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  Mildred pulled back from Krysty's face, her own features stained with perspiration. "It's okay," she said hoarsely, "Krysty's breathing on her own again."

  Beneath his fingertips, Ryan felt the flutter of his lover's heart. As that registered, her eyes pulled down to his, fo­cusing with effort.

  "Lover," she said weakly.

  "What happened?" Ryan asked.

  "They're moving out there," J.B. called from the win­dow. "Trying to fan out to get position on the front door. If they have a couple grens, they could come knocking real hard."

  Ryan knew that, and his mind raced with the possibilities and problems that occupied his attention. Survival was first and foremost, but that meant Krysty's survival, too, and at the moment that appeared tied to Elmore.

  "Phlorin's still inside my head, Ryan," Krysty replied. "She was talking to me. She made me go blind here, then stopped my heart to show me she could." She reached up for Ryan, trembling. "We've got to get her out of there. Can't stand not having my head not be my own."

  "We will," Ryan replied, but fear touched him because he knew he didn't have the first idea how they were going to do that. The old woman was as dead as he knew how to make her. "Can you move?"

  "Yes." Krysty nodded, then acted like she instantly re­gretted the effort. "I'll manage."

  "Good enough." Ryan turned his attention back to Elmore as Doc continued questioning him.

  "What would be the purpose of such a memory trans­fer?" the old man asked.

  "The Chosen are broken down into groups," Elmore answered. "Donovan could tell you more, but I can tell you that. This woman was one of their scouts. An explorer. That beaded pack with all the designs on it told me that. The explorers don't travel back to their ville very often. They aren't allowed to. They get sent out to find what they can and make sure the information gets back to the others."

  Ryan listened to the sound of Krysty's breathing as he went to join J.B. at the window. He took advantage of the cover the windowframe offered and scanned the area. Naylor's men were in motion, but there were few places for them to go.

  "I asked Donovan about it once," Elmore said, "and he told me that if another Chosen comes up on a dead one soon enough, mebbe even within a few hours after, then they could still force a transfer."

  "Then what happens?" Krysty asked, her voice cracking with emotion and exhaustion.

  Elmore shrugged. "You mean what do they do with the information? Take it back to the others, I guess. You'd have to talk to Donovan about the rest of it."

  "He knows about things like this?" Ryan asked.

  "Only person I know of that would," Elmore admitted. He looked uneasy about saying that, and Ryan knew the man was wondering if he'd said too much. "Finding Don­ovan ain't easy."

  "Saw a map once with Heimdall Foundation marked on it," Ryan said, laying the ace on the line. "A few days west of here, traveling by foot."

  "He won't be there," Elmore said. "And that's assum­ing that map and your memory of it are right."

  "Where'll he be?"

  Elmore looked imploringly at Ryan. "Mister, I don't want to die. And if you turn me over to the baron's men out there, that's surely what's going to happen."

  Ryan couldn't argue with that, and there wasn't time to investigate the matter between the two men any further at the moment. "Where's Donovan?"

  "It's spring," Elmore answered reluctantly. "He'll be up in the mountains making sure of the water supply to the Foundation. Staying hidden like they do takes a lot of water to run things."

  "If we take you out of here," Ryan said, "you can take us to Donovan?"

  "Hell, yes."

  Ryan looked at the man. "You try to fuck around with me, I'll chill you the first time I know it."

  "Sure."

  "Cawdor!" Naylor shouted from outside.

  "I'm here," Ryan shouted back.

  "We can still deal," the sec chief roared.

  "Don't know about you," Ryan said, "but I'm kind of shy on trust at this end."

  "One of my men got jumpy," Naylor explained. "Didn't mean nothing by it."

  "A man under your command who doesn't follow orders isn't worth having," Ryan responded. "Man will never be able to carry his own weight, much less work into the po­sition of being an asset."

  There was a pause. "I see you've had some training."

  "Enough."

  "What about the man I want?"

  "Make you another deal," Ryan said, "since you seem so keen on changing the one I thought we had."

  Naylor paused, and the silence drew out. "Tell me," he said at last.

