Chapter Twenty

 

 

"No one will be spared, of course."

 

Mildred sat across the table from Prince Boldt, listening to the man casually talk about murdering a world. Or, at least, murdering what was left of it. "You're insane." And that was her professional opinion, as well as her personal one.

 

Instead of being angry about the pronouncement, the Prince seemed amused. "You would," he said, "naturally see it that way at first glance."

 

"First, second and as damn many as you want to give me," Mildred said.

 

"Really?" Boldt eyed her.

 

"Yeah."

 

Boldt leaned forward. "How many people have you met since your return to this world that you would want as your neighbors?"

 

"I had neighbors I didn't like back before I got frozen."

 

"Haven't you ever wished you could block out a certain segment of society, start it over in another image so it wouldn't be as wasteful or destructive, whether toward others or itself?"

 

Mildred weighed the question in her mind, wondering how much she'd told him while under the effects of the mushroom narcotics. The men who'd killed her father, the people who believed as they did, who painted the world in colors and decided which ones were good and which ones were bad, those she'd be tempted to change or eradicate.

 

"No," she lied.

 

Boldt didn't confront her about it. "What about this world you find yourself in now? From your testimonies earlier, I'd say you and your companions haven't found much peace in Deathlands, as you call it."

 

"Not much," Mildred replied. "I've killed more folks than I've made friends with."

 

Boldt pushed himself out of his chair with ease and walked over to the computers built into the sides of the fibrous tunnels that made up his fortress. "I've got the power to remake the world."

 

"By destroying the one that exists now."

 

"Yes." Boldt didn't flinch from the declaration.

 

Mildred turned the situation around in her mind. There were two ways to play it. If she went along with Boldt, he might tell her more about how he was going to do it. But she had the feeling he'd know she was feigning support. "That's not the answer."

 

"But it is. When my father prepared the beginnings of Wildroot, he wasn't sure anyone would survive. He had computers set up to handle everything. Nothing was supposed to be left. The human race would start over. However, I was already born."

 

"So he made sure to make a place for you."

 

"Yes. You're thinking that was selfish?"

 

Mildred settled back in her chair, thinking. She chose another tack, letting her tactics form in her mind. "Where's your mother?"

 

There was a brief hesitation. Boldt turned away from her, putting his hands together behind his back, still holding on to the curiously shaped staff. "She died."

 

"How?"

 

"She was killed."

 

"By whom?"

 

"It no longer matters."

 

Mildred scented blood and went for it. "Who killed her?"

 

"I said it doesn't matter."

 

"How did your father feel about her dying?"

 

"He wassaddened."

 

"I'd imagine so," Mildred said. "Here's this great scientific mind, about to reinvent the world in the image he's chosen, which is pretty damn perfect by his account, and he can't even keep his own wife safe. Sounds like pretty sloppy work already to me."

 

"My father was a great man!" Boldt roared. "Don't you ever suggest that he wasn't!" His face darkened with rage.

 

"Would a great man allow his wife to be killed?" Mildred asked, knowing she was putting the man to the wall and risking death herself.

 

Boldt crossed the room, getting within arm's reach of her. "You bitch!"

 

Mildred stood, aware of the guards shifting behind her, coming out of the shadows where they'd been. "He was careless."

 

"She was a whore!" Boldt screamed. "She was cheating on my father, having affairs behind his back. She didn't believe in his dreams, didn't think anything of the sacrifices he was making by challenging so many of the department heads."

 

"What happened to your mother?" Mildred asked. "She deserved to die."

 

"So he killed her? Your father killed her?" The creative jump in logic felt right to Mildred, and she went with it.

 

"Yes."

 

Mildred paused, keeping her features composed, showing nothing of the fear and anger she felt.

 

"I saw him do it," Boldt said. "She made him so angry, so furious. When he told her he'd managed to get the funding from America and that Wildroot was becoming a reality, she threatened to go to the prime minister himself."

 

"England didn't support your father's ideas."

 

"No. They wanted his research, his engineering of the plant life he'd worked on, but they didn't see that the world had become unredeemable."

 

"Your father had the plague ready before the nuke-storm, didn't he?" Mildred asked, cold with the realization. "He was prepared to use it."

 

"Yes." Trembling with emotion, Boldt backed away. "The computer systems were ready to go. There were only a few things that remained to be done."

 

"What?"

 

"My father had friends he wished to bring with him to this new world. But he had to do it quietly. He hadn't brought all of them into his confidence. A few of them had turned him into the corporation he was working for when he did so much of the developmental research. They never got the opportunity to learn the full extent of what he was planning. Instead of being recognized as a hero, he was fired. He'd never felt so betrayed."

 

"Except by your mother."

 

"Yes."

 

"No one found out he'd killed her?"

 

"No. Killing her almost broke him. I remember him sitting in the floor beside her body, holding his head in his hands and weeping as if he were the child, not me."

