weapon fire, but she didn’t seem to hear him.

Though the battle was in full swing, Mildred looked his way instantly. Following his gaze, she caught sight of Krysty.

Stuffing her .38-caliber ZKR 551 revolver into the waistband of her fatigue pants, Mildred scurried on hands and knees behind the firing line. A predark physician as well as a fighter, she was well used to putting her neck on the line to provide medical care for her teammates.

When she got to Krysty, though, Mildred saw no blood or bullet wounds, which was good…but that also meant the cause of her friend’s distress was still unknown.

And it was getting worse by the minute, apparently. As Mildred reached for the side of Krysty’s throat to get a pulse, the redhead swatted the physician’s hand away.

“What’s going on back there?” In the midst of the raging fight, Ryan kept looking over his shoulder at Krysty and Mildred. His right eye—he’d lost the left one long ago in a fight with his brother—was wide with concern for the red-haired beauty who made his life of constant struggle in the Deathlands worth living.

“I don’t know yet!” Mildred yelled.

“Some form of seizure, perchance?” Doc suggested between blasts from his .44-caliber LeMat revolver. The blaster was a replica of a famous weapon from the mid to late 1800s—a time period, amazingly, that Doc called home. A man of the nineteenth century, he’d been snatched through time by a group of predark scientists. Then, when Doc had proved to be a difficult test subject, he was shunted to the future, to the Deathlands, where he’d been ever since.

Just then, a mutie’s shot sliced past, close enough for Mildred to hear the hiss of its passing. Startled, she let out a surprised cry and fell back from her knees to her butt. “Keep me from getting killed, and you’ll be the first to know!” she snapped.

Doc, who was on his belly like Ryan and J.B., pulled his blaster farther to the right and squeezed off a round. He wasn’t the best shot of the group, but this time he winged a mutie’s shoulder, sending the copper-skinned enemy screeching back into his trench.

“My dear Dr. Wyeth, I am doing my utmost to achieve exactly that desired outcome!”

“Less talk, more kill! That my desired outcome!” shouted Jak as he, too, cracked off a shot.

Ryan, meanwhile, forced himself to shut out the chaos and deepen his focus. He had to set aside his worries about Krysty and find the best way through this mess without losing his people.

The situation was pretty clear-cut, except for the apparently shifting geography. Quite simply, the day had gone sideways, as days often happened in the Deathlands.

Ryan and his companions had jumped via mat-trans to a redoubt near Ogallala, Nebraska, at the southern edge of the Sandhills. Finding the redoubt nearly stripped of supplies and transport, the companions had set out on foot, heading north in search of food. But they’d gone only a few miles when a heavily armed band of hostile muties had ambushed them.

Now the muties had Ryan and his companions pinned down; the enemy’s ranks were thinning, but the companions were still outnumbered.

“J.B.!” It took all Ryan’s willpower to ignore Krysty’s cries and call out to the Armorer. “Let’s rain down some hell on these bastards?”

J.B. grinned and unclipped a red-jacketed gren from his belt. “I like the way you think!” He tossed the bomb to Ryan, then freed up another for himself.

“Jak, Ricky,” Ryan called. “You ready for an up close and personal gopher shoot?”

“You know it!” Ricky shouted.

“Enjoy flush outta holes,” Jak said. “See how run.”

“Move on my signal.” Ryan nodded at J.B. “Count it.”

“You got it.”

Ryan tightened his grip on the plunger of the gren and pulled the pin with his teeth. He let loose another round from the longblaster, driving down a mutie who’d been climbing out of a trench, then rolled on his side and hauled the gren back for a big throw.

“Three!” shouted J.B., also winding up for the pitch. “Two!” He rattled off one more series of shots from the Mini-Uzi, then finished the count. “One!”

With that, Ryan wrenched his arm forward as hard as he could and released the gren. He saw it spin through the air, J.B.’s arcing alongside it.

Seconds after the two grens fell, a pair of explosions erupted in the trench, spraying rock and dirt and body parts in all directions. The ground shook, and screams pierced the air.

The barrage of blasterfire stopped, at least for a moment, and that was all the time Ryan’s team needed. He gave his people the signal he’d promised, which in this case was to leap up and lead the charge himself, longblaster left behind and SIG-Sauer at the ready.

Muties in the rear trenches popped their heads up like rabbits, but it was too late. Ryan, J.B., Jak and Ricky were on them in a flash, racing through the cloud of smoke and dust from the explosion like avenging angels roaring through the gates of hell.

Each person cut loose with everything he had, determined to make the most of the opportunity. Now that they had the high ground and the run of the battlefield, they intended to end this conflict, which they’d never asked for in the first place.

Only two muties remained at the far ends of the first trench after the gren blast, throwing off wild shots among the burned and battered corpses of their dead brethren. These survivors went down in short order under Ryan’s and J.B.’s blasters, screaming as their bodies spouted fountains of blood.

Meanwhile, Jak and Ricky vaulted the first trench without slowing and sprinted to the next. The two young fighters opened fire as soon as the barrels of their blasters crossed the rim, pelting the occupants with a shower of blistering slugs. More screams and spurting blood filled the air from below as half a dozen muties danced a jerky dance of death.

With the first trench quickly cleared and the second in the process of being scoured, Ryan and J.B. leapfrogged to the third. This time, though, they encountered opposition beyond the wild shots of panicked muties.

Just as Ryan and J.B. jumped the second trench, a mutie popped up from the third with a shotgun pointing in Ryan’s direction. As the shotgun roared, the one-eyed man threw himself down hard, dodging the spread of buckshot; then he rolled over fast and came up on one knee with his SIG-Sauer P-226 searching for a target.

He didn’t have to worry about the mutie with the shotgun, though, as J.B. was already peppering him with rounds from the Mini-Uzi. But as soon as that mutie dropped, two more popped up from the same trench…and five more from the next one back. All of them were armed with longblasters, revolvers or shotguns, and every blaster barrel was pointing in Ryan’s or J.B.’s direction.

At that exact moment, Krysty let out a piercing shriek, the loudest yet.

Gritting his teeth, Ryan forced himself not to run to her side. Instead, he methodically fired rounds at the two nearest muties, driving one back underground and killing the other with a shot to the eye socket.

That gave the five in the fourth trench time to get off a series of shots—but the barrage didn’t last. Fresh from clearing the second trench, Jak and Ricky moved up and added their blasters to the front line.

Together, the four companions unleashed their own barrage, forcing the five muties down; then they advanced. As J.B. took care of the single shooter left in the third trench, Ryan, Jak and Ricky hopped over it and darted to the rim of the fourth. Bullets flew up at them, preventing them from getting a clear look over the edge, so they settled for flicking out their blaster barrels and laying down fire where the shooting was happening.

As screams erupted and the blasterfire from below became sparser, Ryan, Jak and Ricky grew bolder and leaned over the rim for a better view. By then, only three of the muties were still on their feet; Ryan and Jak each picked off one, and J.B. joined the party and took out the third.

“Think we got ’em all?” J.B. threw down more rounds from the Mini-Uzi, making sure everyone in the trench was dead for real.

“Who know?” Jak swung up his Python and turned a slow circle, looking around. “This place full surprises.”

For a moment, the landscape was quiet except for the soft trickle of settling dust in the bullet-riddled trenches.

Then, suddenly, Krysty let loose the loudest scream of all. It was so long and loud and full of pain, it could have been a howl released from the depths of torture or childbirth.

Ryan whirled in her direction, ready to run…and then he froze. A familiar stillness closed in around him, like the calm he’d felt before the rock wall had appeared between him and the grenade-launching mutie.

Once again, he had that feeling of something lurching out of place, followed by powerful suction and expulsion in perfect balance. When the balance broke, a wave of force shot through him, holding him paralyzed.

An instant later, the wave let him go. The release spun him and nearly bowled him over, but he stayed on his feet through sheer force of will, which meant he had a ringside seat to see what happened next. J.B., Jak and Ricky had fallen around him, but Ryan was upright and alert.

As he watched, dizzy and shaking, the ground at his feet rippled and changed. There were flashes of light, popping across the plain one after another like giant fireflies, and the trenches that held the corpses disappeared, becoming indistinguishable from the rest of the flatland.

Still, the ripples continued to flow forward, heading for the trio of human targets in the distance.

Heart pounding with urgency, Ryan ran toward them. He saw Krysty continuing to writhe on the ground, flinging her head from side to side while Mildred tried in vain to restrain her. Doc stood over them both with his sword in one hand and the LeMat in the other, shouting something as he watched the ripples flow toward them.

Impact would come in mere seconds. Ryan ran as hard as he could, his legs pumping like pistons in the engine of a speeding wag, but he knew he wouldn’t reach his friends in time.

“Krysty!”

The ripples on the ground rushed up ahead of him and encompassed his three friends. Krysty, Mildred and Doc all seemed to quiver at once; even the air around them seemed to vibrate.

As Ryan increased his speed, redoubling his effort to reach them in time, the quivering effect intensified. He felt the hum again, the same as before, building to a rumble in his chest and bones…in his heart. It was an irregular thrumming rhythm in counterpoint to his own pulse and footsteps, distorting his natural cadence.

Ryan fought through it, determined to reach Krysty and the others. If the effect was going to do something to them, he wanted to share the same fate. He was determined not to be separated from his lover and his friends.

Up ahead, the oscillation reached a fever pitch, accelerating until it blurred his view of his friends, creating a shivering patina of light and color in their place. Then there was a blinding flash of light.

The ground under Ryan heaved, knocking him off his feet. He landed on his back and quickly pushed himself up to see what had happened.

In that instant, he experienced a wave of panic. Instead of his three friends, all he could see was a rocky hill that had mysteriously appeared between his position and theirs.

Scrambling to his feet, Ryan ran for the hill. As he circled it, he felt a terrible sense of doom and fear that the woman he loved more than anyone in the world was gone now and forever.

His heart was slamming in his chest as he dodged around the far edge of the hill, dreading what he was about to see. His eyes zoomed to the spot where Krysty had been and he saw that she was still there, with Mildred by her side.

Instantly, a flood of relief coursed through Ryan’s body. Krysty was no longer writhing and twitching on the ground. Instead, her body was limp, her face relaxed for the first time since they’d been ambushed by the band of muties.

But Ryan quickly realized that not everyone’s situation had improved. Looking around, he saw that the third member of the group was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Doc?” Ryan asked. “What happened to him?”

Mildred shook her head. “Damned if I know.” She was scowling, her face crusted with dirt. “He was here just a second ago.” Her brown eyes flashed to the hump of rock. “And if you ask me where that came from, I’ll tell you the same thing. I don’t know what the hell just happened.”

