Chapter Three

 

The companions took their time, and the warm air in the clearing filled with the stench of the corpses. J.B. and Jak set up security along the perimeter on Ryan's orders.

 

When it came to scavenging, Albert proved invaluable. The little man had ridden with the gang long enough that he knew the hiding places most of the dead men had in their clothing.

 

Albert paused beside a fat man with half his face missing. "This is Gustuvson," the dwarf said, grimacing. "I know for a fact he keeps a pouch with gold teeth shoved up his ass. He steals them from corpses they've found in areas around Hazard. Liberty was always one to poke and prod in new areas, and they found a few places back up in some caves that nobody's been to before."

 

"How do you know about the pouch?" Dean asked. The boy's dark hair and burning blue gaze clearly marked him as Ryan's son. He ran his hands along the dead man he was searching, his nimble fingers plucking away loose cartridges, as well as an oilskin containing tobacco leaves.

 

"I was with Liberty's group a couple months back when they found a new pocket in the mountains they were searching," Albert replied. "Quakes run through this area pretty regularly, and they shove up new stuff to the surface all the time. He took a couple teeth from a dead woman in that building, knocked them out with a rock because he was in a hurry, and stuck them in that pouch he's so proud of. What he didn't know was there was some residual radiation in that gold. By the time he found out, he had running sores in his asshole. He didn't get any slack from the rest of the group for being so stupe."

 

Dean grinned, thinking how stupe the man had really been. Nobody with any sense at all had anything to do with metals in a rad-hot area because they picked up radiation first and held on to it longest. Especially the precious metals, like gold. "Hey, Dad."

 

Ryan looked up from the man he searched. "Yeah."

 

"Do you think Albert ought to cut those gold teeth out of that dead man's ass?" Dean opened the oilskin of tobacco and inhaled the deep, heady scent of it.

 

"No."

 

The dwarf sighed in relief, then released the fat man. He pushed up, then walked to the next corpse.

 

"Doc," Dean called, "I got some tobacco here."

 

"Ah, lad, you are a prince," the old man replied.

 

Dean tossed the oilskin to him, then turned his attention back to the man, who had carried a nearly full box of 9 mm shells that Dean knew would fit his father's pistol, J.B.'s Uzi and his own Browning Hi-Power. It wasn't enough, but it was a start. He kept searching.

 

 

 

RYAN SURVEYED the gear they'd taken from the corpses. Spread out on the blanket Doc had used, it didn't look like much. But Ryan knew they were in a lot better shape than they'd been in after returning to the mat-trans unit under the hospital in North Carolina.

 

"Didn't get any shells for the M-4000," J.B. announced. He squatted next to Ryan with the shotgun across his knees. He was a wiry man scarcely more than five and a half feet tall. He kept his hair cut short and wore a battered fedora.

 

"They didn't seem to favor shotguns," Ryan said.

 

"Our bad luck." J.B. removed his steel-rimmed glasses and wiped them clean on his shirt. "Hey, Albert."

 

The dwarf looked up, still nervous in spite of the fact that the companions had let him live for the past forty minutes. "Yeah."

 

"Hazard got anything in the way of an armory?" J.B. asked.

 

"They got Tinker Phillips and his boys," Albert replied.

 

"What kind of hardware do they deal in?"

 

"He kept Liberty and his group supplied. Tinker's pretty good with most weapons. He's got a shop hooked up next to the blacksmith's. His brother runs that, but they share the forge. Out here in this country, a man needs a blaster and a horse."

 

Ryan silently agreed with that. He'd watched over the nearby surroundings since the ambush and had seen no signs of any interest.

 

"We can go back to the redoubt, lover," Krysty said. She stood on the other side of Ryan. Dean and Mildred were taking care of security for the moment. "Mebbe make another jump and take our chances there. Or we can avoid Hazard altogether and live off the land."

 

"With either of those choices," Ryan said, "we need to be better equipped than we are now to handle ourselves. The ville's the only sure way to get the things we need to restock. We're almost flat out of self-heats and ring-pulls, and if we can't eat and drink when we need to travel light and quiet for a while, we're in trouble."

 

"I know."

 

"Ville's best bet," Jak agreed. He sifted through the assortment of knives the gang had carried. Most he threw away, but some of them he saved.

 

Ryan knew from experience that the albino was interested only in the blades he could break apart and use to make more of the leaf-bladed throwing knives he'd lost in North Carolina. There wasn't always time to recover them during the heat of battle.

 

He pushed himself to his feet as a dark shadow skated across the ground in front of him. When he looked up, he saw another crow had joined the ones that patiently waited in the trees above.

 

He checked the sun. After the jump into Kentucky, he'd adjusted his chron according to darkfall the first night, but he didn't know how accurate the time was. "Let's finish it, get something to eat and get on the road."

