"Think someone there now?" Jak asked.

 

 "Don't know."

 

 "Want find out?"

 

 J.B. thought about it, then said, "Yeah."

 

 They headed toward the tower and entered through the smashed entryway. The little shops inside had been cleaned out of the most useful items, and only little trinkets bearing pictures of the falls remained. Dean picked up a few and stuffed them in his pockets.

 

 Jak checked out the routes to the top. The elevators weren't working, but the stairs were clear. There were no signs of any sec men guarding the base of the tower, which meant that the top would likely be clear, as well. "Take stairs," Jak said when he'd finished his recce.

 

 J.B., Dean and Doc followed the teenager into the stairwell. They had gone up three flights when Jak suddenly stopped and turned.

 

 "Muties," he said to the friends behind him.

 

 J.B. looked up the twisting staircase and could see three of the thin, spiderlike creatures standing on the stairs above them, unmoving and seemingly wary of the friends.

 

 "Let's blast them," Dean suggested, always eager for a fight.

 

 "No," J.B. commanded. "We can't shoot around corners, and there's no telling what kind of ricochets we'll get off this concrete."

 

 "Want go back down?" Jak asked.

 

 "Mebbe," J.B. said.

 

 "But you would very much appreciate getting a good lay of the land from the vantage point offered by this magnificent tower, correct?" Doc asked.

 

 "Yeah, a good recce of the area would be real helpful."

 

 "Then might I try something I have in mind that I think will rid us of these muties and get us to the top of the tower without firing a shot."

 

 "I'm open to suggestions, Doc," J.B. said.

 

 Without another word, the old man took several steps toward the top of the tower. The muties backed away from him, matching his movements step for step and keeping the distance between them constant. When he reached the next landing, Doc stopped and put about a dozen pieces of fruit on the floor, then rejoined J.B., Jak and Dean.

 

 "What now?" Jak asked.

 

 "Patience," Doc said. "Give them a minute."

 

 But seconds later the muties were coming down the stairs and tearing savagely into the fruit.

 

 "Let us go," Doc said, leading the way.

 

 The friends had their blasters at the ready as they passed the feeding muties, who were so ravenous they didn't stop eating to even look up as they passed.

 

 In seconds the four companions were again hurrying toward the top of the tower, the sounds of hungry muties fading slowly behind them.

 

 "What about on the way down?" J.B. asked.

 

 "I think we shall find them rather cooperative at that point," Doc answered.

 

 "They're just going to let us pass?" Dean questioned.

 

 "No, I suspect they will all be quite fast asleep by then."

 

 MILDRED AND RYAN WERE led out of the barn by three sec men. Two of the white electrically powered mini-wags were waiting for them.

 

 "Get on the back of the wag," a sec man ordered.

 

 The two friends climbed up onto the wag with their backs to the driver. The other two sec men got into the second wag and when the driver pulled away, they followed.

 

 "Where do you think they're taking us?" Mildred asked Ryan.

 

 "Probably to work the fields with the rest of the slaves," Ryan answered.

 

 "What do you think they'll do with Krysty?"

 

 Ryan shook his head slightly. "Don't know."

 

 "She'll be all right. She can take care of herself."

 

 "It's not Krysty that I'm worried about."

 

 "Who then?" Mildred asked.

 

 "The baron. I'm worried Krysty will chill him before I get the chance to do it."

 

 They continued to roll past the trees. Ryan tried to gauge how fast they were traveling so he could get an idea how big the farm was, but he stopped trying after a while. There was no point to it. Fox Farm was a huge operation, probably growing enough fruit and vegetables to supply several eastern villes.

 

 The wags began to slow, and Ryan craned his neck to have a look around. People were working in the trees, picking fruit under the watchful eyes of even more sec men. Others crawled over the ground on all fours pulling weeds from the earth between the trees. These people were also watched closely by sec men, and every once in a while one would get a blaster butt slammed into his back or thigh.

 

 "Get out!" the sec men in the second wag ordered when the miniwags came to a stop.

 

 Ryan and Mildred got off the wag and stood with their hands still bound behind them. A sec man overseeing the workers approached, pulled a knife from a scabbard on his belt and cut them both free.

 

 "Start picking!" the sec man in charge of the work detail shouted.

 

 Ryan and Mildred headed toward the trees that were being picked by the rest of the crew and started working themselves, trying to keep busy while they attempted to figure out how things worked out in the fields.

 

 At the edge of the stand of trees a sec man and a woman were having what looked like a rather heated discussion. Suddenly she dropped down on her knees in front of him and for a moment it looked as if he were going to chill her with his blaster. But instead of shooting her, he shouldered his weapon and began unbuttoning his pants.

 

 The workers had stopped picking fruit and were now watching the woman provide the man with a sexual favor.

 

 "Keep working!" another sec man shouted.

 

 Slowly the pickers went back to doing their job. Ryan and Mildred began picking fruit like the others, but Ryan was still able to watch the couple out of the corner of his eye.

 

 The sec man had pulled out his cock and the woman had taken it in her mouth. He was thrusting against her, holding her head roughly in place. The rest of the workers had gotten back to work as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

 

 When the man was done, he pushed the woman away and did up his pants. She walked back toward the others, a resigned expression on her face.

 

 "What kind of place is this?" Mildred asked.

 

 "Don't know," Ryan answered. "But before we know for sure, let's just get busy picking fruit."

 

 WHEN THEY REACHED the top of the tower, J.B., Jak, Doc and Dean spent a few minutes admiring the view. Even though Mildred had said only a small amount of water was flowing over the falls, they were still an impressive sight.

 

 But more important than the view of the falls was that they were better able to see Fox Farm from the top of the tower, and could get an idea of its layout. It was located on the northwest corner of an intersection between two roads that had long ago been overgrown with weeds. The farm had to stretch a mile or more in each direction because the far northern corners of the fence were just visible from their vantage point.

 

 Two large buildings stood near the front gate of the complex where the friends had traded for fruit. Set back from the gate was a large rectangular two-story building, which seemed to be the focal point. A tower rose from its center, allowing the sec force to oversee a large portion of the farm. If they were going to rescue Ryan and the others, they would definitely have to take the main building. If nothing else, the tower would have to be knocked over because one or more sec men positioned inside would be able to cover the entire farmyard with a carpet of blasterfire, taking down everything in its path.

 

 Behind the main building were rows and rows of trees that stretched to the north. The shapes and sizes varied, and in between a few of the rows were patches of brown soil that were probably used for growing vegetables.

 

 To the left of the orchards were two rows of tiny cabins where either the sec men or farmworkers lived.

 

 "A lot of places to hide once we're inside," J.B. said.

 

 Jak nodded in agreement. "Have to fight house to house. Tree to tree. Many sec men get chilled."

 

 "It occurs to me that things might go better for us once we're inside if we know where Ryan, Krysty and Mildred are being held," Doc commented. "Otherwise, we could be looking for them for a long, long time."

 

 J.B. nodded. "We're too far away for that now. We'll still have to do another recce when we get in closer, mebbe even one inside the fence."

 

 "But what about the electricity?" Dean asked.

 

 Yes, J.B. thought, what about that?

 

 Off to the left stood a big wooden barn that was probably used for storage of either food or equipment, or both. Smaller sheds stood to the north side of the barn, and it was possible that the farm's arms and munitions were kept there. But connected to the shed were several thick cables that were strung over the fence and continued toward the west, before turning south toward the falls.

 

 "Electricity might not be as big a problem as we thought," J.B. stated.

 

 "MAKE YOURSELF comfortable," Baron Fox said, a bit of a feral smile on his face. He had changed out of his boots and into his slippers, but as always he was still wearing his brightly colored silk bathrobe.

 

 Krysty was glad to sit down on the couch in the baron's office, having gotten little rest before being taken from the hotel in the middle of the night.

 

 "Can I get you something to eat or drink?"

 

 Krysty thought of the fruits that had made them all sleepy and careless. She could only imagine what might happen to her if she got drowsy now. "No, thank you," she said.

 

 In addition to the baron, several men were inside the room. Most noticeable was a man standing just inside the door like a piece of furniture. He said nothing, hadn't even moved, and Krysty thought there was something dangerous about how quiet he was. He looked to be thinking all the time, and what was going on in the room at that moment didn't require all that much thought. There were several sec men, too, but they all seemed giddy as prepubescent teens. They were dangerous, too, but in a way that was different from the man with the book under his arm. The sec men would chill you at any moment; the other would chill only when the time was right.

 

 "You're rather beautiful," the baron said. "Did you know that?"

 

 "I've been told once or twice."

 

 "Unzip your jumpsuit."

 

 Krysty shook her head. "No."

 

 The baron smiled. "All the breeders who come to Fox Farm are like you at first. They resist, or they have crazy notions about love, but I assure you I can be very persuasive."

 

 "I'm sure you can be."

 

 "You see, your options right now are very limited. You can make it easy on yourself and rut with me willingly, or I'll have you chained to a wall and force you to breed."

 

 Krysty said nothing.

 

 The baron walked over to the door and knocked on it three times. A moment later the door opened and the man with the ledger under his arm reappeared, followed this time by three sec men. The sec men surrounded her and leveled their blasters at her head.

 

 "Now," the baron said and smiled. "Unzip your jumpsuit to your waist."

 

 Krysty slowly complied, taking her time to give herself the chance to think.

 

 Mildred had once told her about a predark defense tactic for women in this situation suggesting a woman should cooperate with the man until she found a safe way out of her predicament. And if she never found a way out, then she should keep cooperating because that way at least the man might not chill her, which was something he was sure to do if you resisted. It seemed like triple-stupe advice, but Krysty wasn't sure what else she could do at the moment.

 

 Of course, she could always call on the power of Gaia, the Earth Mother, if she needed to. Although it would leave her weak and vulnerable afterward, it wouldn't be so bad if she was able to chill the baron and a few of his sec men along the way. She decided she'd keep Gaia as a last resort, calling upon her if and when Mildred's predark strategy didn't work out.

 

 "Excellent," the baron said as she finished. "Now, take it off."

 

 Krysty hesitated for a second, but then did as she was told, slipping her arms out of the jumpsuit so that the top part of it fell around her waist and left her upper body exposed. It was possible that the man didn't want to do anything other than look.

 

 "All of it!" he said. "And the undergarments."

 

 When she finally stripped, she could hear a few approving words being muttered by the sec men in the room. At another time she might be flattered, but right now she was feeling sick to her stomach.

 

 "A natural redhead, I see," the baron observed. "You are now my prize breeder. Your offspring will bring top jack for years to come. Congratulations."

 

 Krysty was about to tell the baron to go fuck himself, but decided it might be wiser to hold her tongue for just a little while longer.

 

 "Sit down," he instructed.

 

 Krysty sat again, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her chest.

 

 The baron opened his bathrobe to expose himself as if he were drawing back curtains. He was hard, but his cock was small for a man of his height.

 

 "Spread your legs!"

 

 She uncrossed her legs and slowly spread them apart, wondering if the predark instructions Mildred had told her about had been made up by men like this baron. She didn't seem to be any closer to finding a way out of this situation.

 

 She readied herself to call upon the power of Gaia.

 

 The baron was now standing directly in front of her, his small erection just a few inches from her face.

 

 "Take it!" he said.

 

 The sec men in the room chuckled at that.

 

 "I said take it," the baron repeated.

 

 This was where it ended, Krysty thought. She reached out with her right hand and gently caressed the baron's scrotum, feeling his testicles sliding around inside his sack. With her left hand she took hold of his cock, her fingers able to reach all the way around the thin shaft, and then some.