Krysty’s eyelids fluttered open, and she gazed up at Ryan. Though she was no longer rolling and screaming in pain, her green eyes still looked dazed, her face haggard. “There’s something horrible here…something unnatural.” Her voice was hoarse as she spoke.

“What do you mean?” Ryan asked.

She looked at him, her fiery red tresses flowing around her face like a parted veil. “Something here is warping Earth itself in a way I’ve never felt before. I feel as though it’s killing Gaia…and me.”

Chapter Two

Doc had vanished into thin air.

The companions recced the area where they’d been attacked by the muties, but they found no trace of the old man and no trace of any opening into which he might have fallen.

“Where Doc go?” Jak asked as he finished his latest search pattern and met up with Ryan. “If trapdoor or tunnel, I not see.”

Ryan sighed. “People don’t just disappear, Jak.”

“Walls not appear, either.” Jak nodded at the rock wall that had materialized during the battle. It stood not thirty feet away, as solid as if it had always been there.

The companions had examined that particular formation with great care, guessing it might hold some clue to what had happened to Doc. But they had all come to the same conclusion: if the rock wall contained any clue, it could not be detected by their senses.

Just then, Krysty approached, grimly shaking her head. “I’m coming up empty,” she said. “If Doc is anywhere nearby, I can’t feel the slightest trace of him.”

“But you still think his disappearance is connected to the…disruption you felt?” Ryan asked.

“How could it not be?” Krysty shrugged. “The disturbance, the changes in the land we saw during the battle. Then Doc disappears.”

“Not coincidence,” Jak said. “That for sure.”

“Then, what the hell is it?” Ryan gazed at the stark Nebraska landscape, watching as his friends continued to scour the area for a clue to Doc’s whereabouts. They were coming up just as empty as Krysty and Jak had.

It was beyond frustrating. In the Deathlands, problems tended to be straightforward: battles in need of fighting; hardships in need of surviving; helping allies deal with tangible threats. A person had to be tough and wily and able to think outside the box…but a person didn’t usually have to think outside the bounds of reality. The companions didn’t usually have to face the impossible.

“What next?” Jak asked.

Ryan shifted the weight of his Steyr Scout longblaster cradled in his arms. Keeping the weapon at the ready was crucial; if the muties could take them all by surprise once, they could do it again.

“We keep looking. The land here changed before. Mebbe it’ll change again, and this time we’ll see where Doc went.”

“Not give up on friend.” Jak nodded firmly. “Always good plan.”

“Something has to turn up.” Ryan met Krysty’s green-eyed gaze, searching for confirmation of his hope.

Krysty smiled. “It always does,” she said before turning away to resume her search, leaving Ryan to wonder how much of the conviction in her voice was for his benefit.

* * *

AFTER A FEW more hours of searching, sundown came and put an end to it. Going over the same barren ground after nightfall made no sense. If the trail was nonexistent in broad daylight, it wouldn’t likely become visible in the beams of flashlights.

Still, the group stayed in the area and pitched camp at the rock wall, in the hope that Doc might reappear.

The companions broke open their packs, dining on MREs they’d scrounged from the redoubt they’d jumped to.

“How long are we going to stay here?” Mildred asked as she threw down her bedroll in the dirt.

“Until we find a lead on what happened to Doc.” As he said it, Ryan stole a glance at Krysty, who was also rolling out a sleeping bag. The truth was, they couldn’t stay long at all, not if the place was killing Krysty. He wasn’t about to risk losing her.

J.B. flashed him a look that said he could see right through him.

“I hope that lead turns up damn soon,” the Armorer said.

Ryan nodded. “You and me both.”

“Supplies low,” Jak said, smacking the side of his backpack for emphasis.

“I know that,” Ryan replied.

“Can’t build fire,” the albino added. “No firewood near.”

Ryan nodded. He knew Jak and Ricky had looked hard for it, to no avail. This part of Nebraska—the Sandhills, according to a map in the redoubt—was rich in sand and rock and not much else. If there was a stick of wood or a growing thing anywhere in a five-mile radius, they hadn’t come across it yet.

“We’ll take it as it comes, like we always do.” Ryan met the eyes of his companions, each in turn, projecting all the strength and confidence he could muster. “For now, we need some shut-eye.” Gripping his longblaster tightly, he stared into the moonlit night. He didn’t ask for anyone’s opinion; he was taking the first watch, looking out for muties on the move.

So was J.B. “I kind of hope one of those damn muties shows up.” Mini-Uzi in hand, the Armorer walked up to stand beside Ryan. “Mebbe he could give us a lead on Doc.”

“You think the muties took him?” asked Ricky, who was sitting with his back against the base of the rock wall, cleaning his Webley Mk VI revolver.

“Good chance of it, if you ask me,” J.B. stated. “They seemed to know exactly what changes were coming, and when. It was like they could read the phenomenon.”

“Or control it,” Mildred suggested. “If that’s even possible.”

“Why not?” J.B. shrugged. “We know certain people can be attuned to the Earth Mother.” He glanced over his shoulder at Krysty. “Why not control her, as well?”

“Whatever they’ve done, whatever’s happening here, it’s awful.” Krysty scowled and rubbed her temples. “It’s wrong. Beyond wrong.”

“And Doc’s out there alone in the middle of it.” Mildred stepped up alongside J.B. and cast her gaze into the night. “Either that, or he’s…” Her voice trailed off.

No one wanted to finish her sentence.

Chapter Three

“Am I dead?”

As Doc blinked his eyes open, he could see nothing but darkness. He tossed his head one way, then the other, and the result was the same. More darkness.

But not emptiness. He could feel a solid surface beneath him, like rock, and he could sense some kind of walls around him. “Hello? If this is the afterlife, I’m really not complaining, you know. Life in the Deathlands has rather worn thin, to be perfectly honest.” When he spoke, there was no echo; he could tell from the sound of his voice that he was in an enclosed space.

And more than that, he was somewhere dank and damp. He could smell moisture in the air, feel a chill against his skin.

But there was no draft of any kind, no air moving anywhere in that space, not even the faintest breeze.

Wherever he was, it didn’t feel as if it was out in the open, which was odd, because that was exactly the last place he could remember being. Out in the open.

Reaching down, Doc felt a cold, damp sheet of smooth stone. Bracing against it, he boosted himself up to a sitting position, instantly regretting it when his head collided with a rock-hard ceiling.

“Ow!” He dropped back down, clutching his aching skull. “That hurt!”

At that exact moment, Doc realized two things: one, he was still alive and, two, he was in an even smaller space than he’d expected.

These two realizations generated a terrible thought, a possibility that was starting to seem increasingly likely. If he wasn’t out in the open, and he wasn’t dead…

“Have I been buried alive?” The thought of it made involuntarily clench the pit of his stomach. Fear seized him, as cold and primitive as a stone ax or the plunging beak of an ancient carnivore.

Had the ground opened up and swallowed him, then closed itself over him? Was he doomed to suffocate in this tiny, dark cell in the bowels of the earth?

“Help! Somebody, help me!” As Doc cried out, he scrabbled with his fingers at the ceiling, instinctively trying to dig his way to freedom. But the ceiling was all rock, as unyielding as the stone surface on which he lay.

Panting, Doc dropped his arms at his sides. “Help me!” Even as he shouted, he knew it was in vain. Even if Ryan and the others were directly overhead, they could never hear his wailing through a layer of rock. “Please help me!”

Taking a deep breath of the chilly, damp air, he fought to get control of himself…and won, at least for the moment. He knew panic was never the answer. Calm thinking and resourcefulness were the only qualities that ever saved a person in the damnable Deathlands.

“Perhaps my tools…” Doc reached into the folds of his frock coat, seeking the holster of his LeMat revolver, with no success. Next, he rolled onto his right side, searching the stone around him for the blaster or his ebony swordstick. He did the same on his left side, with the exact same result. He found a hard rock wall within arm’s reach, but no revolver and no swordstick.

“I am bereft.” Slumping back on the stone, he sighed loudly. “Without a tool to effect my escape or another mortal soul to offer solace.”

Just then, Doc heard a scuffling sound in the direction of his feet. “What now?” He pushed himself up on his elbows, staying low enough that his head wouldn’t hit the ceiling. “Rats, I suppose? Some other burrowing vermin come to feast on my flesh?” He reached around for a rock to throw but found nothing. “Begone, vermin!” Noise would have to suffice. “I shall not be your dinner yet!”

The scuffling came closer, got louder. Doc peered toward it but saw nothing in the pitch-blackness.

“Begone, I say!” He drew up his legs, pulling away from whatever was there. “You won’t find me an easy prey, I promise you!”

Suddenly, he heard a different sound from the same place, a distinctive sound that could not be mistaken for any other.

Giggling.

Doc’s mouth fell open in shock. The question was no longer what was over there—it was who.

That was no vermin scuffling in the darkness. It was a person.

Doc’s heart hammered in his chest. He meant to snap out some words of defiance to try to intimidate his giggling visitor.

But before a single word could leave Doc’s lips, the visitor scrambled forward. Hands grabbed hold of Doc’s ankles and wrenched his legs straight with an iron grip.

Then a voice, high-pitched and girlish in the lightless void, said, “You’re mine now. All mine.”

Doc gathered his bravado and snapped, “Now, see here!”

But those were the only words he got out before the person—or thing—in the night dragged him from his stony cell.

And then, all of a sudden, there were many more hands, coming from all directions. And all of them were grabbing at Doc.

Chapter Four

Krysty woke screaming from a deep sleep, her dreams shattered by a lightning bolt of pain.

Her eyes shot open, seeing predawn grayness all around. Dimly, she was aware of other bodies stirring on the ground nearby, snapped awake by the sound of her screams.

Then another bolt slashed through her mind, throwing her into a mindless seizure of agony.

As she writhed on the ground, she heard footsteps running toward her and familiar voices calling out—Ryan’s, J.B.’s, Mildred’s. But Krysty couldn’t sort out the words they were saying or attempt to respond to them. She was too consumed with pain and the crazed need to make it stop…and one other thing.

Dread. An overwhelming feeling of dread at whatever phenomenon the pain might be signaling, just as it had signaled the earlier onslaught that had swept away Doc.

Suddenly the pain abated, and Krysty slumped. Heaving for breath, she fought to clear the haze that had shrouded her senses and stolen her ability to function normally.

“Krysty!” Ryan knelt at her left side, gazing worriedly down at her.

Krysty felt him gripping her hand and suddenly realized he’d been holding it for a while, tight enough to give her pins and needles.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” She nodded weakly. “Just another one of those attacks.”

“Easy does it, Krysty.” Mildred knelt at her right side, touching the back of a hand to Krysty’s forehead. “Deep, slow breaths, honey. In and out, in and out.”

