Strontium Swamp

He wasn’t so successful. The layers of sand kept the wells and springs of the desert running deep. However, a brief search did reveal more signs of scrub and plant life than before.

Meanwhile, J.B. and Ryan rigged their own device to try to squeeze a little water from the unwelcoming desert. Using some plastic wrap that had been on some of the materials taken from the redoubt, they built small hammocks that collected the dew in their centers. The resulting water was brackish, but at least it showed that they could attempt to prolong their survival in this manner.

Mildred and Krysty collected some of the scrub as they marched each day. It was few and far between, and mostly tinder-dry. Although not encouraging for the presence of water, it did signify that there was something present, and at the end of each day it meant that they had enough to build a fire that could keep burning—small, but bright—through the night, offering warmth and a warning to any wildlife that may be too bold.

It also meant that they could cook the small mammals and lizards that Jak had caught. These were tough, stringy and none too tasty, but compared to the self-heats that were the only other option, they were like manna from heaven. It also meant that they could preserve the self-heats for a real emergency, and the salty meat enabled them to cut back a little on the consumption of the salt tablets, another commodity they might have to retain for an emergency.

It took only two days for the companions to settle into a routine, and by the third day it seemed as though they had been marching forever. It was partly because their bodies were beginning to adjust to the conditions and the rules of consumption imposed upon them by the environment, and partly because they had no time scale they could work to, and so lived totally in the moment.

Jak finished chewing on a piece of lizard meat and choked it down. It was tough, with little taste, but at least it didn’t have the chem taste of the self-heats.

“Mebbe not have argument much longer,” he said, referring to the exchange between Doc and Mildred.

Ryan looked at him sharply. “Why’s that?”

Jak shrugged. “More life. Last night they move less wary, less searching. Like they know food and water okay. And look at that—” he gestured toward some scrub in the distance “—even from here see more green.”

“Mebbe we haven’t got too far to go, then,” Ryan said with the ghost of a smile. The thought that they may be within striking distance of a more hospitable terrain was heartening, but he didn’t want to get his hopes—or those of his companions—up too much before discovering the actuality.

J.B. looked up at the early morning sun. In the area they had now reached, there was less of the heavy, yellow chem-cloud cover, and the blue sky shone through. As the sun rose, the heat would undoubtedly beat down on them, but it would be an easier heat to deal with as the lack of cloud cover would mean less intensity and magnification.

In itself, the lessening of the chem clouds bespoke of leaving the worst of the desert behind them.

“Y’know, Jak might just be right,” the Armorer said.

So it was with a refreshed and renewed spirit that they set off once more. Packing up their camp and starting to move to the west, there was a spring in their pace that they had to fight hard to control: too much energy expended too quickly would be of no help to them if the prize was farther than they thought.

IT WAS PAST MIDDAY when the breakthrough happened. There had been an increase in the amount of scrub, and just before the sun reached its peak Jak had stopped them with a gesture, pointing up into the clear blue. There, soaring in an arc against the blue, was a dark shape with a long wing-span. It was the first bird they had seen since leaving the redoubt, and an indication that taller plants and trees lay somewhere close to hand.

It gave them a lift to see this, and they continued with a greater sense of optimism and purpose, as well as an increasing awareness—more life meant more risk of danger and attack.

The edge of the desert was delineated in a strange way. They had seen many bizarre land formations in their travels, but this was one of the oddest. For some time it had seemed to them that they were moving uphill once more, the sand lifting up before them in a series of dunes that grew higher. Although the sand here was harder packed and firmer underfoot than the treacherous grains they had first encountered, the gradient was enough to pull at their calf muscles. It was an effort to keep up the pace, so they slowed slightly to make the ascent easier.

The summit was on them before they knew it; and a strange, bizarre sight greeted them. As they stood on the peak of the dunes, they were aware that the land fell away for a couple of hundred yards then leveled, so that it was higher than the level of the desert floor behind them. This land was lush and covered in vegetation and scrub, with copses of trees peppered around, forming small woods. The air carried with it the scents of animal and plant life, and similar sounds could be heard at the edge of their hearing. There was a faint tang of ozone in the breeze, suggesting that they were nearer the coastline Jak remembered than they had realized.

