[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Page 35
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
He crashed against the door to the slave quarters and grabbed the handle with
both hands. Safety was only a foot away. He had made it. He would live!
Yanking the door open, he saw a slave standing in his way. Grinning
fiendishly, the woman struck the sec man with a bucket, the blow knocking him
backward into the rain.
He landed sprawling, the skin on his hands blistering instantly. As he shouted
a curse, the water trickled into his mouth, swelling his tongue and burning
the taste of sulfur down his throat. Recoiling, he tried to stand and fell
face first into a puddle.
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20...0Reckoning%20-%20Nick%20Pollotta
%201.0.html (62 of 286) [12/24/2004 11:28:14 PM]
d3
Sizzling agony washed his face, and he stood, realizing in horror that he was
blind. Frantic, he ran for the dish once more and slammed into something large
and hard. One of the support columns? He had no idea. The agony was
overwhelming. He couldn't think. Run! He had to run! The sound of an engine
caught his attention and the bleeding man stumbled in that direction,
whispering for help, the flesh sagging off the bones of his exposed hand.
There was a splash.
He tried to dodge something and rammed into hot metal. A Hummer! Those were
coated with plastic against the rain. He would be safe inside.
Grimacing in fear, the sec man inside the Hummer stayed motionless behind at
wheel, his hand tight on the door handle to make sure it didn't open. The
dying man beat on the glass with a bloody fist, the bones already showing. In
a moment of compassion, the driver raised a pistol and pointed the blaster at
the melting man, only to lower the weapon. The blast would shatter the window
and let the rain inside. There was nothing he could do to help the poor son of
a bitch.
"Sorry!" he shouted, fumbling for words. "Sorry."
Sagging out of sight, the man's cries got weaker as his skin flowed off,
exposing muscles and beating organs. Soon only buttons, an ammo clip and some
plastic pieces of combat boots would remain to mark the demise of the man.
Mercilessly, the rain continued pounding down upon the Shiloh Valley,
destroying everything organic it touched.
RETURNING TO THE TOP FLOOR of the redoubt, the companions walked along the
main corridor that led to the barracks. The last time they were there the
hallway had been dark and lined with traps. Now it was well lit and spotlessly
clean.
"Got to give old Silas that much," Ryan said grudgingly. "He was tidy."
"Anal retentive," Mildred commented.
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20...0Reckoning%20-%20Nick%20Pollotta
%201.0.html (63 of 286) [12/24/2004 11:28:14 PM]
d3
Unsure of the meaning, Jak chose the dirtiest version he could think of and
snorted a laugh. "Good one."
Going into the barracks, the companions found the four huge rooms were exactly
the same as remembered lined with bunks for hundreds of troops, small adjacent
laundry rooms, and a line of lavs with rows of showers and stalls.
Choosing the most clean room, they checked once more for traps, then
barricaded the door with a pile of bunks. Dean and Doc stood guard, while the
others hit the showers and scrubbed themselves clean of days of sweat mixed
with the bitter ash from outside. Then the others did the laundry while the
albino youth and the boy showered in private stalls. The washing machines
squealed unhappily, then sluggishly began to chug away. The bottles of bleach
were bone dry, and adding water produced no results. But there were U.S.
Army-issue plastic boxes full of individual packets of detergent and softener.
Page 36
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
In a few hours, the companions were scrubbed and wearing clean clothes.
Fed and clean for the first time in days, the companions chose the rooms
reserved for officers, bolted the doors and fell soundly asleep. Nobody even
dreamed.
Chapter Five
By the light of the silvery moon, the old man stared at the ruin of his ville,
the melted stone towers, the burned huts, bits of cooked corpses sticking out
of the flat acres of stone like insects caught in cool wax.
Reaching into a vest pocket, Baron John Henderson removed an antique silver
snuff box, opened it and sniffed a pinch of the powder up each nostril. His
body spasmed as the mixture of tobacco and jolt rushed to his brain, and
suddenly he felt young and vibrant. As the drug took hold of his
consciousness, colors changed hues, shimmering and melting into one another.
The sensation of the experience made him feel giddy.
The baron of what remained of Casanova ville was wearing a predark business
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20...0Reckoning%20-%20Nick%20Pollotta
%201.0.html (64 of 286) [12/24/2004 11:28:14 PM]
d3
suit. He usually wore velvet slippers, but they had been replaced with stout
leather boots. Tassels hung from an ornamental saber at his hip, but the
fringe was stained and frayed. The big blaster in his shoulder holster was
spotty, the gold filigree from the weapon forcibly pried off with a knife.
Only the holster itself was in good condition, covered with fancy rainbow
embroidery. The suit was clean, but not pressed, the buttons dim and
scratched. Scabs from some disease dotted his unshaved face, his fingernails
were caked with filth, his hair greasy and he smelled of urine. The reek was
covered, somewhat, by the cloying perfume liberally applied to his old body.
But there was a fire in his eyes not fueled by the drugs, and his face
radiated a strength of character that few men didn't fear.
Controlling his breathing, Baron Henderson knelt and placed a hand on the gray
stone. It was hot, but not sizzling. Even after a week it was still hot. His
grandson wouldn't allow the baron to visit the destroyed ville until he was
sure it was safe.
Safe. The very word tasted like shit in his mouth. What the hell was safe in
Deathlands?
A well of fury rose within the baron, his grotesque face contorting in feral
rage.
Quickly, his grandson stepped forward and yanked his hand off the cooling
lava.
"Dammit, I told you what it looked like," William Henderson said, inspecting
the palm. It was red, but not burned in any way. "Just had to see for
yourself, eh?"
The young Henderson was wearing camou-colored military fatigues, combat boots,
with matching blasters on each hip. He was dressed like a soldier for combat,
and only resembled his grandfather in the set of his shoulders and the madness
in his face. The Hendersons had been breeding with their own bloodline for
generations to try to purify the family of any weakness. Many were born
without arms or legs, some unable to breath on their own. These were simply
aced and burned, their very births denied. William had been the first whole
Henderson in three decades, and while his body was perfect, even his
grandfather feared the cold temper of the young Adonis. Shaking off the
youth's hand, the baron said nothing as he looked over the destruction of
Casanova ville. Almost four hundred people had died in the attack, nearly half
of his sec men and damn near every horse they owned. Plus, the wags and juice.
The loss of slaves and blasters alone was heartbreaking.
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20...0Reckoning%20-%20Nick%20Pollotta
%201.0.html (65 of 286) [12/24/2004 11:28:14 PM]
Page 37
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
d3
"Fifteen minutes," the baron said aloud.
Crossing his arms, William nodded. "One of the guards was doing a slave in the
bushes. He had just started when he heard the screaming and felt a wave of
heat.
Unfortunately, he didn't look up until he finished, and saw the castle slag to
the ground like melting ice."
"You killed him, of course," the baron said, rising stiffly. Even the jolt
couldn't remove all his pain these days. "The damn fool should have turned at
once. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]