“What coming?” Jak’s voice rose up from somewhere nearby. “Last time fit, muties attack and rock wall appear.”

“I don’t know.” Krysty closed her eyes and concentrated, focusing her mind the way she did when she called on the power of Gaia, the Earth Mother. Reaching out, she strained to find some thread of the force that had triggered her pain, some whisper of whatever had brought on the bolts of pain.

But there was nothing. Just emptiness and stillness.

Or was there something after all? As Krysty continued to strain, she felt what might have been a faint tension, pressing in the distance.

Scowling, she struggled to tighten her focus even more, to home in on whatever was out there. At the same time, she tried to steel herself against the next bolt of pain that might come.

“Look like find something,” Jak said.

“Not sure yet.” Krysty gritted her teeth and cast her net as wide as she could. Was she tuning something in or feeling something that wasn’t there? She couldn’t tell.

“Krysty.” Ryan leaned closer. “We should get you out of here. You said this place is killing you.”

“No, wait.” Krysty sat up and raised a hand. The tension was definitely there, as if something were being pushed, or pulled…

Or stretched.

“Everybody!” Krysty snapped her eyes open and leaped to her feet. “Get out of here, now!”

“You heard her!” Ryan shouted. “Move! Out the way we came in!”

But it was already too late. Krysty knew it instantly, as the tension she’d felt building suddenly released, like the string of a bow.

Or a fault line in earthquake country.

Before anyone could start running, a familiar wave of force crashed into Krysty. She hung suspended for an instant, her whole body quivering, and then the force let go, whipping her around to slam into Ryan.

As the two of them stumbled, barely holding each other erect, Krysty saw the ground in front of them flutter like a bedsheet. She heard a low hum, followed by a rumble that coursed up through her feet and shook every bone in her body.

Then a flash of light erupted before her like a second sun blazing to life. As the light faded, between the blur of spots left pulsing in her eyes, Krysty saw the thing she’d dreaded, the latest phenomenon signaled by the pain.

The ground was opening up.

“Sinkhole!” As the word left Ryan’s lips, the hole expanded rapidly. In seconds, it was big enough to swallow up a good-size war wag, and still growing at breakneck speed.

The companions were on the move, scattering fast, but not fast enough. Krysty could feel the ground dropping away, disintegrating hot on her heels as she sprinted alongside Ryan.

Suddenly, the hole caught up with her. Like sand in an hourglass, the once-firm ground slid out from under her. Just like that, her feet had nothing solid beneath them, and she started to fall.

Before she could plunge into the widening chasm, though, Ryan’s strong hands seized her arm and hauled her forward. It was all the help she needed. With firm footing restored—at least for the moment—Krysty was able to bolt out of reach of the hungry pit.

Mildred wasn’t as lucky. She screamed in alarm, and Krysty flashed a look in her direction as she ran.

Some twenty feet away, the predark physician was almost completely in the hole. Only her head and shoulders remained above the rim. She was holding on to a hump of rock, her body dangling into the pit as it continued to grow around her.

Instantly, Krysty changed direction and raced toward her friend. She knew Ryan would follow, but she had to prepare as if she alone would mount this rescue.

Dashing toward the dissolving rim of the hole, Krysty focused her thoughts on the familiar power she drew from in times of emergency. Gaia, the Earth Mother, the world itself, provided a wellspring of energy for the few who knew how to tap it, and Krysty counted herself among their number.

Chanting her prayer quickly, she made contact with the power of Gaia, the potent force residing all around her. Embracing the power, she drew a portion of it into her, feeling it churn and crackle within her like a ball of lightning.

Then, as she and the crumbling rim raced toward each other, she let the power explode and infuse every cell of her being.

Leaping just as the rim collapsed in front of her, Krysty landed on the peak of the rock that Mildred clung to. Balancing on the balls of her feet on that peak, Krysty ducked and grabbed hold of Mildred’s upper arms. With one heave, as if she was lifting a child, she pulled Mildred up.

As Mildred looped her arms tightly around Krysty’s neck, the redhead turned, part of her mind wondering if she’d made a fatal error. The bank, which was still dissolving, was nearly thirty feet away.

It would be a long jump, even in her heightened, Gaia-empowered state, but it would only get longer with each second she hesitated. Her odds of survival would only get lower.

So Krysty gathered the power within her and crouched, coiling her muscles for the leap. The bank continued to recede.

Then she took a deep breath, focused the Gaia force and leaped.

Even with the weight of Mildred on her back, Krysty felt light as she sailed through the air. Miraculously, she overtook the dissolving rim and kept going, past the point where the sinkhole might take her as soon as she touched down.

When she did land, Ryan and J.B. were waiting for her. The second Krysty put down Mildred, J.B. had his arm around the woman’s shoulders, urging her forward to flee the approaching pit.

Ryan did the same for Krysty. “Can you keep going?” he asked as they ran.

“Yes.” Whenever Krysty tapped Gaia’s power, she always went through a slump afterward, as if the superhuman exertion had unnaturally exhausted her. But perhaps because of the continued danger, she hadn’t gotten to that point yet.

She and Ryan ran onward after J.B. and Mildred, trying to get past the limits of the sinkhole’s expansion…if there were any. Up ahead, Jak and Ricky had stopped running and were waving their arms, urging them on.

Suddenly, a fresh bolt of pain shot through Krysty’s skull, and she stumbled. She tried to keep running at full tilt, but another bolt caught her, and she stumbled again, heading for a fall.

Ryan’s arms stopped her from hitting the ground. In one smooth movement, he scooped her off her feet and kept going, carrying her away from the sinkhole.

Just then, a shock wave plowed into both of them, nearly bowling them over. Krysty saw the ground around them flow like liquid, and she knew what was coming next.

A blinding flash lit the landscape. Ryan reeled with Krysty in his arms, teetering in the light, and then the flare was suddenly snuffed out.

Instantly, Krysty could feel that the air was different. Everything was quieter and more still than before, with good reason.

The constant rushing of the collapsing ground had ended.

“It stopped.” Looking back, she saw that the sinkhole had finally stopped expanding, leaving the farthest reach of the rim at about thirty feet from them.

“Best news we’ve had all day,” Ryan said. “But why the hell did it start?”

Krysty concentrated, trying to probe their surroundings for a clue, but then the post-Gaia weakness finally struck. Her thoughts scattered like ripples from a pebble tossed into a pond, and she slumped in Ryan’s arms.

Mildred was at her side in a heartbeat. “Are you all right?”

Krysty nodded weakly. “Just worn-out.”

“You just let me know if you need anything.” Mildred patted her cheek lightly.

“What about you?” J.B. put a hand on Mildred’s shoulder, gazing at her with deep concern. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Mildred said. “Not a big fan of this place, but I’m fine.”

“It hellhole,” Jak stated. “We stay longer, it take us like took Doc.”

“Mebbe we should split up,” J.B. suggested. “One group could get Krysty out of here before the next disruption while the other group stays here and keeps looking for Doc.”

“Or,” shouted Ricky, who was standing on the rim of the crater, pointing into the distance, “we could all follow that.”

Ryan carried Krysty to the rim, and the others joined them. As Krysty looked where Ricky was pointing, she saw what he was talking about.

J.B. blew his breath out in a low whistle. “Dark night!”

“Maybe one good thing came out of that crap storm,” Mildred said.

In the distance beyond the giant sinkhole, Krysty saw that a channel now ran through the surface of the earth—a rough-hewn canal filled with a glowing red liquid. The red substance churned and bubbled, shedding plumes of rippling gray steam that revealed, at a distance, just how hot the channel’s contents had to be. Meaning the red liquid could most likely be only one thing.

“Lava,” Krysty said.

“Magically appearing in the middle of the Sandhills, where there’s zero volcanic activity,” J.B. commented.

“That we know of,” Ryan corrected. But how the lava had gotten there wasn’t the important part, and they all knew it. More important by far was what it might do for them.

And whom it might lead them to.

“Don’t you think it could be a trail?” Ricky asked. “Mebbe it’s pointing at the middle of all this.”

J.B. nodded. “The epicenter of the effect.”

“And that might be where they’re taking Doc,” Ricky added.

Ryan nodded. “Might be, at that.”

“Seem like long shot to me,” Jak said. “How know that where taken?”

“We don’t,” J.B. replied. “But we don’t have any better ideas, do we?”

“I think it’s worth a try.” Ryan looked down at Krysty, still resting in his arms. “But mebbe we should still get you out of here.”

Krysty shook her head. “I don’t want us to split up.” She shifted in his grip, signaling that she wanted him to let her down, which he did. “I can handle whatever comes our way. Don’t worry.”

Ryan held her gaze for a long moment, reading all that remained unsaid between them. Krysty knew he was aware she was making a sacrifice, and that it would cost her, but she would gladly do it if it meant finding Doc.

And she knew he was well aware of one other fact as well: once she decided to do something, there could be no stopping her.

“All right, then.” Ryan nodded. “Let’s gather up what’s left of our gear and get moving. The longer Doc’s out there on his own, the less likely it is that we’ll ever see him again.”

Chapter Five

Doc blinked furiously as he was dragged from the pitch-blackness and dumped in a space awash in bright white light. For a long moment, he couldn’t see a thing beyond a few dim outlines in the flaring brilliance.

Then, as his eyes adjusted, things slowly took shape around him. He saw that he was in a round, stone-walled chamber, open to the sunlight overhead. He lay on a dirt floor at the feet of a group of muties, unarmed and at their mercy.

The question was, what did they want with him? And why had they brought him here, wherever here was?

“Oh, dear.” As Doc looked around, the muties stared back at him with great interest. They couldn’t take their eyes off him; even as they giggled and tittered in childlike voices, their stares never left him for an instant.

At least they didn’t seem to be exuding hostility. Doc smiled as he sat there, and many of them smiled back at him. The crimson skin of their faces crinkled around their mouths and the corners of their eyes, suggesting a response that was the polar opposite of hostile.

“Well, then.” Doc slowly got to his feet. “Perhaps I have made some new friends after all. Perhaps this has all been an unfortunate mistake.”

Just then, a familiar high-pitched voice piped up over the noise from the crowd. “Not a mistake at all. And we are old friends, not new ones.”

Instantly, Doc recognized the voice as that of the first being who had grabbed him in the lightless stone cell. Turning to look at him, Doc saw a mutie with skin as red as a burning ember. He stood taller than the other muties by at least a head, and wore different clothing, as well. The muties in the crowd were dressed in scavenged predark clothes, while this one wore a gray uniform and boots that were practically in mint condition. Was he a leader, perhaps?