 

 "Ahh," the baron sighed. "That's good."

 

 Krysty, ready to invoke the name of Gaia, prepared to squeeze as hard as she could with her right hand. She also tensed her left hand, ready to give his scrotum a hard twist.

 

 "Enough!" the baron said, pushing Krysty back in her chair.

 

 She released her hold on the baron's genitals.

 

 "I don't want to scar you, my pretty one," the baron said, doing up his bathrobe. "I know an East Coast breeder who is partial to redheads, and I doubt he'd pay much jack for, uh, damaged goods."

 

 Krysty began getting dressed.

 

 "But first you have to give me an offspring."

 

 "Who do you wish her to rut with?" the man with the book asked.

 

 "I imagine there will be many who'll want her," the baron said. "But only the strongest man on the farm would be worthy of her, so we'll have a gladitorial-type contest for her. Men, battling each other to the death for the privilege of rutting with this vision of beauty." The baron looked out the window at his orchards. "Yes, men brutally chilling each other, spilling blood, guts and gore, all for the right to mate and make new life with this woman."

 

 Krysty wanted no part of the baron's mad plan, but as long as she played along with it, she'd be safe and able to try to get in touch with Ryan and Mildred so they could begin to figure out an escape plan.

 

 The baron turned to two of the sec men in the room. "Take her to one of the private lounges and make sure she's comfortable. I want her to look good for the combatants."

 

 The sec men nodded and led Krysty to the door. The baron turned to the man with the book, and took his riding crop from the pocket of his bathrobe. "Send me a breeder," he said, whipping the crop against his hand. "And make her red-haired if we have one."

 

 "Yes, baron," Norman Bauer replied. "Right away."

 

  

 

 Chapter Thirteen

 

  

 

 Doc had been right about the muties.

 

 When the four friends were done making their recce of the area from the observation level of the tower, they found the fruit gone from the stairs, and the three muties fast asleep on one of the landings.

 

 "So you see, John Barrymore," Doc said, as they carefully stepped over the sleeping muties. "It wasn't your fault that you fell asleep on watch. The fruit had a similar effect on all of us."

 

 J.B. nodded, feeling a little better, but only a little. So there was a reason why he'd fallen asleep on his watch. It still wasn't anything but an excuse.

 

 They made it down from the tower without further incident and began the journey northwest toward the farm. When they reached the outer edges of the ville, where the ruins of the old city ended and the ruins of the old farms began, they decided to take a short break to eat what little supplies they had with them. Doc was still carrying the bag of fruit, but none in the group was hungry enough to eat any. Instead, they made do with a few pieces of jerked beef J.B. had with him, and a bag of nuts Jak had squirreled away in one of the pockets of his jacket.

 

 "Any more peanuts in the bag?" Dean asked Jak.

 

 "Ate them."

 

 A sound erupted behind them just then, like the snap of a twig or the fall of a rock. All four of the friends had their blasters drawn a second later and were searching the nearby tangles of weeds for a sign of what was there.

 

 They could see nothing unusual.

 

 "By the three Kennedys!" Doc exclaimed, rubbing a knot that was rising up from his head.

 

 "What was it?" J.B. asked.

 

 "If I'm not mistaken, it was a stone." Doc searched the ground around him and found a small round rock by his feet. "As I suspected," he said, holding up the offending rock.

 

 Other rocks hit the ground around them, then stopped.

 

 J.B. looked in the direction the rocks had come from. There was no movement in the weeds now, and whoever had thrown the rock had likely moved on.

 

 "Jak, Dean," J.B. whispered. "Find out what's out there."

 

 Jak nodded and hurried off toward the weeds while Dean made a wide circle to the right.

 

 "Are you hurt?" J.B. asked Doc.

 

 Doc rubbed his head. There was probably a sizeable lump there, but the skin wasn't broken. "Only my pride." J.B. smiled.

 

 "I would like to know why it is that I am the one who was first to come across such misfortunes on this trip?"

 

 "Lucky, I guess," J.B. said.

 

 JAK MOVED THROUGH the weeds as quietly as a cat and as quick as a snake. His lean, muscular build and acrobatic athleticism were well suited for this sort of hunt. If there was anything out there, he would either catch it or chill it long before it ever saw him.

 

 He pushed aside the tangle of weeds in front of him with the six-inch barrel of his .357 Magnum Colt Python and peered into the undergrowth. He couldn't see anything, but that didn't mean much. After all, whoever was out here couldn't see him, either.

 

 Jak crouched and moved deftly to his left, careful not to disturb any weeds or otherwise alert his prey to his presence. With his acute sense of hearing, Jak detected Dean making his way toward him from about twenty-five paces away. With one of his friends so close, Jak holstered the Colt Python and fished inside his jacket for a pair of leaf-bladed throwing knives. Even if he could positively identify an enemy through the weedy underbrush, the man-stopping power of the Colt could easily punch through a body and still chill Dean, even if he was standing dozens of yards away.

 

 And then he saw it—the flick of a weed and the flash of color distinct from the pale green and sickly yellow of the weeds.

 

 Jak moved in for the kill. If he was lucky, it would be a coon or squirrel and they'd soon be eating something better than jerky and nuts for breakfast.

 

 Jak positioned a knife in his right hand for throwing and parted the weeds in front of him for a better view.

 

 He reared back with his right arm…and saw Dean looking back at him, the boy's Browning Hi-Power leveled at Jak's head.

 

 The albino teen relaxed his arm; Dean lowered his blaster.

 

 Jak jerked his head to the left.

 

 Dean nodded, moving away from Jak so he could circle whatever it was his friend was hunting in the brush.

 

 Jak moved left and saw that the growth of weeds ended a little farther on. That meant that whoever or whatever was moving in that direction would either have to double back soon or make a run for it over open ground.

 

 Either way, Jak would have them.

 

 As the two youths neared the edge of the tangle of weeds, Jak caught sight of some color low to the ground. The color was pale, like the white of his own skin, which meant there was a good chance it was one of the spiderlike muties.

 

 Jak readied the throwing knife again and prepared to move aside the final few weeds separating himself and the unsuspecting mutie. When he had a clear view of the creature, he'd throw the knife at its neck. The blade would penetrate a few inches, chilling it in a matter of seconds—quick, precise and almost painless.

 

 Jak prepared to pounce.

 

 He moved his left hand across his body, ready to push the weeds aside, almost as if he were about to open a sliding door.

 

 One…two…three…

 

 The weeds were suddenly gone, and he had a clear view of his prey. He reached back to throw the knife and realized it wasn't a mutie at all, but a young woman.

 

 And a pretty young woman at that.

 

 "Hi there," she said with a smile and a wave.

 

 Jak slowly lowered his throwing arm. "Hi."

 

  

 

 Chapter Fourteen

 

  

 

 "Who are you planning on rutting with tonight?" a hard-muscled, blond-haired man asked Mildred.

 

 "Excuse me?" she replied.

 

 "Tonight," he said. "Who are you rutting with?"

 

 "I don'trut ," Mildred said, doing her best to ignore the man.

 

 "But everyone ruts at night. It's our reward."

 

 "Well," Mildred said, continuing to pick peaches and place them in the basket slung around her hips. "I'm not everyone, and I don't rut. Understand?"

 

 Another young man, this one tow-headed, came up to the base of the tree Mildred was working at and said, "Is she rutting with you tonight, or is she free?"

 

 "I saw her first," the blonde said.

 

 "But mebbe she wants me instead."

 

 Mildred stopped what she was doing and watched the two men fight over her. The scene seemed quite unreal, but although she thought it a pathetic display of machismo, she still found the attention quite flattering.

 

 "I saw her first. So if she's going to rut with anyone tonight, it'll be me," the blonde stated, jabbing himself in the chest with an outstretched thumb. "Unless you want to do something about it."

 

 "Maybe I will."

 

 The blonde stepped away from the tree. He was naked from the waist up, all of his muscles well defined from days working in the orchards. He had on a pair of short pants that were ragged and torn, revealing equally sculpted thighs and calves.

 

 The dark haired one was no slouch, either. What he didn't have in muscle tone, he made up for in mass, outweighing the other by thirty pounds, at least. As a result, they were a good match for each other, and Mildred was curious to see who might walk away the victor.

 

 Everyone else seemed curious, as well, as most of the slaves had stopped picking by now and had become interested in the men's squabble. It even sounded as if there were bets being placed, with the blonde being the early favorite.

 

 The dark haired man didn't make a move for several seconds and, thinking there would be no fight, the blonde waved him off and turned back toward Mildred. That's when the other took the chance to throw a punch that struck the blonde square on the back of the head at the base of the skull. The fair-haired one's head snapped forward, and he fell to the ground.

 

 As the dark-haired one carefully stepped over the other to catch Mildred's attention, the blonde on the ground kicked the other's feet out from under him and in seconds the two men were rolling around on the ground, punching wildly.

 

 The sec men seemed to be enjoying the contest.

 

 Their weapons were lowered and they were cheering on their favorite.

 

 After several minutes the combatants seemed to tire. They were roughed up, with a few scrapes and bruises, but neither of the men was bloody. Finally the dark-haired one slapped his right arm onto the ground three times and the blonde released him. The two men got onto their feet and the dark-haired one walked away to resume his work.

 

 The workers got back to work.

 

 The sec men began exchanging jack.

 

 The blonde walked over toward Mildred, a bit of a proud grin on his face. "So," he said, "you'll be rutting with me tonight, then?" It was as much a statement as a question.

 

 Mildred had no intention of having sex with this man, even though it seemed to be the natural way of things on this farm. Still, she had the feeling that simply saying no to the man would probably cause problems. She had to think of something else to tell him, and fast.

 

 "Well, then?"

 

 "I'd like to, honey, but it's, uh, my time of the month."

 

 "I don't mind."

 

 "But I do," she said.

 

 There was no anger or disappointment on the man's face. He simply nodded in acceptance of this fact of life. "Tomorrow, then. Or when you're first able."

 

 He was persistent, Mildred thought. "It might take a while," she said.

 

 "I'll rut with others in the meantime," the blonde said. "But when you're ready, I'll have you first."

 

 Mildred couldn't imagine she'd still be here picking fruit in a few days' time, but if she promised this man, maybe the word would get around and the others might not be inclined to proposition her. "Sure," she said. "When I'm ready, I'll let you know."

 

 The blonde smiled. "My name's Eric. I'm one of the best rutters on the farm."

 

 "I'm Mildred," she said, admiring his physique. "And I bet you are at that."

 

 Eric left her then, returning to work.

 

 The women working the nearby trees eyed her warily. "Maybe the men won't be the only ones I'll have to worry about here," she muttered under her breath.

 

 "THIS WAY!" The sec man pointed down a long, wide hallway that had several doors and ended at another corridor. When Krysty hesitated, he gave her a hard push from behind that nearly sent her sprawling.

 

 She regained her balance and continued slowly, familiarizing herself with her surroundings so she wouldn't lose her bearings in what seemed like a maze of doors and hallways. The rough treatment aside, the sec men seemed a little too casual about guarding her, slinging their longblasters over their shoulders instead of keeping them trained on her. Krysty considered spinning, slamming the heel of her hand into the nose of the one behind her and taking his blaster, but she doubted she'd be able to do much after that. Even if she could chill the sec man in front of her before he chilled her, she had no idea where she was in the building, and she'd need an escape route.

 

 "Second door on the left is your room," the sec man behind her said.

 

 The first sec man opened the door for her, then stepped back to let her enter the room.