Ryan looked back at the desert behind them. It stretched away as far as he could see on every side. But the dunes on which they stood also seemed to carry on out of view to the left and right. It was as though the disturbance of the land after the nukecaust had caused this area of the Deathlands to drop down and form a valley, one in which the chem clouds had been sucked in and trapped, perpetually hanging over the lands within. This had magnified the effects of the elements and converted this area into an arid desert at a rapid rate, evolving into the sandy wastelands in a fraction of the time it should otherwise have taken.

Ryan realized that the redoubt had pitched them into the middle of a trap, and it was only by dogged persistence that they had escaped. How many others had wandered into the desert at some point and never reemerged?

Turning back to the fertile lands beyond, he breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever trouble they got into from here on in, at least it wouldn’t be for starvation or thirst.

“Reckon we’re near the coast now?” Krysty asked.

Ryan shrugged. “Figure we’re closer than we were before. There’s only one way to find out. Triple red from here on in, people,” he added, shrugging the Steyr off his shoulder and checking to make sure it was ready to fire. “There’s no knowing what we may come up against now.”

The rest of the companions followed suit, checking that their weapons were ready for rapid response, then falling into line behind the one-eyed man as he set off for the interior. Jak followed directly in Ryan’s wake, with Krysty and Doc taking the middle positions, Mildred and J.B. at the rear, with the Armorer taking the last place, covering their backs.

The woodlands and scrub grew dense rapidly, and before half an hour passed, they had to start hacking a path through the thickets, watching for the tangles of roots that crossed the floor of the woods, laying treacherous traps for the unwary.

Ryan wanted them to be as unobtrusive as possible, but this was hard when the very density of the woodlands made progress impossible without some kind of noise. The thick grasses and tall plant life also made it possible for someone with a good vantage point to be able to track their progress. It was far from ideal, and Ryan was aware of the additional problem. The very noise of their progress made it hard for them to hear anyone who may be advancing on them.

The deeper they went, the darker it became as the sky overhead was shielded by a canopy of green. The sounds of birds flying between the trees and the rustling of animals and reptiles moving in the upper branches also took their attention. Most of the wildlife seemed far more wary of them than they were of it. Despite the sounds, a glimpse of anything living was a rarity. From those few examples that did occasionally come into view, it seemed that the resident wildlife of the woodlands was small and nonthreatening.

The humidity grew even as the glare of the sun vanished, and the companions became aware of the sweat that ran off their foreheads and down their backs, gathering in uncomfortable pools at the base of the spine. Some were more afflicted than others, but gradually all of them shed at least one layer of clothing, opting to wrap it around them rather than swathe themselves. The humidity and sweat was an irritation, and made them all edgy. Even though it was better than the killing sun of the desert, it had its own dangers, making them prone to be trigger happy, something none of them wanted to be. A needless shot could alert far more danger than the sounds of movement in the undergrowth. There were no signs of human life at the moment, but as they neared the coast, chances were that they would hit a ville or habitation of some kind. No one liked a group of strangers descending on them unannounced, so the companions needed to be on triple-red alert.

“Fireblast,” Ryan hissed as his panga half sliced and half bludgeoned more plant life from his path. “This seems more trouble than all that sand.”

“I think on the whole I’d rather have this,” Mildred answered, even though the one-eyed man hadn’t really been asking anyone’s opinion. “At least we can get some food and water in here, and at least we’re going the right way.”

“Mebbe, but I’m getting sick of this undergrowth. It’s thicker than flies on a twelve-times-a-night gaudy slut,” Ryan returned.

“Never fear, friend Ryan. It is said that when we come from the desert we shall find both revelation and salvation,” Doc replied beatifically.

