Ryan chewed his lip, trying to unravel Doc’s language, the likes of which was no longer heard in the Deathlands. Finally, he nodded. “I understand. I figured along the same lines, I guess. But it’s a matter of playing the odds, Doc, and I figure that we should go with it. If we pay heed, and keep our backs covered—”
“Then that is all we can do,” Doc finished.
WITHIN A FEW HOURS, the companions, refreshed by their showers, were visited by Lonnie and Travis, who informed them that they would be eating shortly in the large room where the ovens were now installed. Travis also informed Mildred that Cy was sleeping, and that his condition was stable.
“But I’d be grateful if you could take a look at him later,” he added.
Mildred agreed, and waited until Lonnie and Travis had left before murmuring, “Considering we injured him, they’re being too damn nice about it.”
J.B. shrugged. “That’s life—and chilling—Millie. Most places they’d have chilled us straight away, but…”
“But we’ll find out soon enough,” Ryan finished.
The companions made their way to the eating room. The rest of the redoubt was empty except for one man, who sat alone in one of the living quarters. Doc looked in, and observed that it was a room that housed the monitors for all the sec cameras in the redoubt. To his surprise, none of the monitors were dark.
“Good heavens, that is most unusual!” he exclaimed.
The man on duty turned to him and shrugged. “Hell, if any of these go down, we probably couldn’t fix ’em. Have to start posting guards. Still, our luck’s holding so far. Guess Papa Joe’s right—mebbe it is our fate to be here and get even.”
Doc nodded and smiled. “Guess so, friend,” he said cheerily before slipping out of the room, adding to himself, “Now, that really is interesting.”
As they reached the eating room, they could see that the whole community was gathered together. There were about thirty in all, with only one-third of those being female. They were eating in relative silence, with only a very low hum of conversation taking place. Looking around, Dean could see that there were no children—no one, in fact, who seemed to be under the age of sixteen. The youngest-looking man in the room was a whip-thin boy who had the beginning of a beard, and was hunched over his food, as though wanting to appear invisible. Yet this had the opposite effect, as his intensity was such that he appeared to radiate a nervous energy that drew your eyes to him. Bizarrely, it was almost as though he could feel Dean looking at him. He turned to face the younger Cawdor, his eyes burning bright through his spectacles, a keen intelligence showing through. His eyes locked on Dean’s, as though he were assessing him. Then he gave the faintest of grins, and the briefest of nods, before turning back to his food.
Unusual for a community setup, there seemed to be no table and privileges reserved for the baron—although it had been noticeable that Correll hadn’t referred to himself as such—and the man who was leader was seated to one side of the room, with a group of people among whom were Travis and the Native American woman who had been in the defense party they had faced earlier. Correll stood when he noticed the companions enter, and beckoned them to him. They seated themselves at his table, some of the redoubt community moving to make room, and were served food by those who acted as cooks. Even these seemed to be on a par with everyone else, as there was no sign of a pecking order, and the cooks were as lean and fit as the people they had faced earlier.
In fact, this was one thing that all seemed to share. They seemed trained and fit, ready for combat at any time. This was a community that was carrying no passengers.
While they ate, they made small talk, and it wasn’t until the meal was nearly over that Ryan judged it time to broach the subject that had, sooner or later, to be talked about.
The one-eyed man downed some of the brew that had been supplied with the meal, then took a breath. “I guess it’s about time we all leveled. You know we came here using old tech. It was something we stumbled on, and we can’t control it although we know how to trigger it. It’s some kind of system for transporting people and objects across vast distances by breaking it all up into atoms and shooting it across from one comp to another.”
Correll nodded slowly, sucking in his breath. “That’d be crazy talk if I hadn’t known there was no other way to get into this place. So you can work it, but not control it?”
Ryan shook his head. “Guess it’s like you in that sense. You know something about the old tech, enough to use some and keep some going, but not enough to really make it work for you.”
Correll nodded. “That’s what we can find out. It’ll be sweet, and we can settle a few old scores. But to get at that knowledge, I need to know you’ll join us in a firefight.”
“Never shirked one yet,” Ryan said levelly. “Just tell us what it’s about.”
Correll sat back in his seat and looked up at the ceiling. “We’ve been here for about ten years now, just getting ourselves ready for when fate decrees we can rise again. See, I used to be sec chief for Charity—” he spit the name of the ville with an undisguised venom “—which is just about the stupidest name you can think of for a ville run by such a coldheart son of a gaudy like Baron Al ‘Red’ Jourgensen. Got run out of town because I was heading sec on a convoy headed for a trade rendezvous. We got raided by a party from Summerfield—they’re the ones who know something about the old ways, ’cause they had blasters and shit like you ain’t seen before. We didn’t stand a chance. All the things we were trading, all the jack we carried, it all went. Red wanted to chill me and the rest of the party who survived, so we had to run. Dammit, there was shit all we could do….
“Anyway, we found this place, and over the years there were others who Red was a shit to…. See, we lost the trade and jack ’cause Red didn’t let me take enough blasters or men. Always frightened he was gonna be overthrown if he let that happen. Stupe bastard deserves what he’ll get. We all come from Charity, but we won’t show none to old Red.”
“So why is it right now?” Krysty asked.
Correll raised an eyebrow. “Fate works in strange ways. It’s hard desert land out there, and that rad-blasting sun means jackshit grows that well. Summerfield may have old tech, but they ain’t got shit to protect their water, and they lost a whole heap of women ’cause of rad sickness. While Red—Well, that stupe fucker has screwed up his whole farming scheme, and there ain’t jackshit to eat. He needs jack for food and seed crop to start over.”
J.B. nodded to himself. From the description of the land, and what he’d seen earlier on the outside, he was now sure that he had been correct in his guess that they had landed somewhere in New Mex. That knowledge may be useful.
Correll was in full flow. “So Charity and Summerfield have a little deal going down. Red is selling them some women for breeding stock, and in return he gets jack to buy food and seed crop to start over. Thing is, we know the route they gonna have to take, and we’re gonna take them out. Get the jack and the women, then in the confusion when they think they’re double-crossing each other, we take out Summerfield, get their secrets, then wipe that bastard Red off the face of the earth.”
Correll’s speech had been listened to by all in silence, the hush spreading as he talked longer. Now he was cheered by the assembled throng.
“We’ve trained hard, denied ourselves families, denied ourselves rest, and now fate has delivered vengeance to us,” he yelled, to be greeted by whoops and hollers.
“They call us the Hellbenders out there,” one of the group screamed. “I know, I ain’t been here long. But they’re right—we’re sure as hell bent on vengeance.”
Ryan touched Correll on the arm, and the leader looked down at him, his eyes wild and gleaming, for a moment not seeing the one-eyed man.
“So