 

Mildred took advantage of the man's reverie. "How did you feel about your mother?"

 

"She was weak. She deserved what she got."

 

"And no one ever knew?"

 

"No. An investigation was starting up, but so was the war. We were at the Wildroot lab when the bombs started to fall. There was hardly any warning. My father was barely able to get us into the cryo chambers before everything was destroyed."

 

Mildred made herself resume her seat at the table. "What is this plague?"

 

"A gem of genetic research," Boldt said. His smile was wide and proud. "My father took a variant of the bubonic plague. You remember it?"

 

"Destroyed a lot of European cities in the Middle Ages." A chill touched Mildred as she imagined wagons rolling through cities, loading up the dead like so much cordwood, then townsfolk burning them in massive pits.

 

"Right. Do you know why?"

 

"Rats spread the disease."

 

"They were the carriers," Boldt agreed. "But not the reason so many people died."

 

Mildred remained quiet.

 

"They died," the Prince said, "because they were dirty and they were stupid. They didn't know what to do with their own filth. They lived in their own excrement, didn't take care with how they treated their homes, their children, their possessions. Do you see the parallels between this world and that one?"

 

Mildred did. So much knowledge had been lost in the hundred years since the nukestorm. While ranging with Ryan's band, she had seen a number of cultures that were barely out of the Dark Ages themselves. If something like the black death was released into those communities, people would die in droves.

 

"What are you using as your carrier?" she asked. "Even people these days are smart enough to stay the hell away from rats."

 

"That's the beauty of it," Boldt said, growing more animated. "My father reworked the design for the plague as well, tying it to the plant world, as well. It's tied to human DNA. It can be carried on spores across the land, through algae in the water, through the fish that feed on the algae and the larger fish that feed on them. It won't be deadly to the fish, but it will infect the people who eat them."

 

"Not everyone lives beside coastal waters." Mildred wasn't sure if she pointed that out more to be argumentative, or to convince herself such wholesale slaughter couldn't be accomplished.

 

"No," Boldt agreed. "That's why the plant spores will be wind-borne. And that's why I'm sending out the dark seeds."

 

Mildred refused to ask.

 

"Dark seeds," Boldt went on as though she had asked. "They're going to be human carriers of the plague. Part of them will be acolytes who believe in their sacrifices for the greater good. They'll be able to live for as many as a half-dozen years before the plague matures enough in them to kill them. They will be able to cover all of Europe and Asia, what remains of them, by traversing the chunnel. Others will spread to Deathlands and South America by joining the crews of sailing vessels that are brave enough to cross the ocean."

 

"Why?" Mildred asked. "Why bother? Most of those people out there are intent on destroying each other anyway."

 

"We were not meant to be here," Boldt said. "Not like this. We were destined for so much more. Can't you see that?"

 

"Where do I fit in?" Mildred asked. As daring as that was, laying the ace on the line, she figured it was better than wondering how long she had left to livehalf a day, or half an hour?

 

"I need help with the cryo chambers," Boldt answered. "They haven't been used in decades. My father's failed. You have experience with cryogenics."

 

"Those systems could be too different," Mildred protested. "I may not know enough."

 

Boldt raked her with his harsh glance. "I hope that's not true. Merlin can manage them without your help. I wanted you as a fail-safe. If you assist me, I'll make sure there's a cryo chamber for you when the time comes to release the plague. If you're of no use to me" he shrugged, "I'm taking no extra baggage with me."

 

 

 

"TROUBLE," RYAN CALLED out to Krysty and Tarragon. He stepped back from the window as he watched the flames from the shattered lantern spread up the side of the building across the street. The fiery tongues licked and lapped up the dry wood, already biting deep into the roofline.

 

"J.B.?" Krysty asked tightly.

 

"Coming around back with the horses." Ryan picked up the Steyr in one hand, then slung the straps of two of their packs over his shoulder. "Take the boy and come on." He grabbed another pack.

 

Krysty took up the remaining two in both hands, urging Tarragon forward.

 

Ryan shoved through the door into the hallway. The lights were dim. Most of the oil was being saved for the entertainment still going on down below. A few yells of alarm punctuated the music and the catcalls of encouragement.

 

"Hey, somebody's set the dentist's office afire!"

 

"You laddie bucks grab up some buckets and come on!"

 

"If we don't get that fire contained, it could burn that whole section of the thorpe!"

 

Ryan knew the confusion would only add to the cover they'd have as they tried to leave New London. But it cut the amount of time they'd have to do it. The die had been cast, and it remained to be seen who caught the last train west.

 

He kicked open the door of the room across the hall. From the way the building was designed, he figured it had a window view of the alley behind the Bent Rose.

