“Excuse me,” a new voice said. “What a redoubt?”
Caught by surprise by her sudden appearance, the companions said nothing to the member of the Core standing in the doorway, holding a sagging bundle of horsehide. For a brief moment, Ryan debated chilling the masked girl, but where could they hide the body from people who traveled underground? But something had to be done and quickly. The existence of the redoubts was the greatest secret of the preDark world, and they had no intention of sharing it with anybody.
“This is a redoubt,” Mildred said with a smile. “It means a fort, or a protected place, and this brick wall protects us from the wind.”
“Oh,” she said softly, then added, “My name is Dnal and I have some food for you. May I enter?”
Doc waved her inward. “Come in, child. This is your town after all.”
Hesitantly, she did so. “You are wrong, old one,” Dnal said. “This building has been given to you for your stay. None of the Core are allowed within a spear’s throw.”
“That looks like horsehide,” Dean said. “Are our horses aced?”
“Yes,” the masked girl replied, placing down the bundle. “Their minds could not handle what they saw. We carved them into food and brought the very best to you.”
Unwrapping the flap of hide, J.B. found a stack of thick steaks, the flesh still dripping with fresh blood.
“I thought you folks didn’t eat real food,” Ryan asked.
Dnal turned to face him. “We do not, but the Holy Ones do. They can eat anything, but prefer fresh meat.” Then she untied a small gourd hanging from her rag belt and placed it alongside the pile of meat. “I thought you might like some jinkaja to have in case you change your mind and wish to stay with us.”
Trying to hide his disgust, Ryan’s first impulse was to shoot the container and kick the mutie girl out of the ruins. Gaza had forced the obedience of his people by controlling their water supply; Alar and the Core did the same thing. Either way, it was just another form of slavery, and that was completely unacceptable.
“Thank you,” Ryan said politely. “However, we are still considering the offer.”
“If—” she paused and then rushed forward with the words “—if you’re going to cook the flesh, may I stay and watch? I have never eaten food before.”
Mildred patted the ground nearby, and the girl sat with the effortless grace of a ballerina. The physician wanted a better look at the Core, and this was a prime opportunity.
“First we dig a hole,” Mildred said, drawing her knife, “so the wind doesn’t put out the fire.” And protected within the ruins, nobody should be able to see the flames. Mildred knew Gaza was still somewhere out there. Perhaps he had given up hunting the companions, but maybe not, and it was always wiser to plan on what an enemy can do, instead of what he might do.
The girl watched excitedly while Mildred got to work digging the cooking pit. Meanwhile, the rest of the companions went to check the other buildings, soon coming back with armloads of fuel, wooden tables and chairs and bookshelves to build a respectable fire. Soon the campfire was going, and Mildred roasted the meat well to prevent any parasites from being conveyed to new hosts. The smell was thick and greasy and sent waves of hunger through the companions. Their last meal had been MRE rations, and before that, cold dog stew at the ville.
“By the way,” Ryan asked, turning the steaks with a whittled stick, “ever heard of a norm called the Trader?”
“Yes,” came the surprising reply from the girl, who seemed as fascinated as much by the fire as what it was doing to the slabs of meat. “He is the enemy of our enemy.”
“Ah, Gaza,” Ryan said, taking a shot in the dark. He was local and utterly ruthless. That made him a prime candidate.
Staring into the flames, Dnal nodded. “Yes! He controls scorpions, we worship the Holy Ones. They dislike each other greatly and always battle to the death.”
Well, not always, Ryan thought to himself. But here in the Great Salt it was probably true.
When the meat was dark brown and sizzling with fat drippings, Ryan carved up portions and served them. Using their U.S. Army mess kits, the companions filled the steel plates with juicy steak and started eating. The meat was stringy and difficult to chew, but it filled their stomachs and eased the growing pangs of hunger. That was more than enough for the moment.
Dnal watched their every move as if it was brand-new, and timidly accepted a roasted morsel to nibble on the edges. Through the slit in her bandages the girl had a very human-appearing mouth, tongue and teeth. Of course that meant nothing these days; muties came in every shape and size.
She inspected the food, sniffing at it for a while before taking a tiny nibble, and then popping the rest into her mouth. Chewing experimentally, Dnal almost immediately started to gag. Spitting the half-chewed meat onto the ground, she then grabbed the small gourd and deeply drank the jinkaja to cleanse her mouth.
“Hideous!” Dnal cried, wiping some blue juice from her mouth on the back of the wrappings covering her arms. “It was like consuming hot waste straight from the backside of some animal!”
“Definitely needs more salt,” J.B. said languidly, glancing at the Great Salt desert only yards away from the ruins. If the girl understood the joke, she didn’t find it amusing.
“You okay?” Mildred asked, touching Dnal’s shoulder. The bones under the coverings felt human, as did the muscle play. As far as the physician could tell, this was a perfectly ordinary fifteen-year-old girl. Maybe only the minds of the Core were unique, amplified a millennium into the genetic future of humanity.
Shying away from the steaks spitting on the fire, Dnal nodded vigorously. “I am undamaged,” she said, moving her mouth as if trying to get of the terrible taste. “Merely…wiser now.”
Rising, she started for the open doorway, then turned and paused, pulling a spear into view from where it had been hidden, leaning against the other side of the brick wall.
“I thank you for the hospitality,” Dnal said solemnly, and gave a small bow.
Somehow it reminded Ryan of when they had jumped to Japan and tangled with those samurai and the shogun king. Each bow meant something different to them, and no outsider ever really understood what the gestures fully meant.
“We thank you and your father in return,” Ryan said, giving a even smaller bow from his sitting position.
At that, Dnal tilted her masked head. “How did you know Alar was my father?” she asked quizzically.
Ryan continued eating and said nothing. As if a chief would have sent anybody else but blood kin to palaver with the outlanders visiting the tribe.
“If I may, I would like to ask a question, dear child,” Doc said as casually as possible, patting his greasy mouth clean with a grayish linen handkerchief. “Can we really leave whenever we wish?”
“Of course!” Dnal answered, sounding slightly insulted that the word of the Core should be questioned, especially by meat eaters. “Go anytime, and anywhere.”
Then she turned and pointed. “Except to the south. That is the blessed land, the origin of the Core and none may go except for the leader of the Core. For any others, it means death.”
J.B. shot Ryan a glance, and the Deathlands warrior subtly nodded in agreement. The land to the south was probably radioactive, he thought, glancing at the rad counter on his lapel. But the device indicated that they were in a safe zone. If so, why did the Core mutate into telepaths? Was it the bug juice? Merely another reason never to touch a single