Chapter Twenty-Four

 

 

As far as Fleur knew, prisoners were fed only once a day, in the evening. She wasn't even sure of that, since most violators of Helskel's laws were either immediately chilled on the scene of the infraction or tortured to death. Actual jail terms were exceedingly rare, and based on little more than Hellstrom's whims.

 

But she was familiar with the two sec men acting as turnkeys, and she voiced a sneering opinion of their alertness and intelligence. Their names were T. J. and Tex, and she doubted either one would bother to check on them until mealtime.

 

Since she was the tallest of the inmates, Doc directed her to stand on the top step, blocking the observation slit with her back. If T. J. or Tex asked why she was there, Fleur was to tell them that her cellmates had threatened her life if she dared step farther into their dungeon.

 

J.B. and Jak moved the bunk a few feet down the wall and knelt on the floor, watching as Doc carefully slid his sword blade into the earth, slicing out squares. Meticulously J.B. lifted them out, keeping the hard topsoil intact and separated from the bottom layer of softer dirt. Jak and Krysty pawed through the heap of straw, examining and discarding individual stalks.

 

As the afternoon wore on, the process came faster and easier with repetition. They removed more and more squares of the hard-packed floor. The cell heated up, and all of them perspired freely.

 

By late afternoon they had dug a long square hole in floor, a little more than a foot deep. It looked like a shallow grave, wide enough to accommodate three corpses.

 

Jak, using the sword, shaved off the excess loose dirt from the bottom of the squares until each one was perfectly flat and only three inches in thickness.

 

Noting the dimming quality of light through the barred window, Krysty whispered, "Better hurry. Be dark soon."

 

A bit reluctantly, but keeping their complaints to a minimum, J.B., Jak and Doc lay down on their backs in the hole. Jak, the sword beside his prone body, took the position nearest the door.

 

Krysty gingerly picked up the squares of earth and laid them over the men's bodies, fitting them together like the pieces of a puzzle. She rebuilt the floor from their feet up. When she reached their necks, she placed a hollow straw in each mouth. Before she laid the last chunks over their faces, she exchanged long looks with all three of them, smiling reassuringly. Jak gave her a wink, and J.B. mumbled around the straw in his mouth, "This had better work, old man."

 

"If it doesn't," Doc responded in a similar mumble, "then we'll be saving the gravediggers of Helskel time and effort."

 

Krysty fitted the squares over their heads, making sure the straws jutted between the edges. Rising, she fetched the water bucket and used the tin cup to dribble water over the cracks and uneven edges. With her hands she rubbed and smoothed the earth, mixing in the excess dirt and kneading out the cut marks. She very carefully broke the protruding straws almost even with the floor.

 

After washing the dirt from her hands, she moved the bucket back to its place and resumed her lotus position against the wall. Nodding toward Fleur, she mouthed a question. "Soon?"

 

Fleur responded with a short, terse nod, and Krysty closed her eyes to begin her preparations.

 

A rich warmth blanketed her as she followed the route of blood through her circulatory system, tracing the autonomic functions back to the controlling portion of her brain.

 

She slowed her respiration rate and concentrated on the mantra of power her mother had taught her.

 

"Earth Mother, help me. Aid me now, Gaia. Help me and give me the strength and the power."

 

Her heartbeat speeded up, then slowed, and at the same time she increased the amount of adrenaline into her bloodstream.

 

Krysty's mind went here and there through her body, adjusting it, manipulating it, honing and revitalizing her reflexes and responses. The warmth spread from the center of her belly, flowed through her arms and legs. Her fingertips and toes tingled with energy.

 

"Give me all the power. Let me strive for life."

 

She repeated the invocation, and in her mind's eye she saw a white blossom opening, the petals reaching out to engulf her. She felt as if she were floating, hovering between the solid material world and one made of warm, insubstantial light.

