[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"I believe so." Doc profoundly wished that he could have thought of something
brave or witty to say, but he felt sick, old and terrified.
"Ryan'll be here soon," she said, seeing Dean's eyes on her, managing a wink
to show him that she wasn't beaten yet. But with the stickles starting to rise
and wander about, she didn't dare say more to reassure the boy.
Doc had been trying to count the number of muties in the camp. Not that he had
any serious hope of escape, but it gave nun something to occupy his mind. The
trouble was that they kept moving around, and they all seemed to look the
same. Lean, with stringy hair and dreadful complexions.
"Count the legs and divide by two," he'd breathed to himself. He made it
around thirty or so. Two-
thirds were male, though the women were difficult to tell apart. Most carried
crude knives or axes, but several had blasters. It seemed as though they must
have recently carried out a successful raid on a large ville or wag train.
They had a stash of cans of lamp oil and tubs of pitch, which they'd used
against Quindley.
Doc had learned a fair bit about the variety of human genetic mutations that
had flowered across
Deathlands since the long winters, and he knew that stickies were about as bad
as they got. The only possible reason for taking prisoners was to torture and
kill them with as much cruelty as possible. No ransom or trade would be taking
place. Just some long, slow dying.
"How is your bruised head, my dear Mildred?"
"Like someone's been using it to line a parrot's cage. How about you?"
"Chipper and perky and ready to be up and doing. Soon as Ryan and the others
get here."
"You sure they'll come, Doc?"
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"Sure as I ever was about anything, madam. If they don't all arrive shortly, I
shall, to put it mildly, be most frightfully disappointed."
IF IT HADNT BEEN for the fact that they were on a desperate expedition to try
to rescue their friends from the horror of the stickies, the boat trip across
Sham-plin Lake would have been surprisingly pleasant.
It was a calm, serene morning, the sun breaking through over the tops of the
heavily wooded mountains to their right. There was absolutely no wind to
ruffle the limitless expanse of black,
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%2...Children%20-%20Laurence%20James%2
01.1b.txt (131 of 147) [12/24/2004 11:23:05 PM]
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/Axler,%20Jame.../021%20-%20
Twilight%20Children%20-%20Laurence%20James%201.1b.txt mirrored water. Behind
them, their vanishing wake stretched southward, creditably straight, arrowing
toward the just visible bulk of the ville.
By the time there was enough light for them to have been seen, they were far
enough away to be almost invisible to the naked eye. Ryan had deliberately
steered them close to the eastern shore, in the shallows.
He set a good pace, trying to send the small boat darting northward at the
best possible speed.
There was no weak link among the four of them, and the oars rose and fell in
graceful, unflagging unison.
Far over their heads, a lark soared and filled the morning sky with its
piercing song. A hundred yards behind them a single fish leaped exultantly
high from the water, its scales a dazzling rainbow of iridescence. It fell
back into the lake with an audible plopping sound, leaving only a diminishing
circle of ripples to mark where it had been.
Moments later it repeated its brave salute to the dawning. There was a humming
of wings and a blur of movement as a falcon swooped on it, plucking it from
the air in its cruel talons and bearing it off toward the shore.
"Should've kept its head down," J.B. grunted just behind Ryan.
MICHAEL HAD BEEN glancing back over his shoulder, disrupting the rhythm of the
rowing. Ryan kept telling him to concentrate on his oar and not to worry about
trying to spot any sign of the stickies' camp.
But it was the teenager who first saw the thin column of pale gray, almost
white smoke, rising high above the dark mantle of conifers that shrouded the
rolling hills to the east of the lake.
"Easy," Ryan cautioned, shipping his own oar, letting the boat coast silently
forward under its own momentum. The only sound was the water dripping from the
blades.
The camp was roughly where he'd remembered it from the previous day, looking
to be about a hah*
mile inland from the shore. He stared intently behind them, to the south,
checking that there was no pursuit coming from Quindley that might hinder
their rescue operation.
But the water was scraped clean of any life.
"Head in," he ordered.
"THINK THEVLL FEED us, Mildred?"
"I somehow don't think so, Dean."
For a moment the prisoners were on then- own, with the nearest of the muties
fifty yards away. The little children from die ville all seemed to have
subsided into a collective catatonic stupor.