“I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” Doc bowed quickly at the waist. “Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner, at your service.” Straightening, he raised his eyebrows at the apparent leader of the muties. “And what shall I call you, pray tell?”

The leader sighed and shook his head. “What have they done to you?”

“They? They, who?”

“Your captors, of course. The ones who took you from us.” The leader spread his arms wide. He held Doc’s silver lion’s-head swordstick in his left hand. Doc’s LeMat revolver was holstered at his hip. “We took you back, but they must have done something to you first. Taken your memories or senses. I only hope they didn’t ruin you for your holy work.”

“What sort of holy work is that?” Doc asked, marveling at his command of the English language.

The leader just stared at him with apparent pity and worry. “Have no fear,” he said coolly. “We will heal you, my friend.”

Doc cleared his throat, uncertain of what to say or do next. The only thing he knew for sure what that he’d never seen these particular muties before in his life. “If, as you say, we are friends, perhaps you could humor me. Perhaps you could tell me your name.”

“Though it hurts me to have to tell you, I’ll do it,” the mutie said. “My name is Exo. And yours is Dr. William Hammersmith.”

“I suppose it is.” Doc shrugged. “What else can you tell me about myself, friend Exo?”

“You have been a naughty boy, Dr. Hammersmith.” Exo ticked Doc’s ebony swordstick back and forth. “It’s a good thing you’re so important and such a good friend.”

“Naughty?” Doc straightened. Without the swordstick and LeMat revolver, he felt utterly naked. “In what way was I naughty?”

Exo pulled a stick of red-and-white-striped peppermint candy out of the vest pocket of his uniform. “You ran away. If you hadn’t done that, the interlopers never would have taken you.”

“I see.” Doc nodded, thinking how appropriate it was that his doppelganger had a penchant for escape. Doc himself, after being snatched through time from the nineteenth century to the twentieth, had tried numerous times to get away from his whitecoat captors. “And you say these interlopers seized me against my will?”

Exo peeled back the plastic wrapper and slid the candy stick between his lips. “Why else would you have stayed away so long, leaving your critical work unfinished?”

“Hmm.” Doc frowned and rubbed the gray stubble on his chin. “And what is this work to which you refer, precisely?”

“Perfecting the Shift, of course.”

“Ah, the Shift.” Doc nodded, then tipped his head to one side and squinted. “Which is, of course…?”

Exo took the candy stick out of his mouth and swept it in a semicircle. “All around us! The deadliest place in the Deathlands!” Stomping forward, he jabbed the swordstick at Doc’s chest. “And you are making it even deadlier.”

The mutie’s breath was rancid enough to choke a horse, but Doc stood his ground. “Is that so?”

Exo narrowed his gaze. “I can see by the look on your face that you still don’t remember it all. But no matter.” The mutie reached over and cupped the right side of Doc’s face in his hand. “You still have time for it to come back to you. The journey to the core will take days, and we have other business to conduct on the way.”

Doc couldn’t help leaning his head away from Exo’s hand. “What business is that?”

Exo laughed that high giggle of his, the one that so belied his threatening personality. “Teaching your kidnappers a lesson, dear Doctor. Teaching them the price of intruding in the Shift, where they are not welcome and never will be.”

He was talking about Ryan and the others, and Doc knew it. “What price is that?”

Exo paused a moment, his face completely unreadable. Then, suddenly, he lunged forward and shouted in Doc’s face, “Death! Torture, mutilation and death at the hands of the shifters!”

Doc cleared his throat and took a step back. “I do not suppose you would consider letting bygones be bygones?”

Exo giggled and tossed away his candy stick. This time, when he lunged, he threw Doc down on the ground and pummeled him with his fist and the head of the swordstick until Doc started fading again.

“The Children of the Shift never forgive!” As Exo said it, the other muties roared in agreement. “We understand only one thing! Swift and brutal retribution without hesitation or mercy!”

It was then that Doc lost consciousness. His last thought before he went under was if this was how Exo treated his friends, then Ryan and the others were really in for it.

Chapter Six

Ricky tossed a rock into the bubbling lava and watched it melt in an instant, casting up a plume of steam.

“That’s some hot stuff, man.” He elbowed Jak, who walked beside him at the front of the group. “Get too close, and it’ll give you a sunburn.”

“No want get close.” Jak was a good thirty paces from the lava channel, where he’d stayed since the team had started hiking. He was only too happy to let Ricky stay between him and the superheated flow. “Enemy not come that direction.”

Ricky raised an index finger. “Unless things change again, that is. It happened before.”

Jak snorted. “We ready. Learned lesson.” He smiled grimly. “Expect unexpected.”

Just then, Ryan trotted forward from the middle ranks. “Guys.” They parted, and he formed up between them. “What’s the good word?”

“All quiet for now,” Ricky said.

“All hot,” Jak added.

“What about back there?” Ricky bobbed his head toward the rest of the column. “Anything we should know about?”

Ryan shook his head. “Krysty hasn’t gotten a signal since we set out. No seizures, no funny feelings, nothing.”

“That good,” Jak said, “for her.”

“Not so good if we want to find Doc, though,” Ricky stated. “If we run out of lava channel, we’ll need to find another way to pick up the trail.”

“My gut tells me something will turn up.” Ryan narrowed his eyes and scanned the scenery—clusters of sandy humps rolling in all directions, split up ahead by the arrow-straight river of lava. “As crazy as this place is, I’ll be more surprised if something doesn’t turn up soon.”

Ricky kicked up a spray of sand with the toe of his boot. “Why do you think it’s like that? This place? Why do you think it’s so crazy?”

“If Doc was here, he’d have some kind of scientific explanation. As it is…” Ryan sighed. “Krysty says something awful happened to the earth around here, but, you know, the same could be said for much of the Deathlands.”

“Skydark cause somehow?” Jak asked. “War aftereffect?”

“Or something since then?” Ricky queried. “Some kind of science project gone wrong, mebbe?”

“Any of the above.” Ryan shrugged. “Right now, I guess it doesn’t much matter. We just need to find Doc and get the hell out of here before the phenomenon kills Krysty.”

“Survive first.” Jak nodded in agreement. “Explain later.”

“Hmm.” Ricky stared at the lava-filled channel as he kept marching along. “What if it’s all in our minds? Some kind of mass hallucination?”

“Someone mess with heads? Not first time.” Jak thought about it for a moment, then pointed at the channel with the barrel of his Colt Python. “How about dip toe in there and tell if illusion?”

“You first.” Ricky laughed. “But what if it is an illusion? We wouldn’t know it, would we?”

The one-eyed man blinked at him. “Krysty might.” He frowned. “Which might be the reason she keeps getting pounded by these psychic attacks, come to think of it.”

“We stop attacks sooner or later.” Jak popped one of his leaf-bladed throwing knives out of the spring-loaded scabbard in his right sleeve.

“Let’s stay alert to all possibilities.” Ryan tightened his grip on his longblaster. “Until we learn otherwise.”

“My possibilities always same.” Jak stabbed the air once more with a nasty flourish. “Cut and shoot till run out things to cut and shoot.”

“I think I speak for all of us,” Ricky stated, “when I say that’s a plan we can all get behind.”

Suddenly, a loud hissing noise in the distance caught everyone’s attention. They swung in the direction of the noise, and they all saw the source at the same instant.

Ricky shook his head at the sight. “What the hell is that?”

“Something I’m pretty sure shouldn’t be here,” Ryan told him.

Some fifty yards in the distance, on the same side of the lava channel as Ricky and the others, a plume of steam shot straight up from the ground, climbing at least thirty feet into the sky.

“First lava in Nebraska, now geysers,” Ryan said. “What next? A volcano?”

“Careful what wish for,” Jak stated.

Just then, a second geyser erupted from the ground on the opposite side of the channel, ten yards closer than the first.

That was enough to drive Ryan into action. “Incoming!” He shouted the words over his shoulder, making sure everyone behind him could hear.

But they didn’t really need to. Just as Ryan yelled his warning, Krysty let loose with her latest bloodcurdling scream.

“Form up!” Ryan charged back to Krysty’s side, leaving Jak and Ricky to hold the point of the column.

“Ready test theory?” Jak cocked the Python with one hand and balanced a throwing knife by the tip with the other. “Not fight back, mebbe hallucination not kill?”

Ricky’s eyes danced over the landscape, watching for the first hostile movement. “Not a chance.”

“Thought you say that,” Jak said. “Not believe own theory, huh?”

“I didn’t say that,” Ricky told him. “But even if this is all a hallucination, there’s no way I’m going to let it kick my ass.”

Chapter Seven

Ryan swept his longblaster left and right, waiting for whoever was coming—or whatever unnatural phenomenon was on the way, in which case, the blaster would be useless.

Behind him, Mildred supported Krysty with her left arm while brandishing her .38 ZKR 551 revolver in her right hand. “Another geyser at two o’clock.”

“I see it.” Ryan wondered if the geysers were a prelude to an attack or disaster…or perhaps the only manifestation of the phenomenon this time. “That makes three.”

“At least we’re out in the open,” said J.B., who was at the rear flank with his Mini-Uzi at the ready. “Not too many hills in this spot, either. Not many places for an ambush.”

“No shock wave yet…” Krysty forced out the words between clenched teeth. “No flash…of light…”

“So the worst might still be coming.” J.B. checked the Smith & Wesson M-4000 scattergun slung at his back and reassured himself it would be there when he needed it. Then he straightened his fedora hat, tipping the brim up just enough to clear his line of sight.

“Oh, no.” Krysty sucked in her breath. “It’s coming. I feel it.”

J.B. felt nothing, then suddenly he did. Like both times before, he felt caught between forces that were pulling and pushing him simultaneously. His heart hammered, because he knew what was next.

He tried to brace himself, but the shock wave still blew him around and threw him down on one knee. There was a hum, then a rumble, and he squinted against the flash he knew was coming, but it did him no good. The light still caught him by surprise; he clamped his eyes shut, but it still seared his vision, replacing the texture and color of sight with a curtain of featureless white.

J.B. held his Mini-Uzi tightly, though, and listened hard for the sounds of approaching enemies. He knew his comrades’ footsteps by heart; those of attacking strangers would stand out like drumbeats in a parade of flutes.

But the only new sound he heard had nothing to do with footsteps. It was a creaking sound, coming from nearby…very nearby. It was like the creaking of a tall tree as it bent and shifted in a stiff wind.

He listened closer as his eyes began to clear. The sound was getting louder, even closer than he had thought.

Then he felt the ground move, and he leaped aside. The creaking was as plain as day now; it had been coming from under his own feet.

His vision cleared just in time to see a spike of white stone shoot up from the ground where he’d been standing. It pushed straight upward, stopping only when it reached a height of more than ten feet.