 

"Now, Mother of Earth, give me, I beg, the power to do that which is right. Let me render no evil. Give your daughter the power, the power, the power"

 

There was a rattle from the heavy cell door. Fleur quickly moved away as it was flung open. The two sec men came down the stone steps. Tex was carrying a metal pail and a handful of wooden spoons. T. J. had his blaster in hand. They froze at the sight of Fleur sitting on the bunk and Krysty on the floor. Dumbly they looked around them, mouths dropping open.

 

"Where are the others?" Tex asked.

 

Krysty opened her eyes. She looked drowsy, and a dreamy smile played over her lips. "They had to leave. Had an appointment."

 

Tex dropped the pail, and what looked like a watery soup splashed up and out of it. He drew his Tec-10 and pointed it at Fleur. "How did they leave? Answer me!"

 

Fleur pointed to the window. "How else, you silly bastards? Through the bars."

 

T. J., face blank and stupid with shock, ran to the window, leaped up, tested the bars, then skipped around the cell, kicking at the pile of straw as if the three missing men might be hiding beneath it.

 

"This is ridiculous!" Tex snarled. "Just plain fuckin' crazy! They have to be here! You two bitcheson your feet!"

 

Fleur and Krysty stood and were herded out of the cell at gunpoint and into the adjoining room. It was small, barely more than a foyer, but a chained set of manacles dangled from a bracket bolted deep into the wall.

 

T. J. stood in the doorway of the cell, his back to it. Tex moved to the other side of the room. Both women were caught between gun barrels.

 

With a jerk of his head, Tex indicated the manacles. "Cuff yourselves," he commanded. "I want to hear them click tight."

 

Dark rust-colored streaks stained the floor beneath the manacles. People chained to the wall in the past had obviously left their blood as silent reminders of their suffering.

 

Still smiling a dreamy smile, Krysty put the iron cuff around her right wrist and snapped it shut. Fleur snugged the other manacle around her left wrist and sealed it with a loud click.

 

"Okay, you bitches," T.J. snarled, "where'd they go? Start talking, or we start shooting pieces off you!"

 

A motion behind T.J. caught Krysty's eye. Metal gleamed for a fraction of a second. T.J. made no sound, not even a startled gasp when the blade plunged through his back. His eyes blinked foolishly down at the inch of crimson-tinged steel sprouting from his chest.

 

Before those eyes went vacant, Krysty yanked her right arm forward in a short arc. The bracket holding the chain tore from the wall in a burst of powdered mortar and adobe. Her arm's arc ended when her fist connected with Tex's jaw.

 

The whole lower portion of his face skewed sidewise. the point of his chin skidding around and taking up position beneath his right ear lobe. His teeth spewed from his mouth like a handful of corn amid a torrent of blood, the crack of shattering bone sounding like a gunshot.

 

The force of the blow caused his torso to pivot violently at the waist with a loud grating of cartilage. Life went out of his eyes with the suddenness of a candle flame being extinguished.

 

As he fell, his face horribly out of shape, Krysty slid the thumb of her left hand into the space between the manacle and her wrist and exerted pressure. Muscles rippled up and down her bare arm. The cuff sprang open, twanging like the bass string of a guitar.

 

Jak, his white hair full of dirt kernels, withdrew the sword from T. J., who flopped face first at Fleur's feet.

 

Fleur was gaping at Krysty with mingled awe and terror. Her eye was wide, the azure iris completely surrounded by the white. The dreamy smile on Krysty's face had vanished. She advanced on Fleur, and the woman shrank in fear.

 

Grabbing her by the forearm and digging her fingers under the iron manacle encircling Fleur's wrist, Krysty wrenched it open. Fleur cried out in pain as Krysty flung the cuff aside. It clanged against the wall.

 

"That could just as easily have been your heart," she said softly, not releasing her.

 

Doc pushed his way forward, slapping dirt from his frock coat. He reached out to touch Krysty, thought better of it and said urgently, "My dear, she can help us reach Ryan and Mildred. She may prove useful to us."

 

Turning her head, eyes glowing with a jade flame, Krysty stared at Doc for a long moment. Then the blaze in her eyes faded a bit and she said quietly, "Let's get on with it. I haven't much time."