They wouldn't look up or move or respond to Mildred's and Doc's futile
attempts to rouse them from their dismal apathy.
"Think Dad'll be here?"
Doc answered. "Does a dog piss in the sea? No, I fear that I have used the
wrong phrase."
"You mean does a mutie shit in the woods, Doc."
"Indeed, I think it was something along those lines. But there is no scintilla
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of doubt that the inestimable Master Cawdor will be here with us in two shakes
of a lamb's tail."
"They aiming to chill us all, Mildred?"
"Got to be their plan, son."
"You, as well?"
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%2...Children%20-%20Laurence%20James%2
01.1b.txt (132 of 147) [12/24/2004 11:23:05 PM]
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/Axler,%20Jame.../021%20-%20
Twilight%20Children%20-%20Laurence%20James%201.1b.txt
Mildred grinned, feeling the movement mil where the corner of her mouth had
been split by savage punch. "Me, as well. Stickles aren't racially sexually
prejudiced when it comes to chilling, Dean."
THE KEEL OF THE BOAT kissed the soft shingle and came to a gentle stop.
"Tie it up?" Michael asked, leaping out, knee-dc in the cold water.
"Don't think this lake's tidal." Ryan glanced at J.R for reassurance.
"Doubt it. Just pull it up." There was a bank of scrubby bushes nearby. "Put a
bit of that over it, in case anyone passes by."
"We might need to get away fast." Krysty was sniffing the air like a hunting
dog. "Bad taste to things, lover."
"Definitely the stickies?"
"For sure. Been some chilling already."
"Dean and the others?" Michael paused from putting armfuls of undergrowth over
the boat.
"Can't tell. Have to wait for that."
Ryan stood back and looked at the concealed vessel. "That'll do it," he said.
"Now, everyone knows where this is. Take a careful look around. Lite Krysty
says, we might be off and running good when we get back here. Won't be time to
hunt around wondering where we hid it."
"What's the plan of attack, Ryan?" Michael was checking his Texas Longhorn
Border Special, work-
ing the fluid action of the 6-round, centerfire .38 revolver, while the
Armorer looked on approvingly. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl karpacz24.htw.pl
"I believe so." Doc profoundly wished that he could have thought of something
brave or witty to say, but he felt sick, old and terrified.
"Ryan'll be here soon," she said, seeing Dean's eyes on her, managing a wink
to show him that she wasn't beaten yet. But with the stickles starting to rise
and wander about, she didn't dare say more to reassure the boy.
Doc had been trying to count the number of muties in the camp. Not that he had
any serious hope of escape, but it gave nun something to occupy his mind. The
trouble was that they kept moving around, and they all seemed to look the
same. Lean, with stringy hair and dreadful complexions.
"Count the legs and divide by two," he'd breathed to himself. He made it
around thirty or so. Two-
thirds were male, though the women were difficult to tell apart. Most carried
crude knives or axes, but several had blasters. It seemed as though they must
have recently carried out a successful raid on a large ville or wag train.
They had a stash of cans of lamp oil and tubs of pitch, which they'd used
against Quindley.
Doc had learned a fair bit about the variety of human genetic mutations that
had flowered across
Deathlands since the long winters, and he knew that stickies were about as bad
as they got. The only possible reason for taking prisoners was to torture and
kill them with as much cruelty as possible. No ransom or trade would be taking
place. Just some long, slow dying.
"How is your bruised head, my dear Mildred?"
"Like someone's been using it to line a parrot's cage. How about you?"
"Chipper and perky and ready to be up and doing. Soon as Ryan and the others
get here."
"You sure they'll come, Doc?"
Page 122
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Sure as I ever was about anything, madam. If they don't all arrive shortly, I
shall, to put it mildly, be most frightfully disappointed."
IF IT HADNT BEEN for the fact that they were on a desperate expedition to try
to rescue their friends from the horror of the stickies, the boat trip across
Sham-plin Lake would have been surprisingly pleasant.
It was a calm, serene morning, the sun breaking through over the tops of the
heavily wooded mountains to their right. There was absolutely no wind to
ruffle the limitless expanse of black,
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%2...Children%20-%20Laurence%20James%2
01.1b.txt (131 of 147) [12/24/2004 11:23:05 PM]
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/Axler,%20Jame.../021%20-%20
Twilight%20Children%20-%20Laurence%20James%201.1b.txt mirrored water. Behind
them, their vanishing wake stretched southward, creditably straight, arrowing
toward the just visible bulk of the ville.