 

 There was a bed at the far end, and a large window covered by steel bars overlooked the common area in front of the main building. Closer to the door were two large, comfortable looking chairs and several pieces of furniture with doors and shelves that could be used for storage.

 

 The sec man who'd been behind her followed her into the room and switched on the lights. Krysty was startled for a moment by the light from the electric bulb, but retained her composure.

 

 "There's running water, too," the sec man said. Running water and a hot bath would be nice, Krysty thought. She was on her way to the bathroom to try the faucets there when she heard the door close behind her.

 

 And the lock snicked into place. She spun on her heel to find the sec man standing in front of the door, a grin on his face. "What do you want?" Krysty asked. "There's two kinds of breeders on Fox Farm," he began. "Smarts and stupes."

 

 "Is that right?"

 

 The sec man nodded. "The stupes put up a fight and wind up in the basement for nine months chained to the wall."

 

 "And the smart ones?"

 

 "They rut with anyone who wants to, sec men especially." He unslung his longblaster and pointed it at Krysty.

 

 "Sec men like you?" Krysty asked.

 

 "I knew you were a smart one," the sec man said, replacing the longblaster on his shoulder.

 

 "What do you want me to do?"

 

 "You can suck my cock for a start," he said. "My friend's, too."

 

 "Sure." Krysty better understood the predark theory now. If she cooperated with the sec man, he'd put himself in a vulnerable position. Already the man had his blaster over his shoulder instead of in his hands and pointed at her head.

 

 "Well, all right."

 

 She walked to the bed, sat on the edge and beckoned him with a curl of her right index finger. The sec man joined her, undoing his belt, which held a hunting knife and several boxes of ammo, and unbuttoning his pants.

 

 "Let me see it," Krysty ordered, feigning breathlessness.

 

 Without hesitation the man let his pants fall, allowing his erection to bob and waver in front of her like a flagpole in the wind.

 

 "Do you like it, bitch?"

 

 "Uh-huh," Krysty answered.

 

 She reached out with her hands, taking hold of his cock with her left hand and hefting his scrotum in her right. "What's my reward for doing this?" she asked.

 

 "For starters, you won't get beat as bad as others do."

 

 "Oh, that sounds fair."

 

 "You bet."

 

 And that's when Krysty simultaneously squeezed and twisted her hands as if she were wringing water from a damp towel.

 

 The sec man let out a yelp, his body snapping straight and unable to move.

 

 Krysty gave him another hard twist, the force of it lifting him onto his toes. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and tears leaked from his eyes. She let go of his scrotum and reached down with her right hand to pull his knife from its sheath. It was a four inch hunting knife with a serrated edge on one side and a straight edge on the other. She came up with the knife quickly, slashing it from right to left, slicing off the tip of the sec man's cock.

 

 He screamed.

 

 She let go, pushed him away with a hard shove and slid the knife under the bed.

 

 He stumbled backward, then reached down between his legs to grab hold of his severed member. He tried to staunch the flow of blood with his hands, but it still flowed freely through his fingers and down the insides of his legs.

 

 "Rad-blasted slut!" the sec man screamed, holding himself with one hand and trying to pull up his pants with the other. He finally let go of his pants and brought around his longblaster.

 

 The door burst open and a second sec man entered the room. "Put it down!" he said.

 

 "But she cut me."

 

 A third sec man entered the room. Krysty recognized him as the sec chief named Grundwold. "Did she reach into your pants and pull it out for you, too?" the sec chief demanded.

 

 "He was going to hurt me," Krysty said. "Mebbe even chill me. I was only defending myself."

 

 The sec chief looked at his two sec men with contempt. "Get out of here, before the baron hears about this." He pushed the bleeding man in the direction of the door.

 

 "But—"

 

 "Never mind," Grundwold said. "Or mebbe you want to explain to the baron what just happened here."

 

 The two sec men left without another word. Once outside the room, the injured one grunted and groaned his way down the hall.

 

 Grundwold stopped in the doorway before he left the room. "You try and relax, mebbe get some sleep. The baron wants you looking your best."

 

 "That's kind of him."

 

 The sec chief nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

 

 Krysty fished under the bed for the knife. She wiped off the blood and slipped it into her boot.

 

 Who knew? Mebbe it would come in handy.

 

 RYAN WAS HAVING troubles of his own. Although he was doing his best to do the job that was required of him and be as inconspicuous as possible while doing it, the addition of a new slave was bound to attract attention.

 

 "Are you spoken for?" asked an older woman with scraggly brown hair. She was obviously several months' pregnant and wasn't too concerned about concealing the fact, or she would have felt the need to cover her bloated breasts, which rested on her distended belly like eggs in a frying pan.

 

 "Yes, I am," Ryan said, taking a bite out of a fresh peach.

 

 "Who?" the woman wanted to know. "You just arrived. How could you—?"

 

 "You can't rut with him," a second woman said. She was younger by about ten years, rake thin and without child. "That's not your choice to make. You're already heavy."

 

 "But I want him," the pregnant one said. "He's strong and handsome. Maybe even a little mysterious."

 

 "But if the baron catches you rutting without permission while you're already heavy, he'll chain you up until you birth."

 

 "Who's going to know? Who'll tell the baron? You?"

 

 The younger woman just smiled.

 

 "Why, you bitch," said the older one. She threw her fist forward and caught the other woman flush in the nose. Blood began to drain from one of the younger woman's nostrils, but that wasn't stopping the older woman from trying to hit her again.

 

 The young woman dropped to the ground and took the older one's legs out from under her with a spinning leg trip. The older woman fell on her rear, and her enlarged breasts seemed to bounce and jiggle for the longest time. The younger woman was about to give her a hard kick in the abdomen when another slave came by to break up the fight.

 

 "That's enough, both of you!" he shouted, giving the smaller woman a stiff kick in the legs.

 

 "Hey," Ryan called out, jumping down from the tree.

 

 "You stay out of this, One-eye."

 

 He gave each of the women another kick in the legs, and they finally stopped clawing at each other.

 

 Ryan wasn't impressed.

 

 He was a big man, well muscled with a body covered with scars, including several around his neck. There were leathery stripes of healed over flesh down and across his back, likely the result of dozens, maybe even hundreds of lashes inflicted by sec men over the years. He had short cropped hair and a full beard, and in many ways he reminded Ryan a bit of Major Gregori Zimyanin, which gave Ryan all the more reason to stop the man from beating the two women.

 

 "Your next kick will be your last," Ryan said calmly, his fists clenched by his side.

 

 The big man ignored Ryan's comment and pulled the two women apart.

 

 The women were done fighting, but still eyed each other warily.

 

 "Beth," he said to the older woman, "you know you can't rut until you've birthed the child. If you need to rut, it can be arranged. I could even see to it personally." He helped her off the ground and sent her on her way.

 

 Then he turned to the other woman. "And I swear, if you had hurt Beth's offspring in any way, you wouldn't have been rutting with anybody, not the one-eye, and not anybody for a long, long time."

 

 "But I wanted him tonight, Andy," she said, looking up at Ryan with something like fire in her eyes.

 

 "There'll be plenty of time to rut with the one-eyed dog later," Andy said. "He's not going anywhere."

 

 The young woman still didn't seem satisfied, but she stomped off without further protest.

 

 When she was gone, Andy turned to face Ryan. "This is my work detail, One-eye. I keep the peace here any way I see fit, including giving breeders a kick when they got it coming."

 

 "What are the sec men for?"

 

 "To make sure no one tries to escape. As long as our group makes our quotas, they don't give a shit what goes on between us."

 

 Ryan stepped forward, halving the distance between them. "Including when one of you gets chilled?"

 

 Without warning, Andy threw a punch at Ryan's head. He dodged the blow and struck Andy's head with his left elbow. There was a definite crack of bone on impact, and Andy fell to the ground, dazed and unable to get up.

 

 Ryan broke a branch off a nearby tree and was about to run the jagged edge of it through Andy's ribs, when a sec man fired a round at Ryan. The bullet zinged past the one-eyed man's head and slammed into the peach tree behind him, sending splinters in every direction.

 

 "Leave him alone!" a sec man shouted as he walked over to where Ryan stood over the prone Andy. "Get back to work!"

 

 Ryan tossed aside the branch and stepped away from the still groaning Andy.

 

 The sec man helped Andy to his feet, and although the big man didn't say anything, the look in his eyes told Ryan that it wasn't over between them.

 

 Only beginning.

 

  

 

 Chapter Fifteen

 

  

 

 "What's your name?" J.B. asked the young woman Jak had brought out of the weeds.

 

 "Clarissa," she answered.

 

 She was probably in her early twenties and had dirty blond hair that was all in a tangle. Her clothes were pretty worn-out, with large tears in both her T-shirt and pants. And although dirty, her skin was clean of any signs of rad sickness. She looked pretty much like a norm, but one could never tell in the Deathlands.

 

 "Why were you throwing rocks at us?"

 

 "It wasn't just me throwing rocks," she stated. "There were muties out there, too, you know."

 

 "All right, then, why were you and the muties throwing rocks?"

 

 "To get your food."

 

 "But we don't have any food," Dean said.

 

 "You've got more than we have, and that's enough. We watched you eat and wanted some of your food."

 

 "And you were going to get it by throwing rocks?"

 

 "I thought we could scare you off. You know, force you to leave a few crumbs behind."

 

 "With rocks?"

 

 Clarissa shrugged. "We're hungry. We'll try anything to get some food."

 

 "We?" J.B. asked.

 

 "Me and the muties."

 

 "You're with the muties."

 

 "Always."

 

 J.B. just looked at her, trying to figure out the woman. She didn't seem afraid or even worried about what the friends might do to her. And she was definitely a norm, but instead of living with other norms she seemed to be living with, maybe even leading the muties.

 

 Very strange.

 

 "I wonder if you and your mutie friends might still be hungry?" Doc asked.

 

 "We're always hungry."

 

 "Well, perhaps we can make a trade."

 

 J.B. wasn't sure what Doc had in mind, but he seemed to have a plan.

 

 "Trade for what?" She eyed him suspiciously.

 

 "For some information."

 

 "About?"

 

 "The area around here. And about Fox Farm."

 

 "Sure," she said. "What have you got to trade?"

 

 Doc smiled. "This bag of fruit."

 

 Without a word, Clarissa took the bag from Doc and began pitching peaches, pears and apples into the nearby weeds. The muties there began to feed. She took a few of the fruits for herself, turned back to face Doc and J.B. and said, "Ask away."

 

 J.B. moved in closer. "Three of our friends went missing last night, and we found a sec man from Fox Farm dead in one of the rooms of the hotel we were Staying in."

 

 "Are your missing friends women?" "Two of them are."

 

 Clarissa nodded. "They took the women for breeding. Not sure why they'd take a man, though. They've got more of them than they need on the farm."

 

 "For breeding? I don't understand."

 

 "Fox Farm grows food. Best around for miles— hell, it's theonly food around for miles. See, Baron Fox knows all about electricity, so he came out here a few years ago with the idea of using the power from the falls to start his own little barony. With the electricity he was able to rework the soil and bring in freshwater from the bottom of the lake. But the more he grows on the farm, the less there seems to be for anyone on the outside. The land here's good for growing, but any time we've tried to plant something the weeds grow so fast everything gets choked off. That's why the baron has so many slaves working for him. They spend most of their time pulling weeds."

 

 "Slaves?" Dean repeated.

 

 "Sure, that's why there's an electric fence all the way around the farm. It keeps animals and muties out of the orchards, but it doesn't let anyone out, either."

 

 "We thought as much about the fence," J.B. said, nodding.

 

 "Uh, excuse me, dear lady," Doc interjected. "But you mentioned something about breeding."