“What’s with the revelation and salvation?” Krysty asked. “You sound like some kind of old-time preacher, like the ones that Mother Sonja used to tell us stories of back in Harmony.”

Doc looked blank for a second, as though he was scanning his mind for some kind of clue. Eventually he gave up and shrugged. “Truly, my dear lady, I have no notion of from whence these notions have sprung—nor, indeed, if they wish to disperse in some manner or to continue. I only know that they are flashing into the forefront of my consciousness with such a strength that I feel compelled to give tongue to them. I wonder,” he continued in slightly awestruck tone, as though to himself, “if they will continue, or indeed if they are some part of my mind that is trying to tell me something?”

“Trying to tell you that you’re a crazy old bastard,” Mildred muttered. “I really wish you’d give it a rest with the biblical shit, Doc. Reminds me too much of my own childhood.”

There was something about her tone that would brook no argument, but Doc was so lost in his own thoughts that this completely passed him by, and he asked in a naive manner, “Really, my dear Doctor? Why, pray tell, would that be?”

Mildred rolled her eyes and considered telling Doc where he could shove his questions, but was stopped by Jak.

“Shut up—no stupe shit,” Jak whispered, staying them with a raised hand.

Ryan stopped and turned to the albino, questioning him with a raised eyebrow. The others also stopped behind Jak, waiting to see what he had to say. Each of them listened, but couldn’t, at first, pick out what had alerted the albino hunter’s finely tuned instincts.

Jak pulled on his camou jacket with a smooth, silent motion, wrapping the material around him so that he had easy access to the leaf-bladed throwing knives hidden within the body of the jacket. As he did so, the others strained to catch what had taken Jak’s attention.

Each sound within the woodlands became more than just a part of the overall tapestry. As they listened, each sound became distinct to the point where they could isolate and identify it as bird or animal…except for something that sounded like themselves, crashing through the undergrowth. Quieter, perhaps, as mere people who were more used to the layout of the woods, and could pick their way through the thickets with greater ease. But not enough to conceal their presence.

If they were tracking the companions, then they would know that they had been spotted, as they would have heard the cessation of activity. But if they were making their own way regardless of anyone else in the woodlands, then they wouldn’t know that they had been heard.

Either way, they were headed straight toward where the companions were gathered.

Ryan turned in the direction of the oncoming group and planned his defense. He had to move swiftly, as they were getting nearer with every second. He looked at the companions, blasters in hand, and grinned wryly. Plan their defense? In this situation, his people would probably be able to second guess whatever he was about to say.

With just an exchange of glances, the companions sprang into action. Jak took a standing jump at an overhanging tree and pulled himself into the lower limbs, finding his balance and scaling it with ease until he was in the upper reaches. He scanned the area visible from the top, taking care to keep himself concealed. About a mile away he could see a small inlet from the sea beyond, and the signs of a village—too small to really be called a ville—that had settled there. Coming toward the companions from an oblique angle to the village were four men and a woman. They were dressed raggedly, and although they moved with a degree of care, they looked haggard, and their movements were made audible by a weariness that made them careless. They carried swords and machetes, with revolvers stuffed into their waistbands. From the careless manner in which they were carried, Jak guessed that the five were unused to blasters.

Quickly climbing down the tree, Jak rapped out what he had seen. The party of five was only a couple of minutes away from them now, and Ryan directed his friends into defensive positions in the undergrowth.

“We want to let them pass if possible. If there’s a settlement, last thing we want is to piss off the people there by chilling some of their own.”

“Not look like after us,” Jak added.

Without further discussion the companions moved into position. Ryan and J.B. had blades in the shape of their panga and Tekna knife, respectively. For Jak, the leaf-bladed knives were almost a part of his person. And Doc withdrew the sword from within the silver lion’s-head cane. The blade was made of the finest Toledo steel, honed to razor sharpness, and despite their continuing travels the old man took care to keep it polished and sharp.

Mildred and Krysty, who never habitually carried blades, took a leaf-bladed knife each from Jak. They both weighed the blades in their palms, getting the balance of the delicate but deadly knife.