  "Trot out the man who fired that shot," Ryan stated. "Then I want you to execute him in front of me."

  "What?"

  "You heard me. Call it a show of faith." Ryan glanced at J.B., making sure his friend was comfortable with the idea.

  "Man might not feel so bad about chilling some poor bastard," the Armorer said, "who's already been wounded or is dead. Stake him out there, shoot him a couple times, make it look good."

  "That's fine," Ryan said. "Every minute we get here gives Jak and Dean that much more time to get to the other end of that tunnel."

  "You can't be serious about asking me to chill one of my own men," Naylor called back.

  "I'm serious about it. If you don't want to chill him yourself, get him to that clearing and I'll chill him for you." He lined up the Steyr, gazing through the scope and sifting through the shadows he spotted around Naylor's po­sition.

  "I can't do that," Naylor said.

  "That's too fucking bad," Ryan told the man. "Because you're not getting the man without doing it."

  "Don't take the high hand with me, Cawdor. I've been looking at that building, noticing how much wood is in it. If you don't get burned to death in a fire, you'll at least be smoked out. Give me the man, and I'll make sure you get out of here alive."

  "Mebbe there's something you haven't been consider­ing," Ryan said laconically. "You walked into this situation and ended up between my people and the coldhearts. What makes you so sure you can just walk right back out of here when you get ready?"

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Turn your back on me, and I'll chill you and your peo­ple every time I get a shot," Ryan promised. "I figure my chances here look better if you're trapped over there. The coldhearts waiting to pick up the pieces won't be quite so anxious to come back in here."

  "You're triple stupe!"

  "I don't see the coldhearts charging in here," Ryan said. "And I don't think it's just because of the number of peo­ple I've got holed up in here with me." He put the Steyr's crosshairs over the first of two men he'd spotted. Only a sliver of the man's face was visible behind the wag wreck­age where he took cover. The second man was attempting to scale the wags, avoiding the pockets of acid rain left in the dents in the rusted metal. Ryan put a round through the face of the first man, then managed a body shot to the second man before he could reach cover.

  The first sec man flew backward, his brain pan emptied in a violent gush over the men behind him. The second sec man stretched out atop one of the ruined wags, his flesh sizzling in the pool of acid rain gathered on top. His hoarse screams echoed in the artificial canyons as he struggled to get out of the water.

  A fusillade of shots slammed against the front of the building, driving Ryan to deeper cover. He took a moment to glance at Krysty, noting in satisfaction that the redhead was moving more smoothly now. Her face still contained pain and fear, and it hurt Ryan to see it.

  "Stop firing!" Naylor bawled. "Stop your bastard firing or I'll shoot the next man pulls a trigger myself!"

  The blasterfire stopped, but the sec men challenged their chiefs decision with curses and questions. "Let's chill all those stupe bastards in there and be done with it," one man yelled. Most of the others agreed with the sentiment.

  "Well," Ryan demanded during the lull, "how do you want to handle it, Naylor?"

  "Fuck you, Cawdor."


  "Something to think about," Ryan said. "We sit here chilling each other, those coldhearts out there may decide to pitch in and help."

  "You think we can trust each other?" the sec chief asked.

  "Mebbe a little more than before," Ryan said. "At least this way you know we aren't going to hesitate or back down."

  "You're a hard man."

  "You haven't seen hard yet," Ryan promised. "We end up stuck here past sunset and you haven't made up your mind, I intend to find out how good your men are in the dark. Of course, me and my people will only be a few predators out there among a bunch of others. You spotted all those skeletons out there, didn't you?"

  Naylor didn't say anything.

  "The coldhearts look like they've been feeding on hu­man flesh when they had to or when they could get it," Ryan pointed out. "And they don't look to have been too particular about disposing of the leftovers. You can bet this place turns into a regular feedlot at night. And this close to rad-blasted areas, a lot of those night feeders are going to be muties. Mebbe some you haven't seen before."

  "Dad." Dean's voice drifted up from the hole in the floor.