 

 She took another bite of an apple, eating slowly now that she'd eaten a few fruits and had sated some of her hunger. "One of the reasons they grow a lot of fruit is for trade. They supply a few big eastern villes with fresh produce, so the farm is well stocked with everything like linen and soap, sugar and clothes."

 

 "Blasters?" J.B. asked.

 

 Clarissa laughed. "All kinds. Maybe a few grens— I can't be sure since I don't know a lot about weapons. There's a lot of them, though, I know that."

 

 "What about the breeding?" Doc repeated, looking a little frustrated.

 

 "Well, the other reason they grow so much food is to feed the slaves. See, they all work hard pulling weeds and picking fruit, and at night they rut. All night, every night."

 

 "What does she mean by rut?" Dean asked.

 

 "Rut," Doc answered, "is a vulgar term meaning to have sexual relations, especially intercourse."

 

 "That's right, rut," Clarissa said. "Baron Fox trades in fruit and vegetables, but he also trades in slaves and babies."

 

 "Babies?" Dean seemed confused.

 

 "Since everyone is rutting every night, the women are getting heavy all the time. And since most of the offspring are norms, they are worth a lot to couples in the eastern villes who can't have kids of their own because of rad sickness or whatever."

 

 "So that's how he's been able to become so rich," J.B. concluded.

 

 "An offspring a few months old can net him a new blaster. Ten or twelve of them is good enough for a wag in perfect running order. He's got convoys heading east every month or so. Last few months he's been shipping every other week. There's even couples that have heard about the operation and make the trip to the falls just to see him. He usually gets their wag, so the smart ones bring two."

 

 J.B. thought about Mildred. "What happens to women on the farm who don't want to rut?"

 

 "They all do eventually. The baron doesn't care if you want to or not, and I think he even likes it when the women put up a fight. The ones who resist usually get beaten for starters. Then the baron will deny them food and water for days, and contact with all other people for months…just about anything a person needs to survive. Most of the women succumb, some don't, but even the holdouts get heavy in the end. They wind up chained to a wall in the baron's dungeon where they are force-bred until they're made heavy.

 

 "But even when you get heavy, the punishment isn't over. Willing breeders don't rut when they're heavy if they don't want to, but the ones who resist can be rutted by anyone—sec men usually—right up until they birth. It's no wonder that after they've delivered an offspring, the women are only too happy and willing to rut like the rest of them."

 

 Everyone was silent for several moments.

 

 "It would seem to me that we must try to rescue Ryan, Krysty and Mildred as soon as possible," Doc pondered, "or our friends won't be the same when they come out."

 

 "My thoughts exactly," J.B. said.

 

 "I have question," Jak stated.

 

 "What is it?" Clarissa asked.

 

 "If baron takes women, why you here?"

 

 It was a good question. All four of the friends looked to Clarissa for an answer.

 

 "I was inside," she stated.

 

 J.B. looked at her skeptically.

 

 "About a year ago my family was part of a wag convoy heading east to a new ville my uncle was starting up in Roads Island. But when we came through here, Baron Fox's men captured my family and brought us all to the farm. My mom didn't last long. She put up a bit of a fight, but since she was old and couldn't get heavy anymore, she was sent to the sec men's lounge for the stupe bastard's entertainment. She didn't last long there, and died just a few weeks after we were captured."

 

 Clarissa paused to let out a sigh and take another bite of her apple.

 

 "My dad was an older man and found the orchards hard work. When he learned about what had happened to my mother, he went mad and attacked a group of sec men with a stick. They chilled him before he could strike a single blow. After that, I knew I couldn't stay on the farm, so I tried to escape. It took me three tries, but I finally did it by dressing up in a sec man's uniform, stealing a wag and driving it through the front gate. I've been living on the outside for about eight months now."

 

 "Why stay here?" Jak asked. "Not go away?"

 

 Clarissa looked sad. "My sister's still inside. She resisted the baron a lot more than I did, and she ended up in the dungeon. She was heavy when I got out, and she might be ready to birth in a few weeks. After I escaped, I wanted to leave, to get as far away as I could, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Knowing I'm on the outside waiting for her is probably the only thing that's keeping her alive in there."

 

 "Try save her?"

 

 Clarissa shook her head. "No, what could I do by myself?"

 

 "What about the muties?" Doc asked.

 

 "They wouldn't be much help in an attack. Throwing rocks and tearing things apart with their teeth is about all they're good for. If I could get them inside the complex, they might do some damage, but I can't get them past the fence."

 

 "That's not what I meant," J.B. said. "They let you live with them without them hurting you?"

 

 "Yes."

 

 "And even now, they aren't attacking us."

 

 "That's because I don't want them to. You see, I feed them whatever I can spare." She threw the cores of her apples and pears off into the bushes. "They consider me a sort of savior." She threw back her head and ran her fingers through her dirty blond hair. "There isn't anything they wouldn't do for me."

 

 "Do you think if you told them to attack the farm, they'd do it for you?" J.B. asked.

 

 "Attack the farm?"

 

 "We're not leaving our friends inside," J.B. stated.

 

 "But that would be crazy. There's only four of you, and that place is like a fortress."

 

 "That, my dear girl," Doc piped up, "is why we can use all the help we can get. Mutie or otherwise."

 

 "You could help us, too." J.B. leaned in closer to her. "You know your way around the farm and could lead us to where we want to go."

 

 Clarissa said nothing but looked to each of the friends in turn.

 

 "We could get your sister out along with our friends," J.B. suggested.

 

 "You four are serious, aren't you?"

 

 "I have been a part of this group a long time, young lady," Doc announced, "and I can assure you beyond a shadow of a doubt that we take such matters very seriously."

 

 "Okay, but even if I help you and convince the muties to come along for the ride, you're still going to need more weapons to break in to the place, and to breakout."

 

 "Some heavier blasters would be nice," J.B. said.

 

 "A few grens would be useful in causing diversions too," Doc mused.

 

 "More ammo," Jak said.

 

 "And a wag," Dean added.

 

 "Yes, and a wag," J.B. echoed.

 

 "If you had some of those things, you really think you could free my sister and your friends."

 

 "Other slaves, too," Jak muttered.

 

 "Okay." She nodded, as if she'd just taken a step from which there was no turning back. "I know a place where we can find some of the things you need."

 

  

 

 Chapter Sixteen

 

  

 

 The crew broke for lunch, which was served in the orchard off the back of a rebuilt electric wag that had burners and coolers and all sorts of things to help prepare food and keep it hot or cold as required. Ryan was given the choice of vegetable soup or some sort of meat stew. He decided on the soup, since he knew that the vegetables were grown on the farm but he couldn't be sure where the meat for the stew had come from.

 

 The man in the greasy clothes behind the food counter spooned out the soup into Ryan's oversize mug, then put a large bread roll on the tray beside it. Farther along, an overripe tomato was put on his tray and finally an empty glass, which could be filled up with water from one of the spouts that extended off the end of the wag.

 

 Ryan filled the glass, drank and then filled it a second time. He turned to find Mildred. She was sitting in the shade under one of the peach trees, eating the stew. Ryan joined her.

 

 "How's the food?" he asked.

 

 "Had better. Had worse," she answered.

 

 "How's your back?" Ryan leaned backward to ease the pain in his lower back. He was in terrific physical shape, and his muscles were as taut as iron bands, but nothing could have prepared him for hours of being hunched over and looking for weeds. He'd get used to the work eventually, but he wasn't planning on being there long enough for that.

 

 "It's been better."

 

 Ryan sat beside Mildred and began to eat. The soup was as good as any he'd tasted. When he was done eating it, he broke his roll into chunks and used it to soak up the broth. When he was about to bite into his tomato, a middle-aged dark-haired woman, heavy with child, sat in front of Mildred and Ryan.

 

 "I don't think Purvis likes you much," she said.

 

 "Is that his name, Purvis?" Ryan asked.

 

 "Yes, Andy Purvis. He's the leader of our crew."

 

 "Not much of a leader if you ask me," Mildred said, chewing on a piece of meat from her stew.

 

 "I don't think he's going to forget what happened today. Be careful tonight. He'll be looking for you."

 

 "Why? What will happen tonight?"

 

 "We'll work the fields until a few hours before sundown when the white wags will come out to bring us back to the main house. In back of the main building we'll be able to wash ourselves and freshen up. Then we all go to the dining hall for dinner, which will probably be soup and stew again."

 

 Ryan nodded, wondering if he might try the stew tonight.

 

 "After dinner there'll be some sort of entertainment on the dining-hall stage."

 

 "Entertainment?" Mildred's eyes widened. "What kind of entertainment?"

 

 "You know, like in a gaudy house. Someone might do a strip dance. Sometimes the baron comes out and tells a few funnies, and one time he showed us a pre-dark sex vid. That was interesting."

 

 "And you have these sorts of shows every night?" Mildred asked.

 

 "Yes," she answered, as if Mildred had just asked a silly question.

 

 "Why?"

 

 "It's supposed to put everyone in the mood to rut."

 

 "Is that what happens after?" Ryan asked.

 

 "Yes, after the shows everyone who wants to rut pairs up, or you can go to the big room where a lot of people get together at one time."

 

 "What if you don't want to rut?" Mildred wondered.

 

 "If it's your time, like you said, no one will bother you. Or if you're not feeling well, you can take a room by yourself. Some people prefer that."

 

 "So," Ryan said. "Sounds like we have an interesting night in front of us."

 

 Mildred nodded. "Interestingis a good word for it."

 

 "Anyway, if Purvis is going to try anything, it will probably be in the showers or during the entertainment."

 

 "Thanks for the warning," Ryan said. "But why are you telling me this?"

 

 Her eyes darted left and right, and she moved her head ever so slightly to see if anyone was near. "I don't like him. I don't like him at all."

 

 "What's not to like?" Mildred quipped. "A man who beats women the way he does can't be all bad."

 

 "No, he's dangerous. If he thinks you're a threat to his position as alpha male on the crew, he'll try and chill you any way he can."

 

 "What about the sec men?" Ryan turned his head in the direction of the guards, who were all sitting on folding chairs that had come off the wag. They seemed unconcerned about the crew under their charge.

 

 "They don't care about the men. It's the women who are valuable to the baron. Anyone hurts a woman, especially a breeder, they're chilled on the spot. Purvis is hard on the women in his crew, but none of us has ever stopped breeding because of it."

 

 "What a prince," Mildred said.

 

 "There's some worse overseeing other crews, but not many," she stated.

 

 Just then the a sec man blew a whistle to let them know it was time to get back to picking fruit and pulling weeds.

 

 "Just be careful, mister," she said. "He'll chill you if he has a chance."

 

 Ryan got to his feet. "Not if I chill him first."

 

 That put a smile on the woman's face. "I was sort of hoping that might be the case. You look like you've chilled people before. I bet you have, haven't you?"

 

 "A few," Ryan said.

 

 "All right," a sec man bellowed. "Stop yapping and get back to work."

 

  

 

 Chapter Seventeen

 

  

 

 "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" Sec chief Ganley cried as he kept the two boats on pace to reach their destination by dark.

 

 While they had often spent entire days out on the water, they had never ventured so far out into the lake before. Neither had they ever paddled so hard for so long. When they reached the southern shores of the lake, they would be exhausted and would be hard-pressed to set up camp for the night. There was also a question of food. They had brought some with them, and there was plenty more they'd brought to trade, but after such a hard day, dried fish would hardly be a fitting meal. They could do with something fresh.

 

 "Rhonda," he called, breaking the rhythm for just a moment.