 

He raised his voice. "Albert."

 

"Yeah," the dwarf replied.

 

"The way I got it figured, the ville's about a couple hours away on foot."

 

"Mebbe a little less if you really stretch your legs."

 

"How do they feel about people coming into the ville at night?"

 

"As long as you're with me," the little man said, "I reckon you'll be fine."

 

"Then that's what we'll do." Ryan took up a portion of the gear they'd salvaged and hid it away in his clothing. He'd filled his extra magazines with the 9 mm ammo they'd found, as had Dean and the Armorer. The .38 Special ammo used in Krysty's and Mildred's weapons had proved plentiful, and J.B. had been the first to point out the cartridges had been reloads. Even before Albert had told them about the gunshop in the ville, they'd had an idea. There hadn't been too many .357 cartridges for Jak's blaster, but the cylinder easily accepted the .38 cartridges. They just packed less bite for the change.

 

They left the dead where they lay and went up on the hill. Crows dropped on the bodies before the companions even made it out of the clearing.

 

"Sure made a hell of a mess in these trees," J.B. commented as they hunkered down at the crest. He gazed at the broken branches left by the tree trunk they'd hidden for their trap.

 

Ryan sat on his haunches and took a ring-pull from his pack. He pulled it open and drank half the contents, then passed it over to Krysty. "Main thing is it worked."

 

At the foot of the hill, scattered around the huge tree trunk that had killed a number of the enemy, the bodies resembled dollsuntil the crows climbed on them and began their work.

 

 

 

DOC SHOULDERED his pack and easily matched the stride set by the others. He'd filled his pipe with the wondrous blend of tobacco Dean had found, and his head was wreathed with smoke.

 

Jak and Dean ran point up ahead as they followed along the faint trail that wound through the hilly country back to Hazard. Or from Hazard, Doc reflected, depending on one's perspective. J.B. covered the back with Mildred to keep him company. Ahead, Ryan walked with Krysty, and they talked quietly among themselves.

 

A feeling of contentment filled Doc. He breathed expansively, the morning's killing already fading in his mind.

 

"You enjoy that pipe," Albert said at his side. Doc looked down at the dwarf. Ryan had given the little man a pair of snub-nosed .38s that had been reclaimed from the gang. Albert had displayed a flair for working with leather and had arranged a pair of holsters for himself to carry the weapons. Even though they were short barreled, the blasters still ran down his thighs nearly to his knees.

 

"Yes," Doc said. "Yes, I do." He found an odd quote floating around in his head.

 

 

 

"Tobacco, divine, rare, superexcellent tobacco, which goes far beyond all the panaceas, potable gold, and philosophers' stones, a sovereign remedy to all diseases"

 

 

He stopped, not quite able to remember the rest of it.

 

The dwarf was slightly out of breath from trying to keep up with the companions. His legs weren't made for rapid movement, and stride for stride, he definitely came up short. "That's quoted from something?"

 

"A work by Robert Burton, unless I misremember."

 

"If you'll pardon my saying so, you seem very well educated to be traveling with your current company."

 

"Well," Doc said with a smile, "I guess that depends on one's line of thinking. Myself I consider to be almost vastly undereducated when it comes to the art of survival. But that man up there that I consider to be a friend, is a true artiste. Until today you evidently thought no one could destroy the men you traveled with."

 

"That was not by choice."

 

"And my statement was not an accusation," Doc returned gently.

 

The dwarf was silent for a time. "His name is Ryan."

 

"Yes."

 

"Does he have a last name?"

 

"Cawdor."

 

Albert looked up, eyes widening in surprise. " That Ryan Cawdor? The one whose father was a baron in the Shens? The Ryan Cawdor who rode with the Trader on War Wag One?"

 

"Yes," Doc said. "I see you have heard of him."

 

"In this part of Deathlands, who hasn't?" Albert stared at Ryan with increased curiosity. "I thought somehow he would be bigger."

 

"Any man would be hard-pressed to fill that man's boots," Doc replied.

 

"If you have time in Hazard," the dwarf said, "I'd like to stand you to a drink at Cobb's. He's got a line of homemade wines that are among the best I've ever had the chance to sample."

 

"Well, my small friend, an opportunity to lose one's melancholy in a bit of the grape is always a fine thing."

 

"Cobb's doesn't just serve liquor," Albert stated. "There's books there. Dozens of them. I'd like to hear what you have to say about them. And I know Cobb would, too."

 

"I shall look forward to that." Doc glanced at the dwarf again. "I have a suggestion to make, if I might."

 

"What?"