  "Yeah, son. Come on through." He drew the SIG-Sauer and kept his finger on the trigger just in case Dean wasn't coming alone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dean eased up out of the hole. His hair was matted with dog shit and his clothing covered with it. He sat the lantern down on the floor, then raked pieces off his face with his fingers. "Found the other end. Comes out about 150 yards away."

  "The river?" J.B: asked.

  Dean nodded. "Real close."

  "Where's Jak?" Ryan asked.

  "Watching the other end. Some coldhearts are out there. Coming this way."

  "Toward the tunnel?"

  Dean shook his head. "Didn't look like it. That tunnel isn't where anybody would want to go unless they had to. Looks like it hasn't been used by anything but dogs. Mebbe they've even been kept in there for a while. Triple bad going through there, Dad."

  "We don't have a choice," Ryan said.

  "At least, after a bit the smell kind of goes away." Dean brushed at his clothes some more.

  "My boy," Doc said, "you are sadly mistaken."

  "Mildred," Ryan said, "you and Krysty get moving. Dean, help keep these youngsters moving along."

  The woman, Mary, started to protest, pulling at her son protectively.

  "Let Dean take him," Ryan told her. "He'll stand a better chance with him than with you. Dean knows where to move and when to move." He flicked his gaze over to the other man holding his daughter. "Same for your girl."

  "I know it," the man said. "Seen this boy in action myself. I've lived roughing it in the past, but it's been a while ago."

  Ryan turned to his son. "Take them, Dean. Stay close to Mildred and Krysty. We'll stagger the rest of them out."

  Dean nodded and called the two youngsters to him. The boy went reluctantly, needing threatening from his father to get moving. His eyes filled with tears, but he went along. The girl, older than him by a couple years, took his hand and guided him as Dean helped them down into the tunnel.

  Mary tried to go after her son.

  "Wait," Ryan ordered, swinging the SIG-Sauer enough so that she caught the movement.

  "That's my son," she protested.

  "I know it," Ryan said. "And you need to stay back a ways. You crowd up on him, Dean won't be able to get him back to you if something goes wrong."

  "He's right, Mary," her husband said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Man knows what he's doing. Staggered line like this, we can cover for each other."

  Ryan waited a bit, feeling the humidity press in through the windows.

  "Cawdor!" Naylor sounded more anxious.

  "Doc," Ryan said, "take the next group through." He pointed at Mary and her husband, then at one of the re­maining women.

  "I surely will, my dear Ryan, and how long before you join us on that road less traveled?" Doc grimaced as he peered into the tunnel.

  "A few minutes," Ryan said. "J.B. and I are going to shut things down here."

  "Do not tarry," the old man warned. "In her present state of mind, I know Krysty will want you by her side." He took another lantern from the shelves and lighted the wick, adjusting it until it burned well.

  "Get it done, Doc."

  Doc dropped into the hole, then turned to help the women down. "Dear ladies, I do so apologize for not doff­ing my jacket as a true gentleman would to make the going more palatable, but I fear it would be but a waste of my raiment."

  The women ignored him, not liking what they were hav­ing to do, but clambering into the tunnel all the same. Sur­vival pushed most people through life, Ryan knew. The husband followed them, then Doc crawled through, as well.

  "Cawdor!" Naylor called again.

  "What?" Ryan asked.

  "It appears to me that we're both in a bad place."

  "Man's kind of slow, isn't he?" J.B. asked with a mirth­less grin. "Hadn't been so single-minded about getting Elmore back, he could have waited to see if we were going to throw in with him, then chill us when we were least expecting it."

  "Already knew that," Ryan called out to the sec chief. He motioned at Elmore and lowered his voice. "Take the rest of them through."

  Elmore nodded, then climbed up from the floor. He took a lantern from the wall.

  "If you aren't at the other end when I get there, you can bet all your jack that I'll come looking. And I'm good at hunting men." Ryan tossed the man the weapon they'd taken from him.

  Elmore caught the blaster and nodded grimly. "Figured you would be."

  "And I also don't intend to see anything happen to that woman."

  "I'll get you to Donovan," Elmore promised. "If we get out of here." He dropped down into the tunnel after the others.