Now armed for silent combat, they took up position. Jak and the Armorer ascended into nearby trees, giving them a good position of both the view on the ground beneath, and also of the path of their enemy.

For the other four, it wasn’t quite as simple. With no clear-cut path for the approaching enemy to pursue, the grounded companions had to guess the least likely areas to be traversed. Ryan took a thick clump of shrub that had a prickly leaf as his base, figuring no one in their right mind would want to cut through it. Mildred and Krysty both opted for dense clusters of tree and shrub growth that they had to squeeze into. These weren’t impassable, but anyone in a hurry would opt for an easier path. Doc chose to conceal himself in the bole of tree that had been hollowed out by insects.

Once in cover, all they could do was wait, the sounds of the villagers growing louder as they neared. It was obvious that they were trying to keep the noise down, but were unsuccessful. Snatches of urgently whispered exchanges came drifting through the undergrowth.

“…heard it, I’m sure…”

“…better be something big—too long since the last time…”

“…you don’t shut the fuck up it’ll…”

This last was from the woman, hissed in an irritated tone. The group was obviously on edge and hunting some kind of animal. Up in his tree, Jak grinned to himself. Whatever these people were, they were no hunters. There had been little sign of large animals so far in the woodlands, and the noises they had been tracking were obviously the sounds made by the companions.

The positive thing in this was that the hunters were so poor that they would probably walk right past the hidden companions without even knowing they were there.

Or at least, they would have done if not for Doc.

For some time, Doc had been aware that the bole of the tree wasn’t the best place for him to have secreted himself. As he heard the hunting party approach, he also heard the small tickings and scratchings of the insects that had eaten out the hollow bole of the tree. They had been silent when he had first entered, and so he had assumed that the tree had long since been vacated. Now he knew that he was wrong, and that the insects had merely been dormant. His disturbing their space had awakened them, and now they were intent on seeing what had invaded their domain.

His skin began to itch. Whether the insects were really starting to crawl on him, or whether it was a matter of his imagination going into overdrive, was in a sense immaterial. All that mattered was that the sensation was driving him mad. He tried to keep his resolve as he heard the enemy slash its way through the woodlands, getting closer, but all he could feel were thousands upon thousands of tiny insect feet crawling over his skin, tiny teeth nipping at his flesh, injecting his bloodstream with who knew what kinds of venom.

Doc fought the panic rising within him, knowing that to burst out of the hollow tree yelling would be to blow any kind of cover the companions had. If these hunters could pass by without a fight, then it would be the better to approach the coastal village. Yes, Doc knew all this, but only with the rational side of his mind. The irrational side, that which had been accentuated by the rigors of being trawled through time twice, being tortured by Cort Strasser, being the weakest and the most prone to injury and infection, that side of his mind was sometimes the stronger.

“Dark night, I don’t believe it,” J.B. whispered from his perch. One moment, all had been quiet and secure as the five-strong hunting party made their way past the companions, clueless as to how close they actually were to their quarry. The next, the peace of the woodlands was disturbed by the sound of Doc Tanner, yelling and screaming like a soul possessed, leaping from the bole of the tree, waving his sword above his head, treating his finely tuned blade like a broadsword. J.B. couldn’t make out what the hell Doc was yelling, but it sounded like something to do with insects.

The Armorer had no time to think about this and puzzle over it. Like the others, he knew that any chance of escaping hand-to-hand combat had now disappeared, and they had to silence the hunting party as quickly as possible.

Ironically, given that it was his eruption that had spurred the fight, Doc’s violent entry into the fray gave the companions the upper hand. The hunting party, who had almost passed unknowing through the area where the companions were concealed, were stunned by the sudden apparition before them.

That moment of indecision gave the others all the time they needed. J.B. slid down from the trees, Ryan emerged through the shrub and Mildred and Krysty came out of hiding.

