Читать книгу Hell Road Warriors - James Axler - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Ryan gnawed contentedly on a rib of barbecued wild boar. Little more than reconstituted Diefenbunker olive oil, salt and fresh-picked herbs had worked glory over the fire spit. The convoy had broken out predark folding picnic tables, lit fires, candles and storm lanterns, and it was a full-on feast. A woman played a mandolin, accompanied by flute, and several people were dancing. Toulalan’s sister pressed a fresh can of Diefenbunker beer into Ryan’s hand. She was nothing like her brother. She was small and dark with black hair, olive skin and huge dark eyes. However the twinkle in her eyes, the penchant for smiling and similar mannerisms made their kinship unmistakable. Ryan chewed the arc of bone more out of habit and for pleasure than anything else. In the Deathlands one often never knew where the next meal was coming from. Gorging was a reflex. The pig had been accompanied by green beans and something called potatoes au gratin that had sent Mildred to sighing with joy. The convoy had spent several days resuscitating large quantities of the Diefenbunker’s cryo-frozen fresh food. Six’s pig had also been accompanied by beer.

The convoy was celebrating survival. They celebrated Ryan and his friends as conquering heroes. They had moved the convoy to a little hill surrounded by flat plain. The convoy formed a loose defensive ring around the hill. Sentries had been sent out, and Ryan’s LAV sat on crest with a 360° view of the landscape, ready to rain doom on anyone who approached. Jak was taking the first watch in the turret.

Krysty leaned her head against Ryan’s shoulder. “You think they’re fattening us up for the kill?”

Ryan spoke quietly into her titian tresses. “No, they lost their fighting LAV because they barely know how to operate it. If we hadn’t shown up, they’d be dead. They’re laying out the spread because they want us to join up.”

“And?”

“I haven’t made up my mind,” Ryan whispered. “And Toulalan looks like he’s about to get down to recruiting.”

Yoann Toulalan raised an ancient piece of plastic picnic stemware full of wine in Ryan’s direction. “Salut, mon ami!”

Ryan raised his can along with everyone else at the table and sipped the brew.

“So,” Toulalan began, “you’ve been in the bunker, no?”

Ryan looked up at the LAV on the hill and back at Toulalan.

The man shrugged sheepishly. “Yes, but of course. But we have access codes. May I ask how you gained entrance?”

“You can ask,” the one-eyed man replied.

The irony wasn’t lost on the Canadian. “Yes, I see.”

“Let me ask you a question,” Ryan said.

“Anything,” Toulalan replied.

“That bunker is still loaded with food, blasters and goods, and you’re driving away from it.” Ryan lifted his chin and pointed. “Quebec is that way. Why aren’t you loaded to capacity and running for home?”

Toulalan shrugged. Ryan was beginning to believe the man’s shoulders, hands and eyebrows were connected to his mouth. “Well, my friend, there’s more to life than bullets and beans.”

That struck a sympathetic chord with Ryan. “And so?”

“I’m an explorer.” He shot Ryan a very shrewd look. “Like yourself.”

Ryan kept his poker face. More times than he could count he and his friends had found places as decent as the Deathlands got to settle down in. But in the end Ryan always kept moving on, always exploring. He was more than an explorer, knew in his heart he was a searcher. Many people, even some of his companions had accused him of searching for something he would never find; and that he really didn’t even know what he was searching for anymore. Nevertheless, his friends followed him, willingly.

Toulalan pursed his lips in thought. “Would you care to hear some Canadian history?”

There was nothing at the moment Ryan wanted to hear more. He took a sip of beer and idly considered the can. “If you want to tell it.”

“Well, skydark came. This we all know. But Canada, we had no nukes and far fewer—how do you say…high-value targets? Oh, we got hit, but for the most part surgically. Capitals, military bases. It wasn’t like the horrific exchange that created the Deathlands. We have been south. We know. Few earth-shaker bombs, tailored viruses or, as we say, orgy weapons like the United States and its prime enemies flung at one another.” Toulalan sipped wine. “Nevertheless, the weather changed, the Earth changed. Tailored viruses will spread, and fallout and chem storms, well, they know no boundaries. When the big freeze happened, well…” Toulalan shrugged. “This is Canada.”

“And?”

“And so. In the Deathlands, people left the cities because they were radioactive. In Canada, the cities were abandoned because in the nuclear winter they were freezing and there was nothing to eat. You have thousands of ruins. We have thousands of ghost towns. Winters were always long in the north and summers short. Now the winters are longer and the summers shorter. Spring and fall? Beautiful respites, but I warn you, do not blink. They are ephemeral. And come Father Snow, we have, what we call, the hard freeze. You can literally see it come toward you, like an avalanche across the horizon. Pray you never see it, except from behind thick stone walls with a roaring fire at your back.”

“Speaking of that, isn’t it getting a little late in the season,” Ryan questioned, “to wag it cross country?”

“Indeed.” Toulalan leaned forward. “We’re behind schedule. We must push hard.”

“Where are you headed?”

“West.”

Ryan ran his eye over the collection of wags. “I noticed you don’t have a tanker. You got tanks and cans loaded on every wag, but not enough fuel to cross country.” Ryan crushed the empty can in his hand. “You’re going from bunker to bunker.”

Toulalan tossed off a postapocalyptic French-Canadian shrug and considered the one-hundred-year-old wine in his glass by candlelight. “Will you tell me how you got into the bunker?”

Ryan was starting to believe that Yoann Toulalan had no idea what the mat-trans chamber was. “Codes can be broken.”

“The computers are locked.”

“Trade secret.”

“Ah.”

Ryan threw his cards on the table. It might be for an ephemeral moment, but Ontario was green. His rad counter told him this was the cleanest land in North America he’d seen in a while. His friends didn’t want to jump again, and despite his every effort he found himself liking Yoann Toulalan. “What are you proposing?”