  "Cawdor?" Naylor called, sounding less sure than he had before.

  "I'm listening," Ryan answered.

  "Wasn't sure."

  "What's your plan?"

  Ryan gestured to J.B., pointing at the pockets where the Armorer kept his grens. "We'll leave them a going away surprise."

  J.B. nodded.

  "There's safety in numbers," Naylor said. "Why don't you and yours come out, then we can get past those damn coldhearts."

  "Convince me." Ryan caught the gren J.B. tossed him. He walked to the door and pulled the gren's pin. Working the gren, practiced in what he was doing, he jammed it between the bottom of the door and the floor, wedging it into place with a knife he got from one of the dead men. The gren balanced precariously, the plunger pressed tight against the door. Once it was opened, it would send the grenade spinning away, the 3-second delay fuse inside burning.

  Naylor seemed at a loss for words, but he struggled through it.

  J.B. slipped his gren onto one of the support struts at the back of the room, tying it into place with a rag he picked up from the floor. "When your blast goes off," the Ar­morer said, "it should free this one. Second blast will catch anybody coming through that door after the first one, or give them more cause to think about coming through so quick."

  "Either way," Ryan said, "it'll buy us some time we need." Before he could drop into the tunnel, blasterfire erupted outside. He returned to the window, puzzled when he didn't hear the slap of bullets against the building. As he watched, he saw misshapen brutes weaving between the stacks of wrecked wags.

  "The ghoulies," J.B. said. "Guess they got tired of wait­ing for dinner."

  "Bastards move through that wreckage smooth and quiet," Ryan said. "Good thing we didn't get caught out there."

  J.B. silently agreed.

  The ghoulies shattered Naylor's defensive line, driving his men out from cover. They fired into the muties, but it was almost like shooting at shadows. The ghoulies were too quick for the sec men, and they swung their axes and makeshift weapons with deadly accuracy.

  Without warning, the sec men broke from cover and rushed toward the building where Ryan and J.B. were.
There was nowhere else for them to go. The ghoulies stayed hot on their heels.

  "Time to go," Ryan said grimly. He ran for the tunnel and dropped through the hole in the floor. The stench of the dog shit and wet fur filled his nose as his feet squished across the tunnel floor. He reached up to close the trapdoor, shutting the Armorer and himself into the darkness. Work­ing to keep the Steyr clear of the muck below, he put a shoulder against one of the walls and started forward.

  The first gren exploded behind him before he'd gone twenty paces. Screams of wounded and dying men rushed down into the tunnel, and the vibrations of the explosion rattled clods of earth from the tunnel's ceiling. Then all those sounds were temporarily swallowed up by the explo­sion of the second gren.

  Ryan kept going forward as fast as he could. Even if Naylor's sec crew didn't find the tunnel in the building, there was a chance the ghoulies already knew about it.

  HARSH SUNLIGHT lanced into Ryan's eye as he emerged from the other end of the tunnel. He followed the SIG-Sauer out of the hole, coming up in a blind created behind stacks of wags. "Anything?" he asked.

  Blasterfire still sounded in the distance behind him. Bay­ing hounds punctuated the noise, along with the screams of men.

  "We appear to be well out of sight here, my dear Ryan," Doc said. The humid wind whipped at his grayish locks, brushing them across his shoulders. "But I fear that such harbor is fleeting at most. We would best be served by setting about our course again. Whatever that is."

  "The river," Ryan answered. "Double quick." He glanced at the men, women and youngsters he'd promised to help, resenting their presence now that he realized they would only slow the companions' efforts at saving themselves. "Saw some boat docks during an earlier recon. Mebbe we'll take one for ourselves, see how far we can get."

  "J.B., I want you and Jak walking point. Keep each other in sight, with a forty-yard lead on the rest of us."

  J.B. and Jak took off at once, already knowing from the sun's position which way the river lay.

  "Elmore," Ryan went on, automatically redistributing his gear and weapons, "you go next. Dean, I want you on him. He makes a move to break free of the group, put a bullet in the back of his head."