J.B. blew out his breath in a quick sigh of relief. If he hadn’t jumped when he did, he would have ended up speared on the tip of that spike.

As he stood there, he heard shouting from his teammates and spun, swinging his Mini-Uzi into firing position. But the threat they were reacting to wouldn’t be fazed by a barrage of 9 mm rounds.

It was another pale pillar, bigger than the first, rising from the ground among Ryan, Krysty and Mildred. Luckily, no one had been impaled by the monstrous spike as it leaped toward the sky.

Again and again, he heard the creaking sounds, followed by the whoosh of sand giving way to climbing pillars of stone. He saw one of them flash upward near Ricky, sending him rolling toward the lava channel, his pell-mell tumble halted just in time by a sprinting Jak.

“So it’s these things now?” Mildred hollered. “Stalagmites outside of a cave?”

Just as she said it, another spike shot up from the ground near J.B. He backpedaled out of its way, then turned in a circle, trying to decide where to go next. If those things could punch out of the ground anywhere without warning, there wasn’t a safe place to be found.

Furthermore, what if they weren’t the only threat? “Look alive!” he called out to the rest of the team. “Get ready for incoming!” He knew it was good advice. There were no signs of attacking muties, and they hadn’t come when the sinkhole opened up that morning, but they’d used the upheaval once before to attack.

Looking around at the landscape, J.B. saw many more stalagmites bursting aboveground, studding the plain and even stabbing at crazy angles from distant hillsides. Before his eyes, the sparse terrain was becoming a forest of pale towers, each one gleaming like a predark bleached church spire in the blazing midday sun.

What had once been mostly open space with few places to hide was quickly turning into the perfect setting for a sneak attack by enemy forces.

In which case, J.B. and his comrades wouldn’t be hard to find at all. Krysty couldn’t help herself; she kept screaming as her inner torment continued.

“Anybody else get the feeling we’re sitting ducks?” J.B. shouted.

Just then, Ryan opened up with his best take-charge voice. “Three groups! Krysty and Mildred in the middle! Jak and I at twelve o’clock, J.B. and Ricky at six o’clock!”

“Seen anyone yet?” Ricky asked as he took up position by the nearest stalagmite.

“Nope.” J.B. set up on the other side of the same pillar, facing in the opposite direction. They needed to catch whoever came at them from either side and be ready to pivot quickly to help the others. “You?”

“Just the ones in my imagination.” Ricky braced his shoulder against the stone pillar and slowly combed the barrel of his De Lisle carbine from side to side. “But they have to be coming, don’t they?”

“Indubitably, as Doc might say.” J.B. listened for approaching footsteps but just heard more of the distant creaking and whooshing. The stalagmite forest’s growth spurt seemed to be nowhere near an end.

Then, suddenly, there was a loud creaking from just a few feet away. J.B. turned with weapon in hand, expecting another spike to erupt from the ground, but he got more than he counted on this time.

A fresh spike did indeed launch skyward with a whooshing sound of displaced sand. It was well away from J.B. and Ricky, so neither of them was at risk of being speared, but they were both in very real danger nonetheless.

For there was a crimson-skinned mutie rising up along with it, one arm wrapped around the pillar’s pale girth, the other arm bracing a slightly rusted AK-47 assault longblaster that was pointing at J.B.’s head.

Chapter Eight

In predark days, Mildred had been an award-winning free shooter. Being cryogenically frozen for a century and thawed years later hadn’t diminished her marksmanship skills one bit.

Which was why, when she saw her beloved J.B. in danger, she was able to move so decisively. Through a gap between stalagmites, she cranked off a fast, tricky shot with her target revolver that punched a hole dead center in the mutie’s forehead.

As the mutie dropped from the stalagmite he’d been riding, J.B. whirled and waved at Mildred. Through their years of traversing the Deathlands, they’d both saved each other’s lives too many times to count. It was second nature these days, something you expected from friends and comrades.

Or, in the case of Mildred and J.B., it was something you expected from lovers. Each new nightmare they faced brought them closer together and made them fight all the harder to keep what they’d found.

Even in hell itself, it turned out, it was good to have something to fight for. Ryan and Krysty certainly felt the same way.

Though at the rate Krysty was going, Mildred wondered if she would live out the day. As the predark doctor turned back to her after blowing away the mutie, she saw that Krysty had slid to the ground at the base of the closest spike. She was crouching there, screaming with eyes squeezed shut, hands gripping her temples with desperate ferocity.

Unfortunately, Mildred had no time to tend to her. Before she could drop to Krysty’s side, she heard the telltale creaking and whoosh of another rising spike in her immediate vicinity.

Spinning in its direction, she saw the latest pillar shooting high and fast with a pair of crimson arms looped around it, supporting a mutie who was clinging from the other side.

As the pillar punched upward, the mutie swung around and released one hand to flash a .38 revolver from a holster on his hip. Almost instantly, he started firing, tracing a path that would soon cut a swath across Mildred’s torso.

Springing into action, Mildred launched herself away from the stalagmite where Krysty huddled, drawing the mutie’s fire. She heard rounds spitting into the sand behind her as she bolted for the nearest spike, intending to use it for cover.

Another mutie happened to step out from behind the spike, wielding a .380 ACP Glock pistol.

Mildred hesitated an instant, then cut suddenly left, just as the second mutie opened fire. Rounds traced her path as she ran, closing in with each shot.

With two muties blasting away at her, Mildred needed an opportunity and found one. She heard the creaking noise again, followed by the whooshing, and she pinpointed the source: ten feet away, the tip of a new spike was nosing out of the sand.

Reaching deep, Mildred picked up her pace, charging straight for the soon-to-rise spike. Bullets hissing behind her, she leaped forward just as the spike began to rise.

A second later, and she would have been pierced through the belly, but she cleared it. The spike jumped upward just as her body sailed out of its path.

As Mildred hit the ground and rolled, she heard bullets zinging off the newborn pillar. Stopping her roll, she leaped to her feet and dived behind it.

Then, popping halfway out from behind the pale spike, she quickly found the second mutie, sighted in on him and pulled the trigger. A crimson blossom erupted on his chest, and he went down.

As for the first mutie who’d swung around and driven Mildred away from Krysty, he was down for the count. Peering between pillars, Mildred saw Krysty standing over him, whaling away at him with her powerful fists.

“You go, girl.” Mildred smiled grimly, then heard a sound and whipped around just in time for someone else’s fist to slam into the side of her head.

Mildred’s vision went dark before she could get a look at her attacker. She was dimly aware of her legs folding up underneath her, her body collapsing, and then…she was off in the nothingness, the perfect black vacuum of absolute unconsciousness.

Chapter Nine

Ryan and Jak fought back-to-back, blasting away at the muties working their way toward them through the forest of spikes.

Jak’s .357 Magnum Colt Python coughed out a round, and a mutie screamed in agony. “Another bite dust.” Jak spun the revolver around his index finger, then blew on the barrel as if puffing away smoke. “Jak six, muties zero.”

Ryan snorted and kept sweeping his longblaster from side to side. “But the bastards keep coming.” He thought he saw movement and flicked the barrel toward a spike, then realized it was a false alarm and continued his sweep. “How the hell many of them are there anyway?”

“More are, more fun for me.” Jak cocked the Python and went back to combing the surroundings with his bright red eyes. “Hey, muties!” he shouted.

As if on cue, a mutie leaped between distant pillars, crossing from one to the other. Jak didn’t fire, but he fixed his gaze on the mutie’s new cover like a dog watching a fox’s den.

Just then, Ryan heard a blaster shot fired nearby. He listened to the echo, trying to tell what specific weapon had put it out there, but the spikes upset the acoustics, and he couldn’t read the weapon’s signature.

“I hope the others are all right.” With the shape Krysty was in, he was worrying more than usual, second-guessing his call to split up the team.

“Down one man, muties surrounding, ammo low.” Jak grinned a wolf’s grin. “Of course all right.” The mutie twitched from behind his pillar, and Jak jerked his blaster’s barrel to follow. “Just another Deathlands day.”

Suddenly, a body darted from behind another spike at ten o’clock and ran into Ryan’s field of vision. He caught it out of the corner of his eye, swung his longblaster around to fire…and lost his shot. Whoever was over there disappeared behind another pale column.

“More company,” Ryan said quietly. “I think they’re taking up position, getting ready to move.”

“Want move first?” Jak asked. “Or stay sitting ducks?”

Ryan thought it over for all of a second. “Let’s move out and work our way back in.” He pointed toward the cover of the figure he’d glimpsed a moment ago and headed in that direction.

“Getting bored one place anyway.” Jak headed in the opposite direction.

As Ryan worked his way between jutting spikes, he walked as softly as he could, keeping his longblaster at the ready. He paused at each fresh spike, ducking quickly past it to check for muties sheltering behind, then sliding around the column to take that shelter himself.

It unnerved him a little when he heard Krysty shrieking in the distance, but he kept his head and kept moving. He knew her well enough to realize that wasn’t the kind of cry she made when under physical attack. The only cry she ever uttered in battle was a raging war whoop as she shattered bones and drew blood with abandon.

Ryan glided around an especially thick pillar, then stopped and flicked back behind it. Two muties were creeping past on the other side, one carrying a sawed-off shotgun, the other a remade M-16 fitted with a rusty bayonet.

Ryan breathed slowly and adjusted his grip on the Scout longblaster. Then he eased himself around the pillar and froze. Suddenly, a bayonet and a double-barreled sawed-off were staring him in the face.

The muties had gotten the jump on him. They had to have heard or sensed him, maybe spotted his shadow, and doubled back. Now Ryan was royally screwed.

“Surrender!” the mutie with the sawed-off shouted. “Throw your weapon aside and get on the ground.”

“You first.” Ryan didn’t blink. He had the Scout aimed squarely at the bayonet-wielding mutie’s abdomen. As long as he kept it there, he still had a chance of keeping them off balance.

The mutie with the M-16 drew the blaster back, getting ready to ram the bayonet into Ryan.

At that moment, the mutie’s head exploded. His body crumpled backward, dead before it hit the ground.

While the other mutie gaped, Ryan seized his opportunity. Without a heartbeat’s hesitation, he cranked off a shot, putting a round right through his head.

The mutie looked at Ryan with wide-eyed amazement, making a move to raise his shotgun, but he didn’t quite make it. His body slumped atop the other mutie’s, splattering blood and gore in all directions.

Thirty yards off, a woman stood between two pillars.

Even from a distance, Ryan could see that she was more than six feet tall. Her black leather jumpsuit was tight enough to reveal the muscular lines of her body; her breasts were large, but otherwise she was whipcord lean.