 

Doc took back his swordstick, and J.B. and Jak armed themselves with the sec men's blasters. The door of the building was barred on the inside, but rather than bother with the unlocking mechanism, Krysty kicked the door off its hinges. J.B. cursed at the loud splintering of wood and the screech of screws ripping from the wall.

 

Luckily the door faced away from the street and no one saw it sailing away or heard it hitting the ground. Though their chrons had been confiscated, J.B. estimated the time at around eight o' clock. It was early yet for the denizens of Helskel, too early for the riotous partying that seemed to go on every night.

 

As the five people made their way toward the armory, trying to keep to the darkness, the few people they encountered paid them no attention. Krysty led the way, with Jak bringing up the rear, checking their backtrack with quick, all-seeing glances.

 

Two men were guarding the armory. One was an X-scarred sec man and the other was a novitiate, obviously participating in an uneventful exercise. The sec man was trying to light a hand-rolled cigarette, his Tec-10 clutched under one elbow. The novitiate was standing at the corner of the flat-roofed, windowless building, urinating into the shadows.

 

Because of a steady breeze, the sec man was having trouble getting his lighter to stay aflame. He had his hands cupped around it. By the time his cigarette was afire, his eyes were swimming with multicolored spots from the dancing flame. He didn't see Krysty's bold approach, but he felt her hand fit itself around his throat and squeeze.

 

The sec man didn't gasp or cough or cry out. Fingers like bands of tempered, tooled steel closed around his neck, crushing his windpipe, his larynx, his esophagus and his top vertebrae all in a single clenching motion. The only sounds were a wet, mushy crunching of flesh and muscle mashing against bone and cartilage.

 

The novitiate heard the crunch, but he wasn't startled by it. He zipped up his fly and turned. When he saw the titian-haired beauty gripping his tongue-lolling mentor by the throat, his eyes bugged out and his mouth opened wide. For an instant he forgot all about the .38-caliber Colt M-1911 tucked in his belt slide rig.

 

By the time he remembered it, Doc had lunged around Krysty, sword blade extended. The razor point punctured the man's heart in a swift, darting thrust.

 

Jak and J.B. dragged the bodies to the side of the armory, hiding them behind a clump of sagebrush. The armory door was secured by a padlock, and neither of the guards had keys on them, so Krysty wrenched away the lock and a sizable portion of the doorframe.

 

Fleur knew the location of the light switch, so they shut the door behind them and turned on the overhead lights. The interior of the storehouse was stacked nearly to the ceiling with wooden crates and boxes. Most of the crates were stenciled with the legend, PROPERTY U.S. ARMY. They moved down the main aisle, taking a check of the contents of open containers. M-16 A-l assault rifles were neatly stacked in one, along with what had to be thousands of rounds of 5.56 mm ammunition. There were AR-18 rifles, 9 mm Heckler amp; Koch VP-70 semiautomatic pistols complete with holsters and belts, plus more than an ample supply of Tec-10s. Farther on they found bazookas, heavy tripod-mounted machine guns like the M-60 and the M-249, and several crates of grenades. Every piece of it, from the smallest caliber hand-blaster to the big M-79 grenade launcher, was in perfect condition.

 

J.B.'s eyes shone with unabashed longing. "Dark night," he said hoarsely. "I could stay here a year, just cataloging all this ordnance."

 

"You've got about five minutes," Krysty said in a quavering voice. She groped behind her and sat heavily on a box. A dew of perspiration had gathered at her temples, her eyes were glassy and her hands trembled.

 

"That's all, folks," she said weakly. "It's all I can do to stay conscious."

 

"When is the next guard change over?" Doc asked Fleur.

 

"Not for a couple of hours. At ten. But we can't assume someone won't pass by and notice the guards are gone."

 

From behind them came Jak's triumphant announcement of "Found'em."