 

 A woman in his boat turned. "What?"

 

 "Take the bow. If you spot anything in the water, spear it. We could use a decent, fresh meal tonight."

 

 "Yes, sir!" she said with a smile.

 

 The woman climbed up through the center of the boat and replaced the man who'd been stationed there with a blaster for most of the day.

 

 Ganley watched her get settled, then tie one end of a rope to a ring on the blunt tip of her spear and the other end to the bow of the boat. Then she got into position, spear raised and ready to be thrown at anything that might swim by.

 

 "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!"

 

 Ganley had called over four hundred strokes, and Rhonda's throwing arm hadn't wavered. Ganley had been impressed with her moves when he'd screened the volunteers, and he'd later found that there was no one better in the ville with a spear. And now he could see why. She was like a cat who would wait hours for a mouse to peek its nose out of a hole. The second it did, the cat would pounce and the mouse would never know what hit it.

 

 "Stroke! C'mon, just a few more hours. Stroke! Rhonda will have us a supper like never before. Stroke!"

 

 And then, as if the fish had been waiting for the proper introduction, Rhonda thrust her spear into the water.

 

 The paddles stopped moving, and necks craned for a glimpse of the water in front of the boat.

 

 "What is it?" Ganley asked.

 

 "Sturgeon," Rhonda answered, pulling on the rope.

 

 "Excellent!" Sturgeon was a large bony fish with five rows of bony plates down its back. They'd said that in predark times the fish's sucking mouth had been used to feed off the bottom, but now its wide mouth had adapted to the times and was used for scooping up dead fish floating on the top of the water. "How big?"

 

 "Couldn't tell. Only saw one of its plates."

 

 This far out there was no telling how big the sturgeon could get. The lake was big enough, and the supply of dead fish almost unlimited because of rad poisoning.

 

 The crew on the boat waited as Rhonda continued to pull in the line. But before she got the fish to the boat, there were shouts and a commotion coming from the crew of the second boat How big was it? Ganley wondered. And at that moment, the sturgeon's enormous tail flipped up out of the water, rocking the second boat and throwing several of its crew into the water.

 

 Seeing that, Rhonda began stabbing the enormous fish in the back, again and again. Blood began to spurt up from the back of the giant fish and into the boat. Several of the other crew drew their blasters. "No!" Ganley ordered.

 

 Rhonda was leaning over the bow of the boat, moving her spear up the fish's body, and was now poised to strike its head. She reared back and plunged the spear deep into the sturgeon's brain.

 

 The fish convulsed several times, throwing up a red froth under the other boat and hampering their efforts to pull it out of the water. Finally the giant fish was still and floating on the surface of the water. It was twenty-five-feet long, its bony ridges breaking the water like armor plates on a war wag.

 

 "Tie off the tail!" Rhonda called to the other boat.

 

 "We can't take it with us," Ganley said.

 

 "I know that, but we have to eat." Rhonda tied off the snout and the giant fish was suspended between the two boats.

 

 Rhonda secured her spear to the boat, tied a mesh bag to her waistband, then unsheathed her knife and dived in the water.

 

 Ganley watched her expertly cut more than a dozen steaks from the fish's tender underbelly and toss them into the boat. And then, she disappeared under the water for several minutes only to reappear with a smile on her face and a bag full of caviar.

 

 Ganley couldn't believe he almost hadn't allowed the woman to come along on the trip.

 

 "WHERE?" the Armorer asked.

 

 "Across the bridge, on what used to be the American side," Clarissa said. "There's an old museum, the Niagara Aerospace Museum. It's in a shopping mall."

 

 "An aerospace museum?" J.B. wasn't impressed.

 

 "Yeah, it's got a lot of great stuff in it, like—"

 

 "Like airplanes and helicopters."

 

 "That's right."

 

 "Even if those things could still get off the ground," J.B. argued, "none of us know how to fly an airplane."

 

 "There's mostly that sort of stuff, and other things like training simulators and testing equipment, even some airplane and rocket engines."

 

 "You mean to tell me, young lady," Doc interjected, "that in all this time no one, especially the local baron, has visited this museum and stripped away everything that might be of some value to someone trying to survive in the Deathlands?"

 

 "The museum in the mall's been stripped clean, sure, but I know how to get to the museum's underground storage facility. That's where they kept all the spares, even moved a few of the museum's best pieces when the nukes started to fall. It's also where I stashed the wag I stole."

 

 "What's there?" J.B. asked, suddenly more interested.

 

 "There's an airplane that's got some pretty big blasters on it for one thing."

 

 Jak eyed the young woman skeptically. "How you know, and not others?"

 

 "Some of my mutie friends live under the mall, and they've made their home pretty secure."

 

 "And why," J.B. asked, "will the muties just let us come in and take the stuff away?"

 

 "Because I'm going to tell them what you're going to use it for, and…you're going to give them food."

 

 "We don't have any food," Dean offered.

 

 "No," J.B. said, "but mebbe we can get some on the way."

 

 No one said a word for several long moments. Finally, Jak rose to his feet. "Let's go."

 

 "I'm afraid we're going to have to put off our trip to the museum for a few hours yet," Doc pointed out. "Or at least until our guide, Sleeping Beauty, awakens to show us the way."

 

 J.B. looked over at where Clarissa had been sitting. The young woman was now on her side, sleeping soundly after eating so much of the sedative-laden fruit.

 

 "Mebbe it's for the best," J.B. said. "Give us a chance to recce the farm."

 

 The Armorer got to his feet and stretched his legs. "Doc and Dean, stay here. Jak and I are going to see exactly what we're up against."

 

 The old man nodded. Dean looked disappointed about being left behind, but nodded just the same.

 

 "How much time before she wakes up, Doc?"

 

 "Two hours would be my guess."

 

 "Okay, then," J.B. said, glancing at his wrist chron. "See you in two hours."

 

 THE WHISTLE BLEW about an hour before sunset and a series of white miniwags pulled up to where the crew was working in order to take them back to the main building for cleanup, a hot meal and the rest of the evening's activities.

 

 Ryan joined Mildred so they could watch each other's back on the way in. He kept his eye on Purvis, too, making sure to always keep the man in front of him so there would be no surprises.

 

 As they neared the wag, the woman who had befriended Ryan earlier in the day came up alongside Mildred. "Don't worry. He won't try anything until we get to the main building. There'll be sec men on other wags keeping an eye on everything. They like a peaceful ride in at the end of the day like the rest of us…" Her voice trailed off and she seemed to gasp for breath.

 

 "Are you all right?" Mildred asked, putting out an arm to steady the woman.

 

 "Tired is all," she responded with a strained smile. "I could use a warm meal and a good night's rest." Her smile turned into a grimace and she clutched her belly.

 

 "You don't sound all right to me," Mildred stated.

 

 "Oh!" she gasped, louder this time.

 

 Mildred grabbed her with two hands. "What is it?" But she didn't need to hear an answer to know what was going on. There was a dark wet spot on the ground between the woman's legs, and greenish-brown water was running down the inside of her thighs.

 

 A sec man came running. "What's wrong with her?"

 

 Mildred eased the woman over to a tree and sat her in a squatting position to allow for the free flow of the fluid. "Her water's broke. She'll be having the baby in the next few hours."

 

 "Why is she so dirty?"

 

 "It's muconium staining," Mildred stated. "Her amniotic fluid is stained with a substance that's coming from the baby's digestive tract. It could be a sign that the baby is in some kind of distress."

 

 "How do you know that?" the sec man asked, looking at Mildred strangely.

 

 Mildred hesitated. She tried never to reveal to anyone that she was a medical doctor, since such people were worth more than blasters to barons and villes. If the baron here found out, she'd never be allowed to leave, or even be given the chance to escape. But if she denied her medical knowledge right now, this woman and her baby might both die a slow and painful death. "I know a little bit about healing," she admitted.

 

 The sec man turned to the others. "This one's birthing. Bring another wag."

 

 A couple of sec men took off in one of the white electric miniwags.

 

 "They'll be back in a few minutes, to take you to the nursery." He turned to Mildred. "You're going with her."

 

 Mildred nodded.

 

 The woman let out another cry of pain.

 

 Mildred placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry," she said, wondering what the woman's name was. "What's your name, sugar?"

 

 "Jasmine."

 

 "Don't worry, Jasmine," Mildred said. "It'll be all right."

 

 J.B. AND JAK ARRIVED at the farm just before sundown. No crews were working the orchards at that time of day.

 

 "Quiet," Jak said.

 

 J.B. nodded.

 

 The courtyard between the main building and the front gate was illuminated by several lights, turning the area from night into day. A couple of sec men on foot out by the gate and another few up in the lookout towers, which provided them with a view of the entire farm. Intermittently, lights would come on inside the orchards.

 

 "Looking someone?" Jak asked.

 

 "I think it's just a test," J.B. answered. "Make sure the lights work if they need them, but they probably don't need them all that much because of the fence."

 

 The two friends moved in closer, and after just a few paces they could hear the faint hum of electricity. "Like I thought," J.B. said, nodding. "They keep the electricity on through the night to keep out the animals and muties. A couple of squirrelies inside the fence could ruin a whole crop."

 

 "Worse for us?"

 

 "No. The electricity shouldn't be a problem." J.B. said nothing more, but moved quickly and silently around the perimeter of the farm to the west side where he'd seen the power lines.

 

 As he suspected, the high-tension wires that brought electricity to the farm were strung up at the top of several forty-foot poles. The wires were almost impossible to get at and would be difficult to cut. Regardless, the wires were a definite weak point in the farm's defenses and something they could take advantage of somehow.

 

 "Problem?"

 

 "Mebbe, mebbe not. At least now we know what we're up against."

 

 "Have plan?"

 

 J.B. shook his head. "Not yet, but I'll think of something once we know what kind of weapons we'll be using."

 

 Jak nodded. "Think she tells true about weapons?"

 

 "I sure hope so, because if she isn't, Ryan, Mildred and Krysty are going to be in there for a long time."

 

  

 

 Chapter Eighteen

 

  

 

 Ryan watched Mildred tend to the woman named Jasmine and knew he'd be on his own the rest of the night. He climbed onto the wag and took a seat near the back where he could keep Purvis and everyone else in front of him.

 

 A full-figured blond woman with ample hips and even more ample breasts took the seat across the aisle from Ryan. "You rutting with anyone tonight, honey?" she asked.

 

 "Yes, I am. Sorry."

 

 "Aw, we could have a lot of fun together, honey." As she spoke she pressed her breasts together with her arms to create a long line of cleavage between them.

 

 "Oh, I'm sure we could have."

 

 "Mebbe another time, then?"

 

 "Mebbe."

 

 "I'll keep my motor runnin' for you."

 

 Ryan didn't answer, but instead focused his attention on Purvis, who had just climbed onto the wag. He stared at Ryan a moment, then took a seat at the front among the sec men.

 

 Outside, a smaller wag pulled up and Mildred and the woman got in. After a few moments they drove off, heading back to the main building at a good clip.

 

 "Does your friend know what she's doing?" a voice asked.

 

 Ryan turned and saw a man on the seat in front of him. "You say something?"

 

 The man nodded. "I said, does your friend know what she's doing?"

 

 "Who are you?"

 

 The man looked around suspiciously. "I'm her mate. She's carrying my child."

 

 Ryan looked closely at the man. He seemed genuinely worried about the woman bearing his child, which was probably a dangerous thing to be doing on this farm. "She's in good hands," he said. "So is the child."

 

 "Appreciate it." A smile eased the tension in the man's face. "My name's Brody, by the way."

