Chapter Fourteen

 

 

Fleur and the battered survivors of the sec squad worked the rest of the night and well into the early-morning hours, separating the victims of head and neck shots from those who bore wounds in their torsos.

 

Ryan was curious to see if they would remove the organs on the spot, but Fleur and her men employed another practice, no less grisly and bloody. Plastic body bags were removed from a rear compartment of the AMAC, and three corpses were snugged inside a single bag.

 

Of course, the bodies were first decapitated and the arms and legs amputated in order to facilitate easy packing. The limbs and heads were tossed down the incline toward the creek. Once the torsos were crammed belly-to-butt-to-belly inside the bags, containers of dry ice were emptied into them. The bags were then tightly closed with zippers and hermetic seal locks.

 

It was apparently an operation Fleur and the rest had engaged in many times before. Their skill with knives, bone saws and other surgical implements was very efficient.

 

Mildred watched the sawing and chopping with a clinical eye. "The dry ice will burn the epidermal tissues, but it'll preserve the organs, and I suppose that's the whole point."

 

"Disgusting," was Doc's observation.

 

Ryan and his party claimed tents as far away from the scene of dismemberment as possible without leaving the safety of the wag. But they were all too keyed up to sleep, and because their clothes still reeked strongly of gas, no one cared to share the close quarters of the tents just yet. Ryan was uncomfortable in his wet clothes, but fortunately the temperature didn't drop to an intolerable degree. Everyone sat and watched the organ harvesting and talked in low tones.

 

"We don't know if there's a bomb wired to the wag's ignition," J.B. commented. "He could be bullshitting us."

 

"True," Krysty said, "but Hellstrom doesn't strike me as the bluffing type."

 

"All bluff," Jak told them. "Seen kind before. Take away ass-kissers and nothing but coward."

 

"He's no coward," Mildred objected. "He's a pragmatist, just like we are. If we weren't, we wouldn't be sitting here."

 

Ryan grunted. "Yeah, well, I'm not sure we should be. It might be better if we take them prisoner, try to deal with the Sioux for safe passage, or take them back to Helskel and ransom them off for our wag."

 

"Both of those options have a certain merit," Doc said. "But I fear they appear to have similar outcomes, as well."

 

"With us being chilled?" Krysty inquired.

 

Doc nodded sagely.

 

Around two o'clock, the torso packing was completed. True to Fleur's estimate, the wounded sec man called Zezo was pronounced dead shortly thereafter. Hellstrom gave the order to wrap his and the other sec men's bodies in canvas in preparation for the return to Helskel, then he retired to the AMAC.

 

Ryan drifted into a dreamless sleep, his head pillowed on his arms. He had gotten very little rest the night before, and the exertions and accumulated fatigue of the past two days caught up with him.

 

He was awakened almost immediately, it seemed, by Krysty whispering into his ear, "Wake up, lover. Time to go."

 

Ryan opened his eye. The blue-black backdrop of the sky was broken up by the pink and orange scraps of approaching dawn. He sat up, yawning, and Krysty sniffed the collar of his shirt and said, "Phew." She ran a hand along his jawline.

 

"I look bad, huh?" he asked.

 

Krysty smiled wanly. "Well, you aren't up to stickie standards yet, but I can see the start."

 

The sec men were breaking camp, laboring tiredly to disassemble the tents and carry the security lamps into the AMAC. The one with the injured arm was hampered by a makeshift sling. Of the body bags there was no sign, but the Sioux corpses that didn't fit Hellstrom's needs were left to lie where they had fallen.

 

The bodies of the slain sec men had been shrouded in canvas and were lashed to the roof of the vehicle.

 

All of the companions were baggy-eyed and disheveled. None of them had caught so much as a catnap, and Ryan experienced a momentary pang of guilt. As it was, he didn't feel the slightest bit refreshed. He felt rusty and mean.

 

One of the sec men strode over to them. "Knock down your tents and pack 'em out."

 

Ryan rose stiffly to his feet. "You knock 'em down."

 

The sec man's eyes were rimmed and netted with red. He probably hadn't gotten any sleep either. His growled retort was full of menace. "You heard me, one-eye."

 

"I've got a better idea," Ryan said. "How about I knock you down and pack you out," and he hit the sec man as hard as he could in the middle of the belly.

 

He doubled over, mewling. His hands clutched at his stomach convulsively, his breath fought to get back into his lungs. Sweat sprang out on his forehead.

 

"Let's get some breakfast," Ryan said, walking around the bent-over sec man and toward the AMAC. His friends followed him.

 

Hellstrom was inside the passenger area, looking fresh and clear-eyed. He greeted them with a rousing, "Good morning, good morning!"

 

He gestured to a hot plate on a shelf where a pot of delicious-smelling coffee warmed and sweet rolls were stacked on a tray. "Help yourselves."

 

After washing down a roll with a cup of the coffee, Ryan felt a little more human, albeit a very smelly, short-tempered and unshaven one. Hellstrom didn't bother chatting with them, for which everyone was grateful.

 

After Fleur and what was left of her sec squad boarded the AMAC, Hellstrom assigned two of the men to the control cockpit. The man whom Ryan had belly-punched passed him, steadfastly avoiding eye contact.

 

The broken-armed man sat near one of the M-249 machine guns, and Fleur sat beside the other.

 

Since there was much more room in the back on the return trip, Mildred stretched out across several of the chairs, her head in J.B.'s lap. Doc, who appeared so exhausted as to be ill, lay prone on the facing row of seats.