 

While they had followed J.B. through the death-dealing wonderland, Jak had dropped back and fulfilled the original purpose of breaching the armory. He handed everyone their personal weapons and belongings. J.B snatched a burlap bag from a wall hook and rushed deep into the storehouse, calling over his shoulder, "One minute. We can't pass up this chance to stock up on ammo and a few other odds and ends."

 

True to his word, J.B. emerged from the aisles a minute later, carrying a bulging sack. It clinked and jingled as he walked. "Everybody make sure they've got a full load before we move out."

 

"What about me?" Fleur wanted to know.

 

"What about you?" Krysty asked. "Can you handle a blaster with the shape your hands are in?"

 

Fleur lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "I'd like to help, as long as I'm sharing the risks."

 

Eyeing her a bit haughtily, Doc remarked, "You've certainly undergone an extreme change in attitude. Perhaps a bit too extreme."

 

J.B. rummaged around in his sack and came up with a paper wrapped cylinder about six inches long. He handed it to Fleur, saying, "Hold on to this. When I give the word, break it in half along the dotted line."

 

Examining it suspiciously, she demanded, "Why?"

 

"You'll see."

 

Opposite the armory was a tin-walled prefabricated building. According to Fleur, it was a billet, the quarters if the sec men. It appeared unoccupied, though the dim light of a kerosene lamp shone through the window. If they weren't home, then the sec men were patrolling the streets.

 

The five of them moved quickly through the streets, Krysty being helped along by Doc. She was nearly staggering from exhaustion.

 

They reached the shadowed rear of the saloon without being hailed by any passersby or seeing any sec men. Their Land Rover was still there, still sitting on flattened tires. The jukebox inside the saloon blared some discordant tune, full of wild guitars and heavy drums.

 

J.B. studied the wag compound across the dusty street. The chain-link gate was secured by a padlock, and beyond it two guards were loitering around the gasoline pumps. One carried a walkie-talkie slung over a shoulder by a strap.

 

"Now what?" Fleur whispered. "If we just stroll over, hey'll recognize me, and the rest of you aren't exactly forgettable."

 

"Except for me," J.B. replied. "I'm what you call inoculated."

 

"Innocuous," Krysty corrected, a note of weary humor in her voice.

 

J.B. handed his sack and hat to Jak. He folded his spectacles into a coat pocket before taking it off and wrapping it over his right arm, the Uzi in his fist.

 

Mussing up his hair, he said, "Everybody get ready to move. You'll know when. Triple red."

 

He contorted his face into a vacant-eyed, imbecilic mask and started shuffling drunkenly across the street. He weaved, waved, stumbled, mumbled and cackled. When he reached the gate of the compound, he hung on to the interlocking wire links with his left hand and stared at the ground, muttering to himself and kicking at the loose dirt.

 

One of the sec men sauntered toward him, leaving his companion with the walkie-talkie. When the shaven-headed man was less than a foot away, he asked, "What are you doing there, joltbrain?"

 

Slurring his speech, J.B. said, "Lost my ma's locket."

 

"What?"

 

"Lost my ma's locket."

 

"Where?"

 

J.B. jerked his shoulder in the direction of the saloon. "Back there." He saw the sec man's partner respond to a call on the comm unit, unslinging it and holding it up to the side of his head.

 

The sec man scowled. "Then why the fuck are you looking for it over here?"

 

"Because" The barrel of the Uzi poked through a link in the gate and pressed against the man's belly. In a quiet yet flint-hard voice, J.B. said, "The light is better over here. You got the key to the lock?"

 

Gulping, the sec man nodded.

 

"Very, very carefully, I want you to unlock the gate. Act like you're having a nice conversation with the joltbrain."

 

The sec man fumbled inside his hair-covered vest, produced a small silver key, reached around the frame of the gate and inserted it into the base of the lock.

 

"Hey, Pooh Bear!" the sec man's partner bellowed from the compound. "Got an alert! Them outlanders escaped, chilled Tex and T.J.!"