“You and your friends can drive and fight a LAV. That’s worth its weight in gold.” Toulalan set his glass on the table. “I’m tempted to offer you a place here in the convoy.”

“But?”

“But I beg of you, tell me something of you and your friends.”

Ryan kept it short and to the point. “I’ve led convoys, guarded convoys and drove convoys. I can drive any wag you got, and I can wrench a little.”

“Very useful.” Toulalan looked up toward the LAV guarding the convoy. “And your pale friend?”

“Jak’s the best fighter I know, and he’s a tracker.”

“Excellent.” Toulalan looked over at J.B. The Armorer was getting deep into his beer. “And your cannoneer?”

“Armorer. He can fix any blaster you got.”

“Excellent.” Toulalan looked at Mildred. “And her?”

“She’s a healer, and you tell Six ‘hands off.’”

“Understood.” Toulalan ran an appreciative eye over Krysty. “And her.”

Ryan smiled. “She’s mine.”

“Ah.”

“She’s a crack shot,” Ryan said.

“Better and better.”

Toulalan looked askance at Doc. “And him?”

Doc was well into his wine and speaking French to a good-looking young woman wearing a coverall and a tool belt. Ryan had to admit the old man was something of a sight wherever they showed up.

The one-eyed man smiled. “Doc’s our…resident scholar.”

“Ah!” Toulalan laughed. “Very good!”

Ryan watched Six walk by. He never stopped walking the perimeter, but each time he passed the feast he cast long looks at Mildred.

“Your man Six doesn’t like muties.”

Toulalan made noise. “Who does?”

Krysty’s body went rigid against Ryan. He kept his tone neutral. “You don’t tolerate them?”

“In the Deathlands, do you?” the man countered.

“Some villes do. Some don’t.”

“Ah. Well, in Val-d’Or those born mutant are culled.” Toulalan shrugged again. He seemed to consider the matter to be of little consequence. “Life is hard enough without nurturing horrors.”

Krysty’s hand clenched Ryan’s knee.

Ryan kept his voice neutral. “What’re you proposing?”

“Accompany us west. As far as you like. My convoy will be far stronger with you among us. As for you, there’s safety in numbers. Alone, even a wag as powerful as a LAV is vulnerable.”

Everything Toulalan said was true. Ryan took another beer. “Authority?”

Toulalan shrugged again. “I’m the leader of this convoy. You’re the leader of your people. If I wish something of any of your people, I’ll ask you. You’ll accept my authority over the convoy and obey my orders until the day you find you can’t. On that day you and I’ll shake hands and part as friends.” Toulalan held up his glass again. “If you join us, the only thing I’ll promise you is food like you have never known until that food runs out. That will be your—how do you say it in Deathlands, jack? And when the bounty of the Diefenbunker runs out…” Toulalan shrugged again. “Well, you have tasted Six’s pig.”

It was a damn tempting offer. “I’ll have to talk with my people.”

“But of course. Take your time. You may give me your answer in the morning, and whatever that answer should be, I insist you and your friends stay for breakfast.”

“Mighty kind, and I’ll think on your offer.” Ryan rose and took Krysty’s hand. He looked over at the mandolin player and the flautist. A young man playing a hand drum had joined them. “Right now I’m gonna dance with Krysty.” The redheaded beauty grinned in delight and stood to join him.

RYAN SIGHED as Krysty collapsed forward onto his chest. He pulled the top blanket back over them both. He handed her the canteen without being asked, and Krysty gulped water thirstily. She gasped and tilted the spout to Ryan’s lips. He drank deeply and relaxed back, staring up into the Northern Lights. “What do you think?”

Krysty sighed. “It’s greener here. The air is cleaner. Open country. Just lying here I can feel Gaia more strongly.”

“Toulalan said the good times don’t last long.”

“Neither does a man’s orgasm, but I don’t hear you complaining much.”

Ryan snorted and got back on topic. “And?”

“Lot of good food. Mildred isn’t going to want to leave until every last crumb is gone.”

Ryan couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Mildred so happy. “The sec man, Six, he’s eyeballing her long and hard.”

Krysty chuckled. “Mildred said ‘brother-man’ probably hasn’t seen any chocolate good thing in a long time.”

Ryan got the gist of it. “And?”

“And Doc could use a rest from jumping. Gaia knows so could the rest of us. Besides, Toulalan said we can leave whenever we like, and I think I believe him. He seems like a decent man.”

Ryan knew Krysty’s moods all too well. Despite the wine, the dancing and the lovemaking, he knew she had been simmering since supper. “You aren’t happy.”

“No.” Krysty’s voice grew cold. “I’m not.”

Ryan had a real strong suspicion about what was bothering her. “And?”

“You heard him.” Krysty clutched Ryan tightly. “He kills muties. And I’m one.”

Bigotry was all too alive and well in the Deathlands, only now most often it was directed at the integrity of someone’s DNA rather than any race, creed or color.

“If you want to go, we’re gone. Right now.”

Krysty rolled off Ryan and stared up into the night. “I didn’t say that.”

They were quiet for long moments as they stared into the shimmering veils of the light show above. Krysty was a mutie. It didn’t show outwardly, unless her hair flexed around her head when she was in distress. Most places in the Deathlands tolerated muties if they weren’t too deformed, or if their mutation proved useful somehow. A lot of places drove them out. All too many summarily executed muties upon discovery. It made Krysty sick to have to hide her own leap in evolution; but Ryan knew she would hide it, and take it, for the sake of the man she loved, and her friends.

“We’re in this together, lover,” Ryan told her. “I’ll defend you to the death.”

Krysty snuggled closer. “I know.”