 

 "Ryan." They shook hands then, Ryan's gaze locked once again on Purvis.

 

 "He doesn't like you much."

 

 "And I don't like him."

 

 "You could use someone to watch your back."

 

 "You're probably right."

 

 "Consider it watched."

 

 The wag started moving.

 

 "Thanks," Ryan said.

 

 IT WAS DARK by the time J.B. and Jak returned from their recce of the farm.

 

 "Just in time," Doc greeted them. "Our sleeper has just recently awakened."

 

 Clarissa stretched her arms and legs. A few yards away, the muties were also rising from their fruit-induced sleep. "What happened? One minute I was talking to you, and then the next I was fast asleep."

 

 "The fruit," Doc explained, "which came courtesy of Fox Farm, seems to have been laced with some sort of sedative."

 

 "And you gave it to me to eat, knowing that?"

 

 "You were hungry," J.B. stated. "It wasn't lethal, and we didn't have anything else to give you…or your friends, to eat. Besides, it was either that or chill you."

 

 She looked at the Armorer for a long time, probably wondering if he was kidding or serious. "I believe you would have, too," she said at last.

 

 J.B. remained silent.

 

 "This museum you spoke of," Doc said. "Is it close enough to travel to in the dark, or should we find some other accommodation for the night?"

 

 "Not a good idea to be out at night."

 

 "Know safe place?" Jak asked.

 

 "Sure."

 

 "Okay, we'll rest up tonight, and tomorrow we'll hit the museum."

 

 J.B. turned to Clarissa. "Lead the way."

 

 MILDRED WAS LED into a well-lit and very clean room in the basement of the main building. A row of beds stood against each wall, ten to a row, twenty beds in all. All but four of the beds were empty.

 

 Sitting at one end of the room at a desk was an old woman who had to be in her sixties. She was gray haired, hunched over and the knuckles of her hands were gnarled with arthritis.

 

 "Two at once," the old woman said when Mildred brought Jasmine into the nursery.

 

 "No," Mildred said. "I'm just here to help her."

 

 "You a midwife?"

 

 "No, not exactly."

 

 "Healer?"

 

 "Sort of."

 

 "Oh well, welcome, then. I could use the help. What's her story?"

 

 "Her water's broke and she's had some muconium staining."

 

 "Is that like dark water?"

 

 "Yes."

 

 "She may be overdue, then."

 

 "That's right." Mildred had wondered if the old woman would be in the way, but it was obvious that she'd delivered plenty of babies in her time and knew what she was doing.

 

 "Here, honey," the old woman said, taking Jasmine's hands and placing them on her nipples. "Touch them, twist them and pull on them for the next little while."

 

 "What will that do?" Jasmine asked.

 

 Mildred wondered about that, too, but then remembered that nipple stimulation released the hormone oxytocin, which caused the uterus to contract. But how did you go about explaining that to a woman born and raised in the Deathlands?

 

 "It will help make the baby come out," Mildred said, deciding the simplest explanation was best.

 

 The old woman nodded her approval, then turned to Mildred. "Now, help me get ready."

 

 Mildred smiled. There'd been so much chilling in her life recently, it would be wonderful to help bring some new life into the Deathlands.

 

 "My pleasure," Mildred said, rolling up her sleeves.

 

 "DINNER'S SERVED in twenty," the sec man shouted as the crew exited the wag. "Show starts in an hour."

 

 "The showers are this way," Brody stated.

 

 "What if I don't want a shower?" Ryan asked.

 

 Brody shook his head. "Everyone's got to go through. The baron likes his people to be clean when they rut. Protection against disease, healthy offspring and all that. Besides, the water's hot, and it'll make you feel good after a day working in the orchard."

 

 Ryan entered the large room where both men and women were getting undressed. About half of the women were noticeably heavy, and all the men looked fit and healthy.

 

 Brody gave Ryan a plastic crate with the name of a predark dairy imprinted on the side. "Put your clothes in the crate. You can get them washed if you want, or you can put them on again after your shower. Up to you."

 

 Although his clothes could probably do with a wash, he decided he'd put them on again. If they went into the wash, there was no telling when or if he'd get back the same clothes.

 

 Ryan stepped into the shower. Brody stood off to the side, keeping an eye out for Purvis while Ryan washed up. The one-eyed man was grateful for the chance to wash the blood, dust and grime from his body. He put his head under the water, which was both fresh and warm thanks to the farm's unlimited supply of water and electricity, and let it flow over him like a river.

 

 As he soaped up and rinsed for the last time, Ryan caught sight of Purvis at the exit to the showers. He decided to ignore him for the time being, knowing that the man wouldn't do anything while so many slaves were still in the showers with them.

 

 But with Purvis standing there and looking for a fight, the others rinsed off quickly and left, leaving Ryan and Brody alone with him.

 

 Purvis was as tall and as muscular as one might expect from the dominant male of a work crew. He also looked as if he'd been in a few fights during his time on the farm. Several of his teeth were missing, his nose was caved in and there was a bite-sized chunk of flesh missing from the outside of his right thigh.

 

 "Your time has come, One-eye," Purvis said, taking a couple of steps into the shower.

 

 "He doesn't want any trouble, Purvis," Brody argued. "He doesn't know how things work on the farm, that's all."

 

 Ryan decided to say nothing for the moment, giving Purvis the chance to back out of this without getting hurt.

 

 "You got that right, Brody. He don't know shit about what he's got himself into."

 

 "He made a mistake is all," Brody reasoned. "He was thinking like an outlander, not like a slave. Forget it this time, and it won't happen again."

 

 There was a slight grin on Purvis's face. He was obviously enjoying hearing Brody talk.

 

 But Ryan didn't like it at all.

 

 "No, it will happen again," Ryan said. "It will happen every time you beat on a woman, Purvis, or anybody else who's done you no wrong."

 

 "You're all talk." Purvis took a few steps closer.

 

 "I've been called a lot of things," Ryan said, "but never that."

 

 The big man hesitated. He gestured to Brody. "I don't like the odds."

 

 Ryan nodded. "Get out of here, Brody!"

 

 "But—"

 

 "Get out!"

 

 Brody left without another word.

 

 "Pack your bags, One-eye," Purvis said. "You're about to board the last train west."

 

 Ryan said nothing, too busy assessing the situation to waste time on more talk. The water was still running in the showers. It helped drown out their voices so the sec men couldn't hear them, but it also made the floor of the shower very slippery. Purvis was a head taller than Ryan and probably outweighed him by fifty pounds. So if Ryan was to have any chance against the bigger man, he'd have to move fast, strike first and strike hard.

 

 "C'mon, One-eye, I'm waiting."

 

 Ryan crouched, pushed off from the wall and slid across the smooth tiles of the shower floor. He struck Purvis's legs while still moving at a good clip, and the big man toppled, landing hard on his shoulder.

 

 Before the man had time to recover, Ryan was on his feet again. He kicked out with his right foot, catching the side of Purvis's head with his heel. The blow seemed to have little effect on the downed man because he managed to get to his feet as if he'd received little more than a tap on the shoulder.

 

 "You're fast," he said. "I'll give you that."

 

 Ryan decided if it worked once, it might be worth trying again. He knelt, got onto his hands and swung his feet out in a wide arc, taking Purvis's feet out from under him again. This time the big man fell backward, landing hard on his back and striking his head on the hard, wet floor.

 

 Purvis seemed to be in pain so Ryan moved in to take advantage. But when he got close, Purvis reached out and grabbed the one-eyed man's feet, pulling him off the floor. Ryan managed to break his fall with his hands, but still landed heavily on the tiles, smacking the right side of his face hard enough to see bright sparks of pain flashing behind his eye.

 

 After his heavy falls, the big man was slowly getting stronger, and Ryan knew that if he managed to get close, it was possible that he would be smothered in his grip.

 

 A crowd of slaves had gathered at the entrance to the shower, but there were still no sec men in sight, which meant that only one of them would be walking out of the showers alive.

 

 Ryan backed away from Purvis until his back touched one of the shower room's tiled walls.

 

 "You can't run from me, One-eye." Purvis grinned, taking the move as a sign of weakness.

 

 But in truth, Ryan was merely putting as much space between himself and the big man as he could. A second later he was off running, leaping through the air and throwing his shoulder and all of his body weight into Purvis's chest.

 

 There was a large whoosh as Ryan knocked the air out of the man's lungs, and then a hard smack as Purvis fell backward with Ryan on top of him.

 

 Purvis gulped for air.

 

 Ryan took hold of the man's head and kept slamming it onto the hard tile floor until the back of his skull was crushed. Blood leaked onto the shower floor.

 

 He let go of the big man's ruined head and looked over to the shower entrance. The slaves were gone and in their place were two sec men. They didn't look all that surprised to see a dead man lying on the shower floor. If Purvis was anything special, you sure couldn't tell from the sec men's expressions.

 

 "What happened to him?" one of the sec men asked.

 

 "Slipped on some soap," Ryan answered.

 

 "Second one this month," the other sec man commented.

 

  

 

 Chapter Nineteen

 

  

 

 "Are we there yet?" Dean asked. The sun had set, and the boy was feeling tired.

 

 "Almost," Clarissa answered as she led them up-river to some unknown destination.

 

 "Patience, my dear boy," Doc said. "If the woman leads us to a safe place in which to spend the night, the peaceful rest we will receive will be more than worth the walk."

 

 "There it is," she said, pointing off into the distance. "Just behind that rise."

 

 The companions continued on, followed tirelessly by a group of muties, like seagulls trailing behind a ship hoping to catch something churned up by the ship's wake.

 

 When they reached the rise, J.B. stopped abruptly and grabbed Clarissa by the arm. "There's nothing here," he said, taking another look around. "If you double cross us, it'll be the last thing you ever do."

 

 "No double cross. You wanted someplace safe, so I'm bringing you to my home, or at least the place I've been living these past few months."

 

 "But there's nothing here."

 

 "Nothing on the surface, but there's plenty underground. Follow me."

 

 Again the friends placed their trust in their female guide. When they reached the bottom of the rise, they came upon a concrete kiosk in the middle of the field.

 

 "This looks like the place where we arrived," Dean whispered to Jak.

 

 "Same, but different."

 

 There was a door on one side of the kiosk. Clarissa opened it and gestured to the four friends. "After you, boys."

 

 "What's this?" J.B. asked.

 

 "An entrance to a water tunnel."

 

 "That leads where?"

 

 "To one of the power plants downriver," Clarissa answered. "I can't be sure which one, since most of them aren't operating anymore and to find out I'd have to walk some five miles in the dark. I figured it's not that important."

 

 J.B. followed the other three friends inside. "What about the muties?"

 

 "They're content to wait for me outside at the entrance until I reappear in the morning."

 

 "I must say that is an excellent security measure," Doc said.

 

 "For some reason, they don't like going underground, or the dark," she said, closing the door and making sure it was locked.

 

 The tunnel was indeed dark. With the door closed, J.B. couldn't see his hands, even when he held them directly in front of his face. "Anyone have a gas lighter?" J.B. asked.

 

 In answer, a small point of light came on to J.B.'s left, illuminating Jak's pale figure.

 

 But a moment later another, much brighter light came on in the tunnel. "There's a few live wires around the falls," Clarissa said, twisting a plastic connector knob onto the ends of two wires. "You just have to know where to look, and not use so much that Baron Fox would notice someone is stealing juice from him."

 

 "Wow!" Dean gasped, his neck craning to take in the enormous size of the tunnel.

 

 "Wow indeed," Doc echoed.

 

 "Big," Jak said.