 

The man opened his mouth to bellow a reply. J.B. saw the fear in his eyes change to panic, and the bellow became a grunt as a 9 mm burst squirted from the Uzi, catching him just above the groin. The impact slapped him away from the gate, and before his partner could do more than flail around to bring his Tec-10 to bear, J.B. shot him three times, just below the rib cage. Forty feet was long range for such a stunted blaster as the Uzi, but J.B. brought him down.

 

He unlocked the gate and pushed it open, hearing the running footfalls of his friends behind him. Krysty was reeling, her boots dragging in the dust, clinging to Doc, who had one arm around her waist.

 

J.B. ran a quick check on the nearest dune buggy, checking out its frame, the condition of the tires and the engine. The ten-gallon fuel tank was full. Jak pointed to the gasoline pumps. "Couple five-gallon cans there."

 

"Good. Go fill 'em."

 

The keys to the vehicle were hanging by a string from the rearview mirror. Relieved he didn't have to hot-wire it, J.B. nevertheless checked out the ignition, looking for an explosive charge. As he was doing so, Fleur said anxiously, "They'll just come after us, you know. Run us to ground like deer."

 

"Mebbe so," J.B. grunted. "Mebbe not-so. Electrical system is clean."

 

Everybody piled into the dune buggy, Fleur, Krysty and Doc squeezing into the back seat. Krysty sagged limply against Doc, her eyelids fluttering with the effort to keep conscious. J.B. started the wag, and it caught on the third try. The engine sound was steady, and though not loud, it carried a note of power. Putting it into gear, he steered around to the fuel pumps. Jak had just finished filling the two cans, and he heaved them onto the floorboards in front of the passenger seat.

 

He exchanged a quick nod with J.B., then produced one of his knives. He slashed through the pumping hose at a point just below the nozzle and gasoline sprayed in all directions. Jak leapt aboard, and the dune buggy rolled toward the open gate.

 

Down the street raced a group of sec men, about five of them. J.B. hit the brakes and half-turned toward Fleur. "You got that flare?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"Break it and throw it toward the fuel pumps."

 

She looked a little shocked, then a smile spread over her face. She snapped the cylinder between her hands, and a blinding reddish-white light splashed her with an eerie luminescence. The sec men were yelling at them, unslinging their blasters.

 

"Throw it!" J.B. shouted.

 

Turning in her seat, Fleur hurled the burning flare in an overhead half-loop, back into the compound. The spilled gasoline ignited immediately, and before J.B. floored the wag's accelerator, it was flashing in a foot-high flame trail toward the pump.

 

A mushrooming orange ball of fire roared angrily upward. The pumps were uprooted from the concrete apron and they rocketed into the night sky. The fuel storage tank beneath the compound exploded, ripping a ragged crater in the ground as if a giant fist had slammed up from beneath. It triggered a deadly chain reaction as the other vehicles in the compound were flung in all directions and overturned. The gasoline in their split tanks leaked out, then erupted in secondary explosions.

 

The shock waves thundered across Helskel, knocking people flat, pushing over merchants' stalls, shattering every window in the saloon.

 

A pillar of flame punched a hundred feet into the black sky over Helskel. The column of brilliant light spewed flying tongues of flame, and burning debris and wag parts rained onto the dusty streets and atop the nearest buildings. Hungry flames jumped from shack to hovel to geodesic dome to the rear wall of the saloon.

 

The sec men had been slammed to the ground by the concussion. They had their heads up and were staring at the conflagration like hypnotized moths. One tried to shoot at the dune buggy as it swung past, but Jak had his pistol out and working first. The .357 Magnum slug turned the sec man's face into a wet smear, and then J.B. floored the pedal, sending the vehicle roaring out of Helskel. Behind them, the lights of the ville were completely obscured by the inferno.

 

"How she handle?" Jak asked, speaking loudly to be heard over the roar of the engine.

 

"Great," J.B. said, smiling. The smile fled his lips. "I still miss the Hotspur, though."

 

Doc leaned forward, patting his shoulder. "Do not bother yourself over the loss, John Barrymore. If this were tit for tat, we have just paid Helskel back for its loss, and then some."