Chapter Nine

 

 

Ryan kept the SIG-Sauer trained on Hellstrom, even when several sec. men entered the saloon. They hesitated, hands straying to blaster butts, eyes darting from Ryan to Hellstrom to Fleur.

 

The white-clad man waved to Dog and Suds. "Never mind our visitor. Please attend to our injured novitiates. Mr. Cawdor and I are merely discussing business."

 

The sec squad collected the groaning, cursing, coughing men from the floor and carried them outside. When Ryan was sure they were gone, he said, "All right, Lars. Let's discuss business. I'll put my blaster away, providing you keep that warlord of yours on a short leash."

 

Hellstrom nodded. "Very well, Cawdor. Pray, take a seat."

 

Ryan tried tucking the SIG-Sauer back into its holster, but a leather seam had been split when Dog and Suds disarmed him. He stuck it in his cartridge belt and pulled a chair away from a table. Spinning the chair around, he thrust it between his legs and sat in a position where he could see the passage behind the jukebox, the saloon doors and Fleur all at the same time.

 

"Did you order our wag's tires to be slashed?" he demanded.

 

Hellstrom nodded. "I picked up your anxiety over not having spares when I scanned you yesterday. It was a small fear, tucked away in a corner of your consciousness."

 

"What about last night? You telepathically drew us to Zadfrak's barbecue, didn't you?"

 

"Excellent. I'd believed my influence was so subtle you would never detect it as intentional."

 

"Why did you want us there?"

 

Hellstrom fluttered a pale hand through the air. "Varied reasons, actually. I wanted to test the strength of your spines, and I wanted to provide you with a glimpse of the unity of the Family."

 

"And," Ryan interjected, "to see if you could scare the shit out of us."

 

Hellstrom smiled. "That, too. Did we succeed?"

 

Ryan grinned derisively. "Lars, in some places in Deathlands, we've participated in sing-alongs that made your little cookout look like a church service."

 

The smile on Hellstrom's lips faltered for a moment, but it returned. "Good. If you were easily distressed, we couldn't use you."

 

Ryan let that remark pass for the moment. "What about Zadfrak? Why had he been banished from Helskel?"

 

The smile fled Hellstrom's lips completely, and the messianic expression he had worn last night settled on his face. "He violated our racial purity laws. He laid with an Indian woman and tried to hide it from the Family."

 

"I wouldn't think you'd be so particular about rape."

 

"Rape, during a raid, is encouraged. It's a sound psychological warfare tactic. But Zadfrak fell in love with the red whore, and they even had a child."

 

"He told me his son had died of rad cancer," Ryan said.

 

"Yes, and afterward his squaw returned to her people. But Zadfrak tracked her down and tried to bring her out. She refused, and he killed her. He brought back her head, as though that would expunge his sin in the eyes of the Family. So he was banished, exiled to wander and die."

 

Ryan pursed his lips. "Yet you accepted him back into the fold when we returned him."

 

The smile crept back to Hellstrom's face. "That all depends on your point of view, doesn't it? From my perspective, Zadfrak returned with you . He returned with something of great value to the Family, and that canceled his crime of miscegenation."

 

His belly turning a cold flip-flop, Ryan asked, "How are we of great value? Zadfrak said you had better wags than ours, I've seen the quality of your blasters and I know you have access to gasoline. Your food is far better than that of most baronies, certainly better than what's available in an average ville."

 

"All true." Hellstrom linked his fingers and leaned forward. "What do you know about stockpiles, Cawdor?"

 

"No more than anyone else in Deathlands knows. Hidden caches of food, tools and merchandise laid down by the predark government before nukecaust and the big freeze."

 

"And you've found a few yourself." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

 

"Yes." Ryan didn't elaborate on the many stockpiles found by Trader, or the redoubts.

 

"Then you've heard about the place of marvels somewhere in the northern extremity of Deathlands, haven't you? A place of wonders, a place free of muties, of rad zones, a place where there is enough of everything? A place where there is a vast treasure? A so-called land of lost happiness?"

 

"Of course," Ryan answered. "It's only a legend, or rumors based on old traders' tales."

 

Hellstrom tapped his two index fingers together. "You dismissed it, but regardless of 'legends' or 'rumors,' in the back of your mind it was always there. Don't lie, Cawdor. I saw that hope in your minddeeper than your mind."

 

Ryan shrugged. "Who knows what dreams live on, unknown. That makes sensejust to survive."

 

Hellstrom smiled, grinned, then laughed. "Well, you've found that fabled place of plenty."

 

Ryan stared at him, wondering if Hellstrom was not only a psychic, but a psychotic, as well. "Here? Helskel?"

 

Hellstrom scowled. "No, not Helskel. The treasure place is nearby. Unfortunately Helskel is dependent upon it."

 

From her position at the bar, Fleur said, "He shouldn't be hearing this."

 

Without looking her way, Hellstrom hissed her into silence. "Our blasters, our wags, our gasoline, much of our food, even our electrical generators come from this place. But we don't have direct access to it. Everything is doled out piecemeal."

 

"By whom?"

 

"It's rather a long story," Hellstrom replied. "Much of it is surmise rather than fact."

 

"Until I get new tires, I appear to have plenty of time."

 

Hellstrom chuckled. "I begin to like you more and more, Cawdor. You intrigue me. However, I'll show you the place rather than tell you."

 

"Show me?" Despite himself, excitement pulsed within Ryan's chest. He had always assumed that the treasure place was no more than a hidden enclave full of secret predark technology. But there were those who deep down did believe in it. Krysty, for one, whose Uncle Tyas McCann had claimed some such knowledge.

 

"Sure. It's only a few hours' ride. If we leave soon, we can reach it well before sunset."

 

"I'd like my people to accompany us."

 

"No," Fleur bit out.

 

Hellstrom directed a dark glare toward her and she averted her gaze. "I see no problem with that. Besides, your woman may prove valuable in case we run across some dangers."

 

"Like what?"

 

"Like Indians," Hellstrom replied. "For some reason, they hate us."

 

Thinking about the skull signposts, Ryan said wryly, "I can't imagine why."

 

Hellstrom grinned, his face lighting up with an almost boyish glee. "This could be fun, a real outing! I'll have a picnic lunch prepared for us. Tell your people, Cawdor. Meet me back here in an hour."

 

Ryan stood and stitched a friendly smile onto his face. "Understood."

 

He moved toward the stairs, glancing back once. Fleur was staring at him reflectively, as if he were a bit of steak and she was wondering whether to devour him raw or rare.