 

One of Gehrig's men was on the bed, naked except for a shoulder holster and a knife sheath down the back of his neck, bucking away between the bent knees of one of the gaudy sluts. The guy twisted as the door flew open, hardly breaking the rhythm he'd established. When he saw Ryan with the packs in his hand, he went for the pistol in his shoulder holster in a flash of reflex.

 

"Gehrig!" the man shouted as he brought the blaster around to point at Ryan. "Gehrig!"

 

Without breaking stride, Ryan pointed the Steyr with one hand, aiming by instinct at the center of the man's chest. A bullet whipped by the one-eyed man's face as he squeezed the trigger. The rifle report was loud inside the room.

 

The round caught the man in the chest and knocked him away from the woman, sprawling his corpse halfway off the bed and onto the floor. The gaudy slut started to scream, covering her face with her arms but still gaping at Ryan.

 

"Rough business," Ryan said in a cold voice. "Men come and go all the time. Should be used to it." He motioned with the rifle. "Now stop screaming and get the hell out of that bed."

 

The woman ceased the noise immediately and crawled off the bed while Ryan shoved it against the wall and cleared the space in front of the window.

 

Peering down into the alley, Ryan saw J.B. gentling the horses and bringing them to a halt. He opened the window, ignoring the creak as it went up the runners reluctantly.

 

The Armorer turned, leveling the Uzi before him. "Ryan," he acknowledged.

 

"J.B.," Ryan responded. "Looking for a big send-off? Could have used a little less fanfare."

 

"No help for it," the Armorer replied. "The troops Burroughs sent for us damn near closed the distance."

 

"In the ville?"

 

J.B. nodded. "Already targeting the Bent Rose. Figured stirring the pot some might slow them down."

 

Ryan tossed the equipment packs onto the eaves overhanging the alley. They slid over the split shingles and dropped onto the ground. He kept his eyes on the gaudy slut. She'd been a little braver than he'd counted on, hunkering down still naked and going through the dead man's pants. She gave him an uneasy smile over her shoulder. The woman definitely had a cheeky turn to her.

 

J.B. slid out of the saddle and gathered the equipment packs.

 

"I'm sending Krysty and the boy to you," Ryan said. "Get them out of here. Head for the gate. I'll be along as soon as I can. Got to take care of the wags, otherwise they're going to be on top of us before we get a mile gone."

 

J.B. nodded. "Doc and Jak?" he asked.

 

Ryan shook his head. "Not yet. We can't wait here."

 

After finishing her looting, the gaudy slut scampered out of the room, not bothering to grab her clothes.

 

"You make it?" Ryan asked the boy.

 

Tarragon gave him a tight nod. "One way or another," he said as he stared down the short, slanted length of the eaves. "It's got to be better than the prospect of staying here."

 

Ryan helped him through the window, grabbing hold of the boy's shirt for just a moment as he wavered unsteadily. When the boy had his feet under him, Ryan let go.

 

"May Ivory Ginnifer smile warmly on you," the boy said, "and not reap you tonight."

 

"Thanks," Ryan said, not really knowing what the hell the boy was talking about but understanding the general gist of the words. "You keep your head low."

 

Krysty followed him, tossing the equipment packs through first. They slid over the edge, only inches from the Celt.

 

"Staying behind, lover?" she asked.

 

"Only long enough to buy us some time." Ryan let his hand drift down to check the small belt pack of plas ex he'd kept.

 

"You get back with us soon as you can," Krysty said. She took his face roughly between her hands and kissed him hard on the lips. Then she was out on the eaves, a lithe shadow.

 

Ryan hurried out of the room, hearing the gaudy slut screaming for attention below.

 

"My God! Somebody come quick!" the gaudy slut said. "That fucker's already killed Wieringo!"

 

Ryan eased out of the room, heading back to the room they'd been given. Men were already rushing up the stairs in answer to the woman's announcement. They aimed at him and fired on the run. Bullets crashed into the walls of the hallway as Ryan streaked through, tearing leaden fingers through his clothing.

 

"He killed Wieringo!" the gaudy slut continued. "And robbed him, too!"

 

Inside the room Ryan set himself alongside the door for just an instant, then whirled around, bringing the Steyr to his shoulder. He squeezed off several rounds, riding the recoil and keeping the rifle centered on the men surging forward.

 

The 7.62 mm bullets drilled into the lead man and knocked him back, breaking the momentum of the crowd of raiders around him.

 

Ryan took better aim, then cracked the skulls of two more pursuers, already in motion before the dead men dropped to the middle of the hallway. One of them broke through the railing overhanging the stage area below and went crashing down, ripping the chandelier of candles from the ceiling.

 

Reaching the window and knowing he had no time to waste, Ryan threw himself through it. Glass broke around him, falling over his shoulders and back. He landed on the eaves with a thud that drove most of the breath from his lungs.

 

He rolled toward the edge and dropped over a heartbeat ahead of the bullets that shattered the edge of the eaves.