The shock on the faces of the hunting party showed how little they had been aware of their opponents. It would have been a swift and clean chill for the companions, if not for the crazed Doc. Screaming, and swinging wildly with his sword, he teetered off balance and fell toward J.B., the blade swishing down so close to the Armorer that it nicked his shoulder, ripping the cloth of his shirt as he tried to move out of the way. He cursed, and as Doc flew past him he lashed out at the old man. He didn’t want to injure Doc, but with the old man floundering as a loose cannon, the best thing would be to put him out of action, and quick. He caught Doc a glancing blow and the scholar fell to the forest floor with a grunt as the impact drove the air from his lungs. Without thinking, he rolled and pulled the LeMat percussion pistol from his belt.

Wild-eyed, barely seeing, he pointed it at J.B., who froze. If Doc discharged the shot chamber, there was no way that he would be able to get out of the way of the hot metal in time. Was this how it was to end? At the hands of a friend, albeit one who was temporarily mad?

Doc, in a crazed world of his own imaginings, had no idea that it had been J.B. he had inadvertently attacked, and who had been defending himself. In his head, the insects and the hunting party were confused in such a manner as to make everything that touched him a potential enemy. By instinct he had drawn the LeMat and aimed at the indistinct blur that had thrown him to the ground. But now, as he focused and his finger began to tighten on the trigger, the world around him swung into an equal focus.

“By the Three Kennedys!” he exclaimed, realizing that he was about to blow J.B. into pieces. “John Barrymore!” he yelled, jerking his arm up at the last moment so that the round of shot was discharged harmlessly into the air, ripping the overhanging foliage to shreds and chilling a few birds, but coming nowhere near harming the Armorer.

J.B. blanched, felt the blood drain from his face. It was so close that he could hear his heart thumping in his chest, his head prickle and feel faint as lights exploded around him and the deafening roar of the LeMat shut out everything else.

For a moment, everyone else in the gathering had been silent, all mute witness to the drama unfolding. The explosion of the LeMat seemed to galvanize them into action. With a yell, the woman in the hunting party threw herself at Ryan, wielding her knife in an amateurish, over-hand action. It was easy for the one-eyed warrior to sidestep her clumsy attack and club her to the ground with the hilt of the panga.

The off-hand manner in which he did this, and the fact that he didn’t seem to take her attack seriously enough to chill her, only seemed to enrage the four men all the more. With a volley of screams, they launched themselves at their prey.

The companions couldn’t afford to take chances. Given time, they might have tried to overpower the hunters and find out about their village. They needed food and shelter, perhaps a boat to take them across the inlet. Chilling five of the inhabitants wasn’t the best way to show peaceful intent. However, with the noise of Doc’s pistol likely to attract more attention, and all of it hostile, it became an imperative to free themselves from the hunting party. Especially as these five had made it clear their intent was to take no prisoners.

The four men were faced by Mildred, Krysty and Jak. Each carried a blade, but the one facing Jak looked suddenly uncertain as he caught the cold gleam in the eyes of the albino hunter and paused midflight to try to draw his ancient revolver. It caught him in a no-man’s-land of indecision, and area where he could expect to be shown no mercy.

With a slow, almost lazy gait, Jak stepped toward the man, feinting with one arm and using the other to pull a precise, tight arc that took in the attacker’s right-hand side. This was the side holding the knife, and it dropped from nerveless fingers as the leaf-bladed knife sliced cleanly through the flesh of his lower arm and wrist, blood dribbling and spurting from the wound, severed nerves causing his fingers to open. The villager looked at his suddenly lifeless fingers, hanging loose and open, all intent of grabbing his revolver with his left hand forgotten. Not that he had much time to stand and stare, as the continuing arc carved up the side of his head, splitting the flesh from jaw to hairline, before a flick of Jak’s wrist took the blade down again, the point burrowing into his exposed neck—opened to a clean blow by the instinctive jerking back of his head as the flesh was carved—and, with a gentle pirouette of the blade, severing the carotid artery so that the man’s lifeblood pumped out, hissing and steaming across the surrounding foliage.