As for her platinum blonde hair, it was tied back in a ponytail, all but for a single black braid that hung from her left temple.

Even to a man like Ryan, whose heart belonged to his soul mate, this woman was an impressive sight. Equally impressive was the weapon in her hands, though it was pointed in his direction: a Heckler & Koch G-36 automatic longblaster, complete with hundred-round drum magazine.

Without a word, she started walking toward him. She looked neither right nor left, as if she didn’t fear being gunned down while leaving her cover behind. She just kept her eyes fixed on Ryan with cold and single-minded intensity.

“Nice shooting,” Ryan said when she got within ten yards of him. “Thanks for the assist.”

The woman did not say a word as she stalked up to him. Even when she stopped, fewer than four feet away, she remained silent.

That gave Ryan time to take in her features at close range. Her eyes were icy gray like mist, glittering in a ray of sunlight washing over her from above. Her cheekbones were high, her nose angular, her lips full, dark crimson and pressed tightly together.

“You.” She was taller than he’d thought—six foot four at least—and looked down her nose at him when she spoke. “Who are you?” Her voice was deep.

“My name is Ryan Cawdor.” Ryan nodded once, curtly, at her. “And who are you?”

“Why are you in the Shift?” the woman asked.

Ryan couldn’t help noticing that she hadn’t lowered her longblaster. “Why are you here?” The less he revealed at the moment, the better. For all he knew, the woman might be in league with the people who’d taken Doc.

“You brought a team.” She bobbed her head to one side. “You are looking for something.”

Ryan didn’t know what to think of her. Was that arrogance in her eyes, suspicion or just frosty appraisal?

“What’s this ‘Shift’ you just mentioned?”

“You’re slow, aren’t you?” She sneered a little, then moved her head in an arc from right to left, taking in her surroundings. “The Shift is the land of a million changes.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?” In that instant, he decided he didn’t like her, though he still wasn’t sure if she was necessarily malicious. “Thanks for finally answering one of my questions.”

The woman cocked her head left like a big carnivorous bird about to pounce. “Union.”

Ryan scowled. “What?”

“That is my name. So now I have answered two.” Leaning closer, still with the Heckler & Koch between them, she glared at him. “And you have still answered only one, Ryan Cawdor.”

Just as Ryan was starting to wonder if he might need to make some kind of deadly move, Krysty screamed again. Jerking to attention, Ryan looked in the direction of her cry.

At which point, he heard the chattering of weapons somewhere in the same vicinity.

He pushed forward, and Union backed off. “I need to go,” he said, swinging up the Scout.

As he charged past her, Ryan hoped Union wouldn’t shoot him in the back, and she didn’t. But he did hear her running after him, her feet flicking through the sand in counterpoint to his own.

He wondered, as he ran, exactly what she had in mind and which of them was most likely to survive it.

Chapter Ten

As Krysty screamed and writhed on the ground, three hostile muties cautiously approached, staring down at her, which was exactly what she wanted them to do.

This time, her screams were all phony, and she was playing possum to draw them. Until then, they’d been hiding behind nearby spikes, popping off potshots.

But now they were out in the open, surrounding their prey, never imagining that they were her prey.

Krysty twisted in the sand, kicking and thrashing. She let out one more howl of agony, an earsplitting shriek that made the muties wince.

Then she suddenly fell still. She let herself collapse, becoming inert as if she were dead.

Keeping her eyes open but motionless, she lay there as the muties leaned closer, sizing up her condition. They were wondering what to do, if their job was done in this case or if they needed to finish her off.

One of them poked her hip with his toe. The long nail on it jabbed her, but she forced herself to remain still.

Suddenly she exploded into action.

Lashing out her left leg, she drove the heel of her boot into the bare ankle of the mutie who had kicked her. As he squealed in pain, Krysty sprang to her feet.

From that moment on, it was no-holds-barred combat. Krysty was tall and muscular, and could hold her own in any combat situation. She had holstered her Glock for the ploy, and couldn’t draw it before one of the muties would get off a shot.

In a whirlwind of motion, she danced among them with arms and legs flying, chopping them down like a scythe through wheat.

Enraged, one of them came back fast, springing from the ground where she’d thrown him, but his frantic swings were no match for her rock-solid defense. Krysty dodged every blow he attempted, then knocked him back hard with a high kick to the face. This time, he didn’t go down, but she could see he’d blacked out with his eyes open. She followed through with a blow to his chest, and he toppled backward, as straight as a tree.

Just like that, the tables were turned. Instead of three muties staring down at her, Krysty was staring down at them. Every one of them was out cold, and she was still fully alert and ready for more action.

Ryan charged out of the forest of spikes.

“I knew you’d be fine.” He grinned as he reached her.

“I certainly hope you didn’t think I needed help.”

Ryan snorted. “I know better. By the way, we’ve got company.”

A tall blonde in a black leather jumpsuit strolled out from behind a stout pillar.

“She calls herself Union.” Ryan turned and watched as the woman strode toward them. “She helped me out with that automatic longblaster of hers.”

Krysty got an eyeful of her big blaster and nodded once. “Good for her.”

“According to her, this place is called the Shift,” said Ryan. “Though she didn’t tell me much more than that.”

Krysty narrowed her eyes. “Whose side is she on? Did she tell you that much?”

Union looked and sounded aloof to the point of arrogance. “Whoever isn’t trying to kill me, I suppose.”

“And we’re just supposed to trust you?” Krysty asked.

Union shrugged. Krysty could have sworn she was stifling a yawn. “Just don’t try to kill me, and we’ll be okay.”

Krysty doubted it but shrugged in kind. “Sounds like a plan,” she said, though it didn’t, really. She didn’t imagine for a second that Union was worthy of her trust. She didn’t think the woman had any intention of allying herself with them.

But Krysty and her team were in the shit as always, and their options were limited. Trust her or back away—those were the only two choices she could think of at the moment.

“All right, then.” She slumped and rested her hands on her knees. “Let’s table the buddy-buddy stuff until after we put down the mutie army. Agreed?”

Union shrugged as if she couldn’t care less and raised the H&K. “Go time?”

“Suit yourself.” Ryan shrugged, too, then shot a wink at Krysty. “Whatever floats your boat.”

Even weakened as she was, Krysty managed a chuckle at that one.

Just then, footsteps scuffed through the nearby sand. Ryan and Union whirled with weapons at the ready, but it was Jak, not a mutie, who marched out from between spikes.

“Back off the trigger,” Ryan snapped, dropping the Scout’s barrel. “He’s with us.”

Scowling, Union hesitated, then slowly lowered her weapon.

“Who this?” Jak asked.

“I was just going to ask the same question,” Union said coldly.

“Jak, meet Union,” Ryan said. “Union, this is Jak.”

“Union Jak.” Jak’s smile had its own touch of frost. “Have ring to it.”

“Whatever.” Union sighed loudly. “If this is how you people kill muties, it’s no wonder your backs are up against the wall.”

Jak laughed. “You funny! All talk, no action!”

Union glared, then suddenly stomped toward him. “I don’t have time for this.” She paused beside him, her cold stare locking with his bright red eyes. Then she flashed a sexy smile. “So what do you say we go mow down some mutie scum, big boy?” She sashayed past him, her longblaster swaying in perfect counterpoint with her shapely buttocks in the tight black leather jumpsuit.

Ryan watched her go, suitably stunned by the change in demeanor. He glanced at Krysty, who frowned back at him, then turned his gaze to Jak.

The albino shrugged nonchalantly. “What can say?” He raised his eyebrows. “Guess Jak irresistible.” Then he spun and followed Union, disappearing into the forest of spikes.

Ryan stared at his retreating back, hoping like hell that he hadn’t made a mistake in bringing Union back to the group.

Chapter Eleven

Somebody slapped Doc so hard across the face that he woke instantly from the depths of a dream and instantly wished he hadn’t.

In the dream, he’d been spending a quiet Sunday at home with his wife, Emily, and their children, Rachel and Jolyon. He’d felt perfectly content in a way he never did anymore, utterly relaxed and at peace with his life and times.

Now, after that wicked slap, he was fully back in the Deathlands again, face-to-face with the current author of his misery—Exo the candy-loving mutie.

“Wake up, Dr. Hammersmith.” Exo’s high-pitched voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard to Doc. “Time to go, my friend.”

Doc scowled and sat up, becoming aware of throbbing pain all over his body. It took him a moment to remember that he’d been asleep only because Exo had beaten him into unconsciousness. “Go where?”

“Same place we were going before your little nap.” Exo pulled a purple lollipop on a thin white stick out of his mouth and waved it over his shoulder. “The core of the Shift, of course. The place where you’ll finish your mission.”

Gingerly touching a bruise on top of his head, Doc thought about Ryan and the rest of his comrades. “What about my…kidnappers? You said something about teaching them a lesson.”

Exo laughed. “We put a hurting on them, all right.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Had them running scared, that’s for sure.”

“Then what?” Doc asked. “How many of them did you kill?”

Exo’s eyes flicked to one side, and he hesitated. It was then Doc knew that no matter what the mutie told him, Ryan and company had acquitted themselves well, as always.

“We put them in their place,” Exo snapped. “They’ll think twice before coming after us again.”

Secretly, Doc exulted. He knew Ryan and the others well enough to know that if they were still breathing, they’d never stop coming after the muties who’d kidnapped their friend.

“Now get up.” Exo stuck the lollipop back in his mouth and waved Doc’s swordstick overhead. “Stop sitting there like some kind of whipped dog.”

Doc struggled to his feet. When he got there, he felt wobbly and paused to steady himself. “It is hard not to, when one is whipped to the point of unconsciousness.”

Exo glared at him, and Doc thought he might get beaten again, but then the glare turned into a broad grin. “Ha!” Exo clapped Doc hard on the back. “You really know how to make me laugh, Doc! Even with a faulty memory, you still crack me up.”

Doc winced. Exo had struck his back on a particularly sore spot. “Glad to hear it.” Though Exo had beaten him with a vengeance just a short time ago, Doc made an effort to behave in a congenial way. Trapped as he was, weaponless and without allies, he knew it would be better to play along with the moods of his captors instead of resisting.

Just then, another mutie—part of the rank and file—ran up and chattered in Exo’s ear. Exo nodded without smiling and waved him aside. “Let’s get moving.” He met the mutie messenger’s gaze and gestured in Doc’s direction. “You’re his babysitter, starting now.” A sneer curled his lips. “Anything happens to him, you die.”

As Exo walked away, the new mutie stepped up to Doc, looking tense. “So.” He had a longblaster slung over his back on a leather strap; when he swung it around, Doc saw that it was a Winchester. Unlike most of the weapons carried by the hodgepodge mutie army, the Winchester was in pristine shape. The walnut stock gleamed as if it had just been polished. “I’m not happy about this.”