 

 They were standing at the bottom of a huge concrete tunnel that was roughly fifty or sixty feet across and stretched out in both directions for what seemed like forever. It was like a redoubt, J.B. thought but the tunnel was completely cylindrical—like a blaster barrel—and there seemed to be no end to it.

 

 "And this carried water to the power stations downriver?" J.B. asked.

 

 "When there was water to be carried there," she answered.

 

 But despite it being dry, there was still a soft wash of sound echoing through the tunnel, as if the river's ghost still haunted the caverns beneath the city.

 

 "Now it's just a safe place to sleep."

 

 "An excellent idea, my dear," Doc said.

 

 "What is?"

 

 "Sleep."

 

 "Be my guest."

 

 She had transformed a section of the tunnel into a living space, with several sleeping places made of grasses and twigs.

 

 The companions settled in.

 

 THE FOOD in the farm's cafeteria was as good as one would expect from a farm. The soup and stew had both been made fresh, and Ryan was amazed to find real bits of meat floating around in both.

 

 He took a seat on a bench at one of the tables near the exit, and Brody sat with him. When they'd left the showers, there had been plenty of activity among the sec men as they got rid of Purvis's body and cleaned the showers for the next crew coming in. Ryan wondered why they didn't get the slaves to do the job for them, but figured it was easy to keep the man's death secret from the baron if they handled the problem themselves.

 

 "Nobody will miss Purvis," Brody explained. "But if the baron catches wind of what happened, he might want an explanation. They'll tell him the man slipped on some soap and that will be the end of it."

 

 "But that was what happened," Ryan said with a wink of his eye.

 

 "You'll do all right here, Ryan."

 

 Halfway through the meal, Mildred came and joined Ryan, sitting across the table from him. "Aren't you eating anything?" Ryan asked when he noticed Mildred had no tray in front of her.

 

 "Nursery workers get fed first, and best," she said, running a hand over her stomach. "I didn't think I'd ever eat steak again."

 

 "How is…?" Brody began, then hesitated, looking around to see if any sec men were listening. "How is Jasmine?"

 

 Mildred looked surprised.

 

 "Mildred," Ryan said, "allow me to introduce Brody. He's the mate of the woman you took to the nursery."

 

 "Pleased to meet you," Mildred said, shaking the man's hand.

 

 "Jasmine?" Brody said.

 

 "She's fine," Mildred answered. "It was tough going for a while, but she's doing real well now."

 

 "And the baby?"

 

 "A boy."

 

 Brody smiled.

 

 "Correct me if I'm wrong," Ryan said, "but you're not supposed to have attachments to the children born here."

 

 "I have a son," Brody said.

 

 Mildred looked over at Ryan. "That's right. The baby was taken from the mother and is now being taken care of by someone else in the nursery. I found out when the baby's six months old he'll be shipped off to a family down south."

 

 "No," Brody said, obviously heartbroken.

 

 "But you knew that would happen?" Ryan said.

 

 "It doesn't matter if I knew," Brody answered. "That's my boy, my flesh and blood. I told myself a thousand times that this would happen, that we'd lose him, and I tried to prepare for it, but nothing can prepare you for losing your child like that."

 

 Mildred reached over and held Brody's hand.

 

 Ryan looked at the man, understanding a little of what he was going through. Ryan himself had gone through life in the Deathlands never knowing of the son he had. But then, just days after meeting the ten-year-old child for the first time, there had been a bond between them that grew stronger every day. Brody's bond with his newborn was being broken against his will and it hurt the man deeply.

 

 "You may be reunited with your woman and your son yet," Ryan said. "In a couple of days this whole place is going to be turned upside down."

 

 Brody shook his head in despair and gestured toward Ryan and Mildred. "Who's going to do it? You two?"

 

 "Mebbe us, mebbe help from outside, mebbe both."

 

 "You mean there were more out there with you?"

 

 "Four more."

 

 Brody's smile was wide and bright. "I'll help you, then. Whatever you need, I'll see that you get it."

 

 "I need you to stay strong," Ryan said. "For your son."

 

 Mildred nodded in agreement.

 

 "You got it."

 

 THERE WAS a knock at Krysty's door.

 

 "Yes?"

 

 The door opened and a short, heavy bull of a sec man entered the room. "The baron wants you to join him in the cafeteria in twenty minutes."

 

 "All right."

 

 "And he wants you to wear this." The sec man's lips pulled back to reveal a smile full of black holes and broken teeth. In his grimy hand was what looked like a few slips of black fabric.

 

 "What's that?" Krysty asked.

 

 "It's what the baron wants you to wear."

 

 "But what is it?"

 

 "Clothes for a gaudy slut."

 

 "And he wants me to wear them?"

 

 "That's right. He's gonna parade you around to the slaves as his new prize."

 

 "And if I don't put on the clothes?"

 

 "He said I could have you myself," the sec man said, his big beefy tongue slobbering over his bruised and swollen bottom lip. "So if you don't want to put it on, I think mebbe we should stop wasting time and get right down to business."

 

 Krysty considered her options. There was no way she'd let this foul creature lay a finger on her, but even if she resisted all his advances there'd be three more sec men outside the door, all too eager to help him.

 

 "Give them to me!" she snapped.

 

 The sec man looked disappointed but handed over the clothes.

 

 "Wait outside!" she said, pointing to the door.

 

 Reluctantly, the sec man left the room.

 

 THEY CLEARED their food trays and sat back down in their seats in anticipation for the entertainment portion of the evening. The lights in the cafeteria were turned down low, while the lights on the stage at one end of the room were turned up bright.

 

 A middle-aged woman dressed in a black shift walked onstage, and the room slowly grew quiet. "We're in for a special treat tonight. Instead of our usual show, Baron Fox himself has a special surprise for us."

 

 Everyone stopped what they were doing and directed their focus onto the stage.

 

 "And now, here he is, the giver of all good things, Baron Fox."

 

 A round of applause.

 

 The baron walked out onstage with Krysty in tow.

 

 "Krysty!" Ryan exclaimed.

 

 "You know her?" Brody asked.

 

 "That's his mate," Mildred answered. "She was captured with us, but the baron seemed to take a shine to her."

 

 Ryan turned to Mildred. "What is she wearing?"

 

 "I believe that's lingerie, and she makes it look good."

 

 Krysty was wearing a lacy black chemise and panties, and a pair of black mules with three-inch heels.

 

 "Greetings," the baron said. "Today we were very fortunate to come upon new breeding stock."

 

 A smattering of applause.

 

 "As you can see, this one is absolutely exquisite. I believe she is the finest female we've had on the farm for some time." He walked around Krysty admiring her form. "But rather than have her placed in gen pop and rutted by any who chose to or for me to choose an exclusive stud, I believe she deserves only the best. For that reason, I've decided to hold a little contest, a gladiatorial contest in which the victor will be the only one allowed to rut with the red until she is heavy and an offspring is birthed."

 

 A wave of excitement seemed to course through the assembled slaves, and the cafeteria was filled with the drone of voices.

 

 "The contest will take place tomorrow afternoon in the courtyard between the main building and the front gate," the baron proclaimed. "Work will end early so that all may watch."

 

 That brought a cheer.

 

 When the room quieted, the baron continued. "Fighters will be able to leave the arena by one of two ways. Chilled, or by their own will. The last one left will claim the prize." He paused to admire Krysty one last time. "Those interested can give their name to Norman Bauer."

 

 Norman Bauer was standing off to the side of the stage. There was a rush of men heading toward him.

 

 "Survival of the fittest," Mildred said. "Evolution in action."

 

 "What do you mean?" Ryan asked.

 

 "Charles Darwin was a scientist during Doc's time who proposed the modern theory of evolution," Mildred explained. "His principle of natural selection basically said that the strongest survive, and that a species continues to evolve through natural and sexual selection."

 

 "Meaning what?" Ryan asked.

 

 "Meaning this contest will determine who among the men here is the strongest and it's only natural that the strongest male mates with the strongest female so that the species produces the best possible offspring."

 

 Ryan nodded, then got up from the table.

 

 Brody stood, as well.

 

 "Where are you going?" Ryan asked.

 

 Brody put a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "There'll be at least a dozen men in that ring and every one of them is going to want to chill you. If you're going to break out of here in the next couple of days, you'll need to be alive to do it. And to stay alive in the arena, you're going to need someone watching your back, and that's me."

 

 "Thanks, Brody," Ryan said, grateful to have the help. "You're a good man."

 

 "You're a good man, too, Ryan," Brody responded. "Let's just hope that for the sake of your woman, you're also the best."

 

  

 

 Chapter Twenty

 

  

 

 Sec chief Ganley was first off the boat as they came aground on the south shore of Erie Lake. The beach stretched some twenty feet back from the water, and beyond that was a tangle of deadwood and choked forest.

 

 The sun was just beginning to set, and they would have to hurry to set up camp. Ganley posted a pair of guards at opposite ends of the campsite where the beach met the forest, and then led the expedition to find firewood for the night.

 

 Deadwood proved easy to find, and thirty minutes later they had a roaring fire burning on the sand and a rack of sturgeon steaks cooking on a spit.

 

 "What are you hoping to find when we get there?" Ganley asked as the group huddled around the fire waiting for the fish to cook. "What kind of mates do you all want?"

 

 "My woman's got to have all her teeth!" one of the group called out.

 

 "Mine should have breeding hips," another said.

 

 "My man's gotta be strong," Rhonda said. "Stronger than me."

 

 "Not many of those around," someone quipped.

 

 Ganley agreed. "Seeing you in action, Rhonda, makes me think that there is no such man on the planet."

 

 "No, he's out there somewhere," she said, turning to look over the surface of the water. "And I'm going to find him."

 

 After a moment's silence, punctuated by the crackling of the fire, Rhonda looked at Ganley and said, "What about you, Chief? What are you looking for on this trip?"

 

 The sec chief smiled. His only intention was to lead the mission and return as many people safely to the village as he could. The thought that he might take a mate back with him had never even occurred to him. "I'm just looking to get you all back to Reichel ville alive."

 

 "Come on, Chief, you must have a preference."

 

 "Well, she would have to be healthy, but that's obvious." He paused a moment further to consider the question. "I've always liked red hair…"

 

 "See, I told you. Everyone has things they like."

 

 "And dark skin. One or the other."

 

 "Well," Rhonda said, getting up to check on the fish. "We'll see if we can find one or the other for you. Or maybe even both."

 

 The travelers smiled and laughed.

 

 "Fish is ready," Rhonda said.

 

 "Eat up, everyone, then get some rest. We've got a long day tomorrow, and it starts with the sun."

 

  

 

 Chapter Twenty-One

 

  

 

 Ryan spent the night in a cabin with Mildred. After he'd signed up for the contest, several women not yet matched up for the night came around asking Ryan if he'd been spoken for.

 

 "He's with me," Mildred said, changing her story from earlier in the day.

 

 "Besides," Ryan said, "I need my strength for tomorrow and you look like you'd tire me out."

 

 That sent the women away with smiles on their faces.

 

 Both Mildred and Ryan enjoyed a good night's sleep, but when the sun came up they were roused out of bed by sec men banging on the side of the cabin.

 

 "We're burning daylight, people," the sec man shouted. "If you want to watch the contest today, you've got to start work that much earlier."

 

 The two friends went to the cafeteria for breakfast, and afterward Mildred was led to the nursery and Ryan joined Brody and the rest of his crew out in the orchards.

 

 "Have you ever seen one of these contests before?" Ryan asked Brody as they began pulling weeds.

 

 "A couple times."

 

 "What are they like?"