 

"Let's roll," Hellstrom commanded.

 

The engine of the AMAC caught on the second try, and though he tried, Ryan didn't see the driver's preliminary start-up sequence, which, presumably, prevented the wag from self-destructing.

 

The sun was clear of the horizon by the time the AMAC rumbled from the mouth of the valley and onto the flatlands.

 

Without preamble, Hellstrom announced, "Cawdor, I'm naming you a scion of the Family. Your official function will be to serve as warlord and adviser."

 

From the corner of his eye, Ryan caught Fleur whipping her head around in astonished outrage.

 

"You will share the title on equal footing with Fleur," Hellstrom went on smoothly. "And she should not have any objections, inasmuch as you saved her life last night."

 

Hellstrom stared past Ryan's shoulder at Fleur. "I am correct, am I not? My eyes didn't deceive me?"

 

Fleur murmured in a subdued tone, "You're correct. It's all in order."

 

Ryan uttered a short, weary laugh. "I appreciate the honor, Lars. However, I respectfully decline it."

 

"And I appreciate your candor, if not your ignorance. Unfortunately you can't decline it without declining your life and that of your friends."

 

Ryan sighed. "I'm fed up with your threats, Lars."

 

He made a move to pull his weapon, but Hellstrom threw up his hands in exasperation. "Blasters! Always with the blasters! Put that goddamn thing away, Cawdor, I'm not threatening you. By bestowing this rank upon you, I'm making you an untouchable, sacrosanct, blessed. You're protected, understand? If you turn me down and try to go on your way, you'll be fair game for every bladester, duelist, biker and chopmonger in the Black Hills."

 

Ryan opened his mouth to respond, but Hellstrom held up a hand. "I know what you're going say. 'Just replace our tires and we'll be on our way.' I'm sorry, but the traditions, the protocols of the Family, must be observed, or I place my position as patriarch in jeopardy. I don't want to hurt you, I want to help you."

 

"What do you expect us to do?" Krysty demanded. "Stay in Helskel forever, so your population of scumbags won't come after us?"

 

Hellstrom shook his head. "Hardly. I have a business proposition for you."

 

Ryan guessed the answer to the question he put to Hellstrom, but he asked it anyway. It seemed to be expected. "Which is?"

 

Hellstrom shifted in his seat. "It's difficult for me to maintain the level of respect I deserve because I trade with the Beforetime pigs in Lincoln's nose for everything we have in Helskel. Some Family members are a bit disheartened by the fact that our very survival depends on those holdovers from the time of pig magic."

 

Hellstrom's expression became vaguely disconcerted. "Believe me, the Commander and the other freezie swine up there are a much greater menace to restoring the health of this country than Helskel could ever be."

 

J.B. snorted. "You're breeding a generation of chill-crazy maniacs. You're not a menace?"

 

Hellstrom ignored him. "I wantI needthose Beforetimers out of the way, and I need you to help me do it."

 

"How so?" Ryan asked. "You've got a pocket-sized army at your disposal. They're fairly well trained and very well armed, aren't they?"

 

"Yes, but there has to be an arsenal up there in the nose. As far as I know, they may have guided missiles to nukeblast Helskel from afar."

 

"What about a siege?"

 

"Same answer. From their vantage point, an assault force would be cut to pieces, and there would be no more trading."

 

"That's really what's worrying you, isn't it?"

 

Hellstrom tugged nervously at his long nose. "Of course it is. If we could stage a successful assault, we'd never have to trade again. Helskel would have everything it ever needs. There's a vast treasure of tech sitting up there, just out of reach."

 

"Do you have anything approximating a plan?" Ryan inquired.

 

Pinching the air between the thumb and forefinger of one hand, Hellstrom replied, "A germ of one. For it to succeed, it requires courage, cunning and a warrior's intrepidity. Which all of you possess in enviable amounts."

 

"Assuming, just for the moment, that we're inclined to go along with you," Ryan said, "what's in it for us?"

 

"You don't seem like a fool, Cawdor, but you certainly can sound like one. 'What's in it for us,' he asks." Hellstrom thrust his head toward Ryan. "What do you think? You'll be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams of avarice. Blasters, wags and an unlimited supply of fuel. If you're successful and you care to remain with us, you'll enjoy a position in Helskel second only to my own. If you wish to continue on your journey, I'll grant you a special dispensation. Everyone will be so happy with the new toys, they won't question any decisions I make. We'll be the most powerful barony in Deathlands, mebbe even on the whole planet."

 

"And if we're not successful," Krysty said, "you can always claim we were wild-assed mercies, not connected to Helskel at all, operating without your sanction or knowledge."

 

Hellstrom smiled. "The Beforetimers called it plausible deniability. Isn't that a lovely phrase?"

 

"The freezies in the nose may not believe you, lovely phrases or not," Ryan pointed out.

 

"That's an acceptable part of the risk."

 

Glancing over his shoulder, Ryan exchanged quick looks with Mildred, J.B., Jak and Krysty. He turned back to Hellstrom.

 

"I'm too tired to give your proposition the consideration it deserves. Let us get back to Helskel, rest up and have a chance to discuss it among ourselves."

 

"A fair proposal," Hellstrom replied. "From the moment we reach Helskel, you have thirty-six hours to reach a decision."

 

"And if you don't like our decision?"

 

Hellstrom replied with a smiling face, but there was no humor in his tone. "Then I'll be forced to make one of my own."