By the time there was enough light for them to have been seen, they were far
enough away to be almost invisible to the naked eye. Ryan had deliberately
steered them close to the eastern shore, in the shallows.
He set a good pace, trying to send the small boat darting northward at the
best possible speed.
There was no weak link among the four of them, and the oars rose and fell in
graceful, unflagging unison.
Far over their heads, a lark soared and filled the morning sky with its
piercing song. A hundred yards behind them a single fish leaped exultantly
high from the water, its scales a dazzling rainbow of iridescence. It fell
back into the lake with an audible plopping sound, leaving only a diminishing
circle of ripples to mark where it had been.
Moments later it repeated its brave salute to the dawning. There was a humming
of wings and a blur of movement as a falcon swooped on it, plucking it from
the air in its cruel talons and bearing it off toward the shore.
"Should've kept its head down," J.B. grunted just behind Ryan.
MICHAEL HAD BEEN glancing back over his shoulder, disrupting the rhythm of the
rowing. Ryan kept telling him to concentrate on his oar and not to worry about
trying to spot any sign of the stickies' camp.
But it was the teenager who first saw the thin column of pale gray, almost
white smoke, rising high above the dark mantle of conifers that shrouded the
rolling hills to the east of the lake.
"Easy," Ryan cautioned, shipping his own oar, letting the boat coast silently
forward under its own momentum. The only sound was the water dripping from the
blades.
The camp was roughly where he'd remembered it from the previous day, looking
to be about a hah*
mile inland from the shore. He stared intently behind them, to the south,
checking that there was no pursuit coming from Quindley that might hinder
their rescue operation.
But the water was scraped clean of any life.
"Head in," he ordered.
"THINK THEVLL FEED us, Mildred?"
"I somehow don't think so, Dean."
For a moment the prisoners were on then- own, with the nearest of the muties
fifty yards away. The little children from die ville all seemed to have
subsided into a collective catatonic stupor.
They wouldn't look up or move or respond to Mildred's and Doc's futile
attempts to rouse them from their dismal apathy.
"Think Dad'll be here?"
Doc answered. "Does a dog piss in the sea? No, I fear that I have used the
wrong phrase."
"You mean does a mutie shit in the woods, Doc."
"Indeed, I think it was something along those lines. But there is no scintilla
Page 123
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
of doubt that the inestimable Master Cawdor will be here with us in two shakes
of a lamb's tail."
"They aiming to chill us all, Mildred?"
"Got to be their plan, son."
"You, as well?"
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%2...Children%20-%20Laurence%20James%2
01.1b.txt (132 of 147) [12/24/2004 11:23:05 PM]
file:///C|/2590%20Sci-Fi%20and%20Fantasy%20E-books/Axler,%20Jame.../021%20-%20
Twilight%20Children%20-%20Laurence%20James%201.1b.txt
Mildred grinned, feeling the movement mil where the corner of her mouth had
been split by savage punch. "Me, as well. Stickles aren't racially sexually
prejudiced when it comes to chilling, Dean."
THE KEEL OF THE BOAT kissed the soft shingle and came to a gentle stop.
"Tie it up?" Michael asked, leaping out, knee-dc in the cold water.
"Don't think this lake's tidal." Ryan glanced at J.R for reassurance.
"Doubt it. Just pull it up." There was a bank of scrubby bushes nearby. "Put a
bit of that over it, in case anyone passes by."
"We might need to get away fast." Krysty was sniffing the air like a hunting
dog. "Bad taste to things, lover."
"Definitely the stickies?"
"For sure. Been some chilling already."
"Dean and the others?" Michael paused from putting armfuls of undergrowth over
the boat.
"Can't tell. Have to wait for that."
Ryan stood back and looked at the concealed vessel. "That'll do it," he said.
"Now, everyone knows where this is. Take a careful look around. Lite Krysty
says, we might be off and running good when we get back here. Won't be time to
hunt around wondering where we hid it."
"What's the plan of attack, Ryan?" Michael was checking his Texas Longhorn
Border Special, work-
ing the fluid action of the 6-round, centerfire .38 revolver, while the
Armorer looked on approvingly. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]