 

 "The first one I saw had only two men in it. This couple had been kidnapped on their way south and the woman was put up for battle. Her man signed up, but so did Purvis. This guy put up a good fight, but wouldn't give up and in the end Purvis had to chill him to make him stop fighting. Thing of it was, I don't even think Purvis wanted the woman, since she was already a little on the old side."

 

 "And the other time?"

 

 "This young girl, beautiful in just about every way. More than a dozen signed up for it, but most backed out early when they saw that Mog had entered."

 

 "Who's Mog?"

 

 "Big man," Brody answered. "Stands six-five, six-six, weighs near three hundred pounds. He's the farm's alpha male and pretty mean, too, meaner even than Purvis."

 

 "He's signed up for this contest?"

 

 "Oh, yeah," Brody nodded. "He has to if he wants to maintain his position."

 

 "And how many others?"

 

 "I checked this morning before getting on the wag. Eighteen so far. Might be more, might be less by the end of the day."

 

 Ryan nodded. "What about weapons?"

 

 "No blasters, of course. But when the contest begins, an assortment of hand weapons will be thrown into the arena, everything from sharp sticks and clubs to chains and maces."

 

 "So why haven't the others joined together to get rid of this Mog?"

 

 "There are those loyal to him. They watch his back, and he rewards them with breeders they might not have otherwise."

 

 "How many loyals does he have?"

 

 "Many, but only three are signed up so far."

 

 "So that makes four altogether, Mog and his loyals."

 

 "Yes," Brody said.

 

 Ryan nodded. "Then our chances are good."

 

 GANLEY GOT THE BOATS back on the water shortly after the sun came up on Erie Lake.

 

 "With any luck," he said, "tonight will be the first of many we spend with our new mates."

 

 A cheer erupted from the two boats, but then quickly died down as the sec chief settled into the regular rhythm of, "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" that would have them on the north shore by midafternoon and then on to their destination by nightfall.

 

 THEY USED the Rainbow Bridge to cross the river below the falls, but if they had a wag with them on the way back they would have to try a different route. The Rainbow had been twisted and broken by movement caused by the skydark nukes on either side of the river. The bridge could handle people on foot, but anything heavier, especially a wag, and the whole bridge could collapse into the gorge below.

 

 The Whirlpool Rapids Bridge farther downstream was a possibility, but J.B. didn't like the creaking sound the steel girders made whenever the wind blew with any strength.

 

 "So even if we find a wag, we might not be able to get back with it," J.B. stated.

 

 "No, there's another bridge farther south," Clarissa reported. "It's stable and strong. It's the one Baron Fox takes on his way to the eastern villes all the time."

 

 J.B. was satisfied.

 

 After crossing over onto the American side, they found the ruins of Niagara Falls Boulevard and took the road east, followed by an ever present gang of muties.

 

 The ville on the American side had sustained more damage than its Canadian counterpart. The houses, all made of wood, had burned to the ground in a firestorm, and the few remaining buildings were scorched black. A fine dust covered the ground and anything that had remained on the street.

 

 They crossed a highway and saw on their left the remains of an airport. They were mostly small planes with single engines, none of them with any weapons. J.B. had often wondered if he could get such a vehicle running, and perhaps even take it into the skies one day, but he knew that such thoughts were best suited for another time, perhaps when the companions were done roaming the Deathlands and he had the time and the patience for such tinkering.

 

 "The museum's just on the right," Clarissa said.

 

 J.B. adjusted his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. "Looks like a big gaudy house."

 

 "It might have been at one time," Clarissa agreed. "If 'mall' is another word for 'gaudy house.'"

 

 Doc cleared his throat. "In my day a mall was a large area, usually lined with shade trees and shrubbery and used as a public walk or promenade. But I believe in later years it was used to describe a large retail facility containing a variety of stores, restaurants and business establishments, often housed under a single roof."

 

 "They had stores for wags and blasters in predark times?" Dean asked.

 

 "No," Clarissa answered, "but they had lots of space inside for a museum."

 

 "Why no one else find?" Jak asked.

 

 "The museum is cleaned out, but not by people looking for wags. It's all in storage below ground."

 

 J.B. nodded. "If the people who ran the museum knew skydark was coming, they might have moved the museum pieces to protect them from damage."

 

 Clarissa picked up her pace. "This way."

 

 They started down a ramp that led to a large roll-up door. A sign on the right read Deliveries Only.

 

 J.B. pointed to the sign. "I guess we're just going to have to break the rules."

 

 Doc shook his head. "On the contrary, John Barrymore. Whatever we find down there will help us deliver Ryan, Krysty and Mildred from a life of slavery."

 

 J.B. gave Doc a thin smile.

 

 Clarissa lifted the large roll-up door until there was a foot-and-a-half gap between the bottom of the door and the pavement. "That's all I can open from the outside."

 

 "More than enough," Jak said, rolling into the garage.

 

 Dean crawled through on all fours.

 

 J.B. slid under the door on his back, not wanting to roll over his blasters.

 

 Doc got to the ground more slowly than the others, the joints of his knees crackling and popping in protest the closer he got to the ground. "I do hope that you intend to provide us with a more dignified way of getting out of this place."

 

 Clarissa said nothing, following Doc inside and rolling down the door behind her.

 

 There was a long line of loading docks where goods would have been loaded and unloaded from transport wags almost every day of the year. But now it was vacant for the most part, except for the far corner of the garage.

 

 "That's the stuff down there," Clarissa said.

 

 "Dark night!"

 

 "What?" Jak asked.

 

 But the Armorer didn't answer. He was already running toward the small cache of ancient items stored in the far corner of what was basically a concrete bunker.

 

 The others followed.

 

 There wasn't a LAV among the collection, but there was a decent-sized wag—the one Clarissa had stolen from Baron Fox—that would suit their needs with a little bit of work.

 

 "That's a P-39," J.B. said, standing in front of the green World War II fighter airplane.

 

 Dean came up behind J.B. "What's a P-39?"

 

 J.B. pointed to the winged relic. "That is a Bell P-39 Airacobra. It was made in this part of the country and used by the air force for ground attack in World War II."

 

 Doc tapped the aircraft's wings with his swordstick. "Don't tell me it's almost as old as I am."

 

 "Not quite, Doc," J.B. answered. "Just about 150 years old."

 

 Jak looked at the old machine skeptically. "Not know how to fly."

 

 J.B. shook his head. "Not interested in flying. If I was, I'd use that helicopter over there to land right inside the compound. No, the P-39 just happens to be armed with four .50-caliber machine blasters and a 37 mm cannon."

 

 "Hot pipe!" Dean exclaimed.

 

 "Hot pipe, indeed," Doc echoed.

 

 "If we can find some ammunition for those blasters in these stores and secure the blasters onto the transport wag Clarissa stole—" he pointed to the wag "—we'll be able to rescue Ryan, Krysty and Mildred in style."

 

 "Easy say," Jak said with a bit of a smile. "Harder do."

 

 Clarissa piped up then, agreeing with Jak. "That's right. You're talking about all of this as if it's as easy as changing a round in a blaster."

 

 J.B. was about to say something to the woman, but was cut off by a wave of Doc's hand.

 

 "My dear lady, I believe our albino friend is merely teasing his friend. The fact that what John is proposing is extremely difficult is only more of a reason why he will succeed. I have seen this man do some astounding things with blasters and wags, and I have learned never to doubt his word. I've also seen that look in his eye. This metal bird's big blaster will not only provide the means for him to rescue his friends, but it will also provide him with no small amount of pleasure. There is a light in his eyes, and he is eager to find out what a round from a 37 mm cannon can do. And, quite frankly, I am rather curious about that myself. So you see, our weapons expert will not fail. He will succeed and he will do so gloriously. There is simply no other way."

 

 J.B. had stood back while Doc spoke, and now that he was done, J.B. nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

 

 "So, instead of telling the weapons master why something will not work, I suggest you begin opening crates over there and help out in the search for tools and ammunition."

 

 "All right, I believe," she said. "Where should I begin?"

 

 "Open all the crates. Any tools you find, bring them to me."

 

 "All right, let's do it," she said.

 

 They began opening the crates and lockers piled on the loading docks, first with their bare hands, and then with hammers and crowbars after Dean found a few of the tools stored in a locker.

 

 "This looks like it might be something," Dean later called out from a corner of the underground garage.

 

 J.B. stopped his work on freeing the P-39's cannon and walked over to where the boy was hunched over a wooden crate marked with a symbol that looked like an exploding rock. He looked down into the crate over Dean's shoulder, and even though he could only see the base of the shells, he knew exactly what he was looking at.

 

 "Those are the 37 mm cannon shells," J.B. stated. "Take them out and line them up on the concrete."

 

 Dean began to lift the heavy munitions out of the crate and set them down on the loading dock. Each shell weighed more than a pound, was an inch and a half in diameter and over four inches long. When Dean was done, there were sixteen shells lined up in a row and with the shells gone, the belt that fed them into the cannon was discovered in the bottom of the crate.

 

 The Armorer picked up a few of the shells, examining their seals and general condition. "They're in good shape. If half of them fire, it'll be more than enough."

 

 "John Barrymore, come here," Doc shouted.

 

 J.B. hurried to Doc's side. He was sitting on a pile of smaller crates that had the same stencil mark on them as Dean's crate. "What is it?"

 

 "A gift."

 

 J.B. reached into the crate and pulled out a belt of .50-caliber rounds for the P-39's machine blasters. The belt and shells still had an oily sheen on them. He pulled the belt from the crate and began walking the length of the loading dock until the end of the belt appeared and he could see both ends clearly. Then he placed the belt on the floor and began pacing out its length. It took him nine steps to get from one end to the other. "The whole nine yards," he said with a gleeful smile.

 

 Doc gave him a confused look. "I am afraid I do not understand."

 

 "The belt is twenty-seven feet long and full of ammunition. It's as much as you can load into one of these machine blasters. In the Pacific Arena in World War II, pilots would use the expression 'I gave him the whole nine yards' to say that they used up all their ammunition against the enemy."

 

 "How do you know that?" Clarissa asked. She'd come over to join J.B. and Doc, along with Dean.

 

 Doc turned to the woman and said, "There isn't anything having to do with blasters and bullets that J.B. does not know about. Even the most insignificant and trivial bits of information are stored within his brain, sometimes to the exclusion of other, more valuable bits…as we have just been witness to."

 

 "It also means," J.B. said, realizing Doc was just having some fun, "that we'll be able to use two of the machine blasters rescuing Ryan, Krysty and Mildred."

 

 "And my sister," Clarissa added quickly.

 

 "Yes." J.B. nodded. "And your sister."

 

 That seemed to please her to no end.

 

 "Now that we've got the ammunition," J.B. said, "let's see if we can get the old bird to give up the blasters."

 

 KRYSTY ATE her breakfast in her room under the watchful eye of a young sec man who looked harmless enough. His gaze never wavered from her body the whole time she was eating, and Krysty couldn't be sure if he was doing his job or simply getting an eyeful.

 

 She decided that if he was enamored with her, then maybe she could use that to her advantage.

 

 "That's a nice blaster you've got there," she lied. It looked like a Smith & Wesson Model 18, but the different metal shadings betrayed its status as a remade. It was a .22 rimfire that wasn't good for much more than plinking cans off fence posts, but the young sec man seemed proud of it.

 

 "Thanks," he answered. "It's been a friend to me."

 

 "I had a Smith & Wesson myself," she said, unzipping the front of her jumpsuit, as if she were warm.

 

 "Really?"

 

 "Yes, a .38-caliber Model 640."

 

 "Wow, that's a big gun for a…"