“What is your name?” Doc lifted an eyebrow.

“Ankh.” The mutie jabbed the point of the Winchester at Doc. “And if I had my way, I’d just as soon shoot you on the spot and leave you here.”

Doc frowned. “And why is that, if I may ask?”

“Because I know.” Ankh jabbed again. “Out of this whole gang of morons, I seem to be the only one who knows.”

“Knows what?” Doc asked.

Ankh leaned closer and lowered his voice. “That you’re no more Dr. William Hammersmith than I am.”

Doc swallowed hard. He had the distinct impression that the only reason he was still alive was that the muties thought he was Hammersmith. If Ankh had an inkling of his true identity, how much longer could Doc expect to live?

“That’s right,” Ankh said. “I can see right through you.”

Doc toyed with various options and decided to play dumb, at least for now. “I do not understand. Perhaps you are the one who’s mistaken.”

“Do you want to escape Exo and never come back, whoever you are?” Ankh asked.

“Call me Doc. And yes.”

Ankh nodded. “Then, we both want the same thing.” He looked both ways, then leaned closer. “And if you don’t force me to kill you, mebbe we’ll manage to get what we want.”

Doc locked eyes with Ankh, taking his measure. Ankh’s eyes were dark brown, almost black, and very steady. Whatever his true intentions might be, he seemed reasonable on the surface. Doc decided he might just be his best chance for survival and escape.

“Never let it be said that I prefer, as a rule, dying over living another day.” Doc bowed his head slightly. “You have my attention, friend Ankh.”

“Friend? I have no friends. Not anymore.”

Doc nodded.

“I can turn an alliance with you to my advantage,” Ankh said. “But make no mistake, I can turn your death to my advantage, as well.”

Chapter Twelve

It was late afternoon by the time Ryan and his companions ended their sweeps of the area, satisfied that the muties had moved on. Whatever the muties’ objective, other than slaughtering the outlanders, they seemed to have given up on it.

The companions—and Union—gathered at a predetermined rendezvous point a mile up the lava channel. The forest of spikes was thinner there, giving them a clearer view of the surrounding hills and flats.

From what Ryan could see, at the moment, there wasn’t a mutie in sight. He and the others knew better than to think they could truly relax, but at least they could take a breath, reload their weapons and assess the situation.

“Too bad muties gone,” Jak said. “Was just getting started.”

“Speaking of, where in the nuking hell did they go?” J.B. took off his fedora and wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm. “Place was swarming with them, and now they’re all gone.”

“Just like before,” Mildred added. “When they took Doc.”

Ryan, who’d been checking on Krysty, looked in Union’s direction. Though she’d brightened up briefly once before, when she’d gone off with Jak to shoot muties, she was back to her taciturn self. Though she stood at the edge of the group, close enough to hear every word, she didn’t react or participate. She just kept staring into the distance as a light breeze fluttered loose strands of her blond hair.

“Union.” Ryan said her name loudly to get her attention. “You seem to know something about this place.”

Union’s eyes slid toward him for a moment. She made a movement that might have been a shrug, but it was hard to say for sure. Then she went back to staring into space.

Ryan shook his head at Krysty, then turned away from her. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” He walked over to stand in front of the woman, blocking her view of the landscape. “How about helping us out here?”

When she looked at him, her eyes were glacial. “I already did, didn’t I? Or don’t those muties I killed count?”

Ryan let the remark pass without comment. “You seem to know a few things about this place. The Shift, you called it.”

This time, her shrug was plain to see. “What about it?”

“For starters, where did the muties run off to?” Ryan asked. “It was like they just disappeared.”

“How should I know?” Union smirked as if his question had been a stupid one. “They could be just about anywhere.”

“How so?” Ryan asked. “Some kind of underground tunnel system, maybe?”

“I can’t say. The Shift never stays the same for long, and the shifters anticipate its every change.”

“Shifters?” J.B. walked over to stand beside Ryan. “The muties, you mean?”

Union looked bored beyond belief. “Yes, of course. After living here for so long, they are in tune with this place. They have learned how to read it. How to ride it.”

“Ride it?” Ricky chimed in. “You mean like riding freak spikes punching up from underground?”

“That is one example,” Union said. “The shifters know what is going to change and when. Then it is a simple matter of being in the right place at the right time.”

“Must be nice,” Ricky said. “Stand where a rock wall’s about to rise up so you don’t get shot.”

“Also explains how they got away with Doc,” J.B. stated. “Must’ve ducked down some rabbit hole or other that opened up in the nick of time.”

Ryan nodded. The past two days were finally starting to make sense. But one question haunted him like the ringing in his ears after a big explosion.

If the Shift could change at any time, and the shifters knew how to use its changes against outlanders, how could Ryan and his team ever rescue Doc?

“So what do we do next?” Ryan asked. “What do you recommend?”

“That depends on what you’re trying to accomplish.”

Ryan hesitated. He hadn’t shown her his cards yet, hadn’t liked or trusted her from the start. But if she might be able to help, maybe the time had come for full disclosure.

“The shifters took our friend,” he said. “We want him back.”

Union’s only answer was her usual chilly stare.

“That’s the only reason we’re still here,” Ryan continued. “We can’t leave him behind.”

Union narrowed her eyes. “How do you know he isn’t already dead?”

“We don’t. But if he is, we might be looking for one more thing around here.”

“Which is?” said Union.

“Payback.” Ryan nodded curtly. “So are you going to help us or not?”

Union looked around at the group, turning from one face to the other. When she spoke, her voice was different—brighter and bouncier than before. Her expression changed, too, from a cold stare to a warm smile. “Of course I will help you find your friend.”

Ryan was caught off guard. Union suddenly seemed like a different person.

“Perhaps, in turn, you might be able to help me.”

“In what way?” Ryan frowned as he realized Union’s voice and expression weren’t the only things about her that had changed. Somehow, the single braid that hung from her left temple had changed color from black to chestnut brown.

“You’ll see soon enough.” Union smiled. “For now, let’s just say we’re traveling in the same direction.”

“What direction is that?” asked Krysty, who’d appeared at Ryan’s side.

“Over there.” Union pointed where they’d been headed before the latest attack, along the lava channel. “That way.”

“What in that direction?” Jak asked. “More shifters?”

“Oh, I’m sure of it.”

“Why that? Mebbe you and shifters friends?”

“Never,” Union stated. “But I know what’s in that direction, and I’m sure it’s the same thing they’re heading for.”

“So what is this thing you’re trying to reach?” Mildred asked.

“The core of the Shift,” Union replied. “If your Doc is still alive, you can bet the shifters are taking him there.”

“So what happens when they get him there?” Ricky asked.

“That I don’t know. But it won’t be anything good. The shifters are a nasty bunch.”

“This core,” Ryan said. “Can you get us there? Can you guide us to it?”

“Sure.” Union smiled at each member of the team in turn. “You seem like good people. If we watch one another’s backs, we might be able to get where we’re going.”

“Might?” Jak scowled. “Not sound very sure of self.”

“Here’s the thing.” Union winced. “A lot can happen between here and the core.”

“Can’t be worse than what’s happened so far,” J.B. said.

“Actually, it can. The Shift becomes more active the closer you get to the core.”

“Why is that?” Mildred asked.

“Because the core is the source. It’s what causes the changes in the Shift in the first place.”

Ryan stared at her. He still had the feeling he was talking to someone else entirely. “How do you know so much about this core? Have you been there?”

Union smiled, but it didn’t last. As Ryan watched, her expression turned grim and stiff; all warmth fled from her pale gray eyes.

Not only that, but the color of her single braid slowly changed from chestnut brown to black.

It was as if she had reverted to her original self, the one whom Ryan had first met in battle. She gazed at him with that same disdain as before, and he wondered if she would likewise go back to not answering his questions.

Surprisingly, she did not. “I lived there once.” She looked down at the ground. “I have been broken ever since.”

“And you’re going back… Why?” Ryan wanted to know.

When Union looked up, her eyes were narrowed, her face seething with intense emotion. “To fix myself,” she told him. “To put my life back together again.”

With that, she put her hand on the longblaster at her hip and marched away, storming off in the direction she’d identified as that of the core of the Shift.

For a moment, Ryan and his team just watched her go. She’d given them a lot to chew on and left even more mysteries for them to consider.

“So.” J.B. took off his spectacles, blew on them and cleaned them with the hem of his shirt. “None of us has any better ideas, do we? Other than following her, I mean.”

No one said a word until Ryan spoke up. “I don’t like her and I don’t trust her, but she’s all we’ve got.” The one-eyed man shook his head. “I hate to say it, but she might be Doc’s only hope.”

“Crazy woman,” Jak said. “One minute one way, next minute different way.”

“Yeah,” Ricky agreed. “Kind of like the Shift, huh?”

“She said the shifter muties are linked to it,” Mildred stated. “Maybe she is, too.”

“All right then.” Ryan watched Union go a moment longer, then gathered his backpack from the ground and shouldered the straps. “Let’s catch up before she leaves us behind.”

The rest of the companions followed his lead, pulling on their packs and getting ready to move out. In the years they’d been together, they’d followed him into danger countless times, and now here they were again.

“Okay, people.” Steyr Scout longblaster in hand, Ryan nodded at his friends. “Expect the unexpected. Don’t trust her for a second.” He raised an index finger emphatically. “But as long as there’s the slightest chance she can help us find Doc, don’t give her a reason to turn against us.”

“Treat crazy woman like family.” Jak grinned. “Not problem. Fit in this group.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” J.B. told him.

“Less talking, more walking,” Ryan said, and then he set out after Union at a rapid clip. He didn’t have to look back even once to know his companions were following close behind him.

Chapter Thirteen

That evening, Union and the companions set up camp at the base of a tall, sandy hill sheltered by an array of smaller hills.

Was it a safe location for the night? Union had no guidance to offer, but she didn’t seem worried about it. At least Krysty wasn’t convulsing on the ground from Shift-induced headaches, which was a positive sign.

The general conditions seemed positive, in fact. The night was warm but not stiflingly hot. The moon was full and shining down from a cloudless sky with abundant radiance.

Everything was quiet, calm and blissfully normal. The lava channel they’d been following had ended a few miles back, and there wasn’t a spike to be seen in any direction. If Jak hadn’t known any better, he might have believed they weren’t in the Shift at all.

As he ate a hunk of deer jerky from his pack, he felt relaxed for the first time since entering the Shift. The rest of the group seemed to be on the same wavelength—except for Ryan, who patrolled the perimeter relentlessly, and Krysty, who looked as if she expected another head blast at any moment.