 

"Mayhap I could give you a few moments of respite by offering you my back for a time." Doc hurried on before the little man could object. "In return for the consideration you'll be showing me."

 

The dwarf looked away, mopping at his sweating forehead with a handkerchief. "I don't like feeling I owe anyone."

 

"Nonsense. You are going to be showing me an establishment that I might not find on my own."

 

Albert was silent, then said, "Cobb's can be hard to find if you don't know what you're looking for."

 

"Then I take it we have a deal?" Doc stopped and thrust out his hand.

 

Hesitantly the little man put his hand out, as well. Doc knelt in front of him and let him climb on. With his short arms, Albert had difficulty holding on. Finally Doc shoved him up onto his shoulders, and Albert sat there like a child.

 

The comparison cut Doc through to the quick. A memory, blunt as a ghost in a Shakespearean play and as cutting as ridicule in Louis XIV's courts, drifted into his mind. He had carried another small person like this in the past. A name filtered through to his mind. "Rachel," he groaned, almost seeing the little girl in his mind. Emily and Jolyon were there as well. In that moment, Doc's heart turned to lead, weighing him down.

 

"Dr. Tanner?" Albert asked in concern.

 

Doc ignored the tears that trickled down his face. They would fade soon enough, just as all the others had. "I am all right, my diminutive companion. But please, honor me and entertain me with a discourse you have read, heard about or imagined. Something that would keep my mind occupied as I walk this winding path. And please call me Doc."

 

"A learned discourse, eh?" Albert asked. His voice brightened. "Do you know Percy Shelley and Lord Byron?"

 

"The authors of Prometheus Unbound and Childe Harold's Pilgrimage , to name but a couple of their major works?" Doc asked. "By the Three Kennedys, I would be remiss not having read their works, even more so not having heard of them."

 

"Those are the two."

 

Doc felt better already. Both poets were personal favorites of his. "Then pray tell me."

 

"Okay," Albert said. "Shelley and Lord Byron go into this bar, see"

 

 

 

RYAN CROUCHED at the top of the hill that led down to Hazard. The ville was less than a quarter of a mile distant now. He surveyed it through his field glasses.

 

Krysty knelt at his side, her hand resting casually on his thigh. "Look at the houses, lover," she said wistfully. "All painted white and looking brand new."

 

"From here," Ryan said. "You get closer up, you'll see where the whitewash didn't quite cover."

 

"Still, it's a pleasant thought. What about the big building in the center? It looks like a hotel."

 

"It is," Ryan replied. The building was three stories tall, bigger than any other in the ville, and only the church steeple was taller. Pink-flowered green curtains filled the windows. A sign ran along the side of the building's second floor, reading Hazard Royale Inn.

 

"A bed would be nice, wouldn't it?" Krysty asked. "For a night or two."

 

"Mebbe," Ryan said. He shifted the binoculars, taking in more of the ville. Despite the ville's peaceful appearance, he didn't trust it. Memory of the thirty-seven people who'd been butchered by Liberty and his band at the bequest of the ville's elders stuck out in his mind.

 

No wag tracks showed in the beaten earth of the roads marked out in straight lines through the ville. Evidently it had rained lately, because great washouts still showed mud in the center of the streets. A few children played in the ville square under an old, tattered flag of the United States of America. A Civil War cannon, grimed over with rust that hadn't been removed despite a dogged attempt sat in the square atop a small, shaped hill partially covered by a carpet of yellow-and-white daisies. More daisies thrust out from the cannon's mouth.

 

Women talked in front of a two-story laundry that had a generous wooden porch and hand-lettered windows. Men sat and whittled on the benches in front of the laundry, while the women stood with baskets of clothes on their hips.

 

It looked idyllic, but the men wore weapons and so did some of the women. The ville wasn't a place that took kindly to strangers.

 

Ryan knew they needed a story. And the trading one sounded as good as any. "Albert."

 

The dwarf turned from where he'd been talking to Doc. "Yes, Mr. Cawdor."

 

"Just call me Ryan," the one-eyed man said. Too many people in the area might have heard the name, and Harvey Cawdor had given it a large disservice. "Does the ville have a healer?"

 

"Yes. Doc Kirkland."

 

"How's he fixed for medicines?"

 

"Most of what he uses are herbs that we grow around the ville," Albert replied. "The stuff you had to offer Liberty, the anesthetic and such, he'll be interested in."

 

"Figuring on doing some trading?" J.B. asked.

 

"Gives us as likely an excuse as any," Ryan said. "We show up at the ville, people are going to be talking. When you go see the gunsmith, make sure you keep those reloads out of sight. Man will probably know his own work and wonder how we came by those shells."

 

"Already figured it."

 

Ryan put his field glasses away. There wasn't anything else to do but the doing of it. "Let's move out."