Then there was Union, who seemed to be out of step with all of them. Where some people might have settled in the middle of the group, getting to know everybody, Union stood thirty yards from the farthest edge of camp, looking up at the night sky.

She didn’t look or act as if she wanted to be bothered, but Jak decided to bother her anyway. She was beautiful, and tough, and mysterious, with moods that seemed to change with the wind, and he wanted to get to know her.

Besides, he knew she had a friendly side; he’d seen it in action before. With any luck, maybe that side would come out to play, and they would have a nice talk.

Or not. When Jak sidled up to her, she looked at him for all of one second with the usual frigid disdain, then returned her gaze to the sky. She even folded her arms across her chest and turned her back to him, leaving no room for misinterpretation of her rejection of him.

That was not going to keep Jak from pressing his luck. “Stars not change in Shift.” He sank one hand into a pocket, keeping the other wrapped around the grip of his Colt Python, and stepped up beside her. “That one good thing anyway.”

Union sniffed but didn’t answer. She didn’t turn her back to him again, though.

Jak figured that was some kind of progress, so he might as well keep talking. “Where from originally?”

“Not here” was all she said.

“Better place?” Jak asked. “Or worse?”

For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer, but she finally did. “Just different.”

“Right.” Jak nodded and shifted his gaze to another quadrant of the sky. The stars were unusually bright that night, glittering like diamond dust scattered over black velvet. “Ever been New Mexico?”

She looked at him for a moment with a quizzical expression, then looked back up at the sky. “Have you ever been to Corpus Christi?”

“Texas?” Jak frowned. “Why? That where you from?”

“Does it matter?” Union shook her head as if she thought he was an idiot. “What do you care?”

Jak refused to let her annoy him. “It called curiosity. They not have in Corpus Christi?”

Suddenly, Union whirled to face him, and she looked upset. “I’m not from there. Will you just stop?”

Jak was taken aback by her change in attitude. “Okay.” He scratched his pale chin. “Stop what?”

“Antagonizing her!” Union snapped.

“Her?”

“Her!” Union’s eyes widened. “She doesn’t care about you. About any of you.”

Jak nodded as if he had the faintest clue what she was talking about. “What she care about, then?”

“Us.” She touched her fingers to her chest. “Just us.”

“What you mean, ‘us’?” Jak pulled his hand from his pocket and pointed a finger at her. “Only see one.”

Union took her face in her hands. As she shook her head, Jak stared at her single braid, the one that hung from her left temple. He wasn’t sure, but it looked bright white by the light of the moon, not the usual black.

“Now, wait.” Jak started to reach over to comfort her. “Not want you get upset.”

Before he could touch her shoulder, she suddenly yanked her hands from her face and lunged at him. The next thing Jak knew, Union had one hand on his .357 and the other wrapped around his throat.

“No touching!” she gritted.

Jak winced a little as she tightened her grip on his throat—not that he was in any danger whatsoever. She’d caught him off guard, and she was strong, but no match for his battle-honed fighting skills.

“Same go for you.” His voice was strained as her grip tightened again. “Stop touching or I make stop.”

She squeezed a moment more, then released him and let go of the .357. “Consider that your one and only warning! Hands off!”

“Works both ways,” Jak told her.

As Union glared, she looked to him like a changed woman. Her body language was very different—twitchy, clenched, confrontational—and her features were gnarled like a knot on an oak tree. Whatever he’d done to piss her off, he had to have hit a hot button, indeed.

“So.” Jak shrugged. “What do next?”

“Next?” Union’s glare deepened.

“Not want fight.” Jak reached out as if to shake hands, then jerked his hand away. “Whoops, forgot! No touching!”

Union’s eyes twitched as she stared at his hand. “I just… I don’t…”

“Not worry about it. Just want be friend.”

Union shook her head as if to shake away a fly that was buzzing around it. Her braid flicked, and Jak noticed it had changed from white to auburn. “Which one?” she said, rattling the words off quickly.

“What that supposed mean?” Jak asked.

This time, she spoke just as fast but a little louder. “Which one do you want to be friends with?”

Jak still wasn’t tracking. “Which one what?”

“Of us,” Union snapped. “Which one of us do you want to be friends with?”

“Only see one.”

“Then, you’re blind. Or just plain stupe.” Raising her left hand, she held up four fingers. “This is how many of us there are in here.”

“Four.” Jak was only a little surprised. The way she acted, changing gears so dramatically, had already primed him for the truth. “Four women, one body.”

“Now you’re in the ballpark, son.” Union grinned and nodded. “Still want to be friends, now that you know my secret?”

Jak stuck out his hand again. “Hell yes. More interesting this way.”

Union laughed. This time, she took his hand and shook it.

Chapter Fourteen

Doc no longer wondered if the muties were crazy. He knew it to be true without a doubt.

The entire group of them—fifty strong and then some—sat cross-legged on the sand between two tall hills. They’d been there for hours now, or at least it seemed that way, sitting quietly in the light of the full moon and flickering stars.

Doc sat in the middle of the crowd, seething with a mix of utter boredom and strong curiosity. The muties seemed to be waiting for something, but he couldn’t guess what, and no one would tell him. Even his babysitter, Ankh, wouldn’t explain the scene; he just sat beside Doc with the Winchester aimed at the old man’s belly, finger curled around the trigger.

Was it some kind of ceremony? The muties all sat in a cluster, facing the same direction, and remained silent in a way that might be considered reverent. But how could it be a ceremony without some kind of rites?

Maybe, Doc thought, they were just praying or communing with whatever gods or forces they worshipped. Or perhaps it was simple meditation or some form of regenerative rest they’d evolved since the nuclear scrambling of their DNA during skydark.

Whatever it was, he wished they’d leave him out of it. He’d just as soon catch forty winks in the lee of a dune or gaze up at the starry sky and remember simpler times. Things had been so much sweeter back then, with his family around him, the apocalypse nowhere in sight and no crazy muties to kidnap him from the handful of friends who barely made his life worth living in the Deathlands.

Doc sighed, losing patience, and immediately felt the muzzle of the Winchester poke his ribs. Glancing over, he saw Ankh’s steady gaze boring into him, pitiless and unyielding…yet still the closest he had among the muties to an expression that was friendly on any level.

Ankh was Doc’s only hope, at least for now. Somewhere out there in the Sandhills country, Ryan and the others had to be searching for him, but they were nowhere in sight at the moment. He couldn’t depend on them to rescue him anytime soon; it was up to Doc to keep himself alive and well until that could happen.

Now, if he could just survive this exercise in tedious nonsense, he might have a chance.

Just then, he got a kink in his lower back from sitting cross-legged for too long. Grunting, he twisted and stretched, trying to work out the kink, but it only got worse.

Leaning forward, he reached back under his frock coat to knead the sore spot. But the act of reaching set off a chain of pressure points that led to a sudden spasm in the middle region of his back.

Doc cried out. He couldn’t help himself. When he sat up straight, the spasm only worsened, and he cried out again.

Ankh rammed the Winchester barrel into his side, but it didn’t make any difference. Doc could no more control his response to the pain than he could single-handedly defeat the mutie band in unarmed combat.

“Stop it!” Ankh hissed. “If we miss it, you’re a dead man!”

Doc scowled and braced a hand on the ground. “I can’t help it! I’m having a back spasm.” Pushing up, he got to his knees. Getting up and stretching might break the cycle of pain, if he didn’t get shot first.

“Get down!” Ankh snapped. “Get down now!”

Doc ignored him and got to his feet. Towering over the seated muties—many of whom were gaping up at him with expressions of great irritation—he straightened his back and spread his arms. The vertebrae in his spine cracked as he rolled his head from side to side, limbering up his neck. Then he leaned back slowly, extending the lower vertebrae, working to loosen up the cramp.

Gradually, he felt the spasm in his middle back let up. Leaning farther still, he heard—and felt—a midback vertebra crack into place.

Just like that, the spasm stopped. The pressure lessened, and Doc could think clearly once more.

Just in time to see the landscape before him dance with shimmering, shivering light.

“By the Three Kennedys!” he said softly, gazing raptly at the sight.

As one, the muties rolled over and lay flat on their backs in the sand—all except Ankh, who was on his feet, jamming the Winchester into Doc’s gut.

“Down!” the mutie snapped. “Do as you’re told!”

But Doc was lost in the vision of dancing, multicolored light. It was like an aurora of the northlands, curtains of radiance flowing and glowing hypnotically in the night. He tipped his head to one side, entranced by the beauty of it, unable to look away.

That was when Ankh finally realized the blaster wasn’t going to bring him down. Swinging it over his back by its strap, he launched himself at Doc like a cougar, throwing all his weight against the taller man.

And it worked. Doc went over backward, plunging toward the sand, with Ankh coming down on top of him.

“No!” As Doc toppled, he pinwheeled his arms, instinctively trying to halt his fall. He’d just stopped the back spasm, but if he came down hard, he’d likely get it all over again.

Just as he was about to hit, however, there was a feeling of suction and repulsion all at once, and a flash of light.

Blinded, Doc did not at first realize that something had changed. But it didn’t take long to sink in.

It didn’t take long to realize that he should have hit the ground already, but instead was sinking gently. Something was pulling him in, dragging him inexorably downward.

Quicksand.

Tossing his head and blinking his eyes hard to clear the spots from the blinding flash, Doc saw that the muties were sinking as he was. Most of them were covered almost completely, leaving just their noses and toes exposed.

And none of them seemed to be worried. None of them were fighting the force that was drawing them down.

“Relax.” Ankh, who’d rolled off Doc and now lay beside him, was only halfway covered. “You’ll be fine.”

But Doc didn’t believe him. Frantically, he thrashed and floundered, which only made him sink faster. He grabbed for Ankh, as if holding on to the mutie might keep him aboveground, but that just pushed Ankh deeper, out of reach.

Doc yelped and thrashed some more, and then the quicksand took him down. He sucked in his last breaths with heaving desperation, watching the flickering stars through eyelashes caked with sand.

And then he was gone. The ground was empty, as if Doc and the muties had never been there at all.

Chapter Fifteen

Doc hit the icy water with a hypothermic shock and barely managed to stay afloat.

Seconds after sinking through the sand alongside the muties, he’d fallen through some kind of open space, then suddenly splashed down in water. He paddled madly now, struggling instinctively to keep from going under, though the truth was, he couldn’t breathe above the surface, either. He’d inhaled enough quicksand on the way down to clog his nose and throat and lungs with smothering muck.

His eyes were wide as he thrashed and suffocated, but there was only pitch-darkness all around. If the muties were there with him, he couldn’t see a trace of them.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.