Axler, James - Deathlands 109 - Chrono Spasm by Axler James

Author:Axler, James [Axler, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure
ISBN: 9781460307083
Google: gTSjcZbCfYwC
Goodreads: 17198750
Publisher: Gold Eagle
Published: 2013-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Somewhere within that rat-run of ice tunnels that made up the ville, Ryan was making a swift check around him while Doc covered them. Hurst was watching them both from the now-open doorway to his cell, his mouth gaping open. He had lived as a prisoner here for a long time, and while he had witnessed a few attempted escapes, he had never seen such a bold prison break. These two newcomers were either extremely brave or really stupid—and if it turned out to be the latter, Hurst decided, then he would rather be found waiting obediently in his cell than running loose like a gaudy slut on jolt. That was a sure way to a chilling.

Ryan and Doc moved on, leaving the indoctrinated prisoner to his fate. They had met too many like Hurst over the course of their travels, people who had given up all hope. It was as if they wanted to be treated like dirt, to be abused by power-hungry barons who understood nothing of compassion.

The narrow tunnel they traveled had solid ice walls. Several windows were carved indelicately along one wall. Ryan peered through one and saw the pen that held the mutie caribou out front of the ville itself. Identifying this as the exterior wall, Ryan told Doc that they would follow it for it gave the best odds of finding egress from the claustrophobic tunnels.

The tunnel gently sloped, too, just like the cell he and Doc had been locked within. Ryan figured going downslope was his better option. There was just one problem—figures were hovering there in the shadows, and a heated discussion could be heard echoing down the tunnel.

“I heard a blaster, something’s happened.”

“Tinck ain’t at his post, must be something going on.”

“We should go check.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s one of the cells. Damn these bastards, where did they find them anyway?”

Ryan listened silently, discerning at least three voices. Getting Doc’s attention, he indicated ahead and showed three fingers. Doc understood.

An instant later, two people emerged into the soft glow of the floor lamp. They were armed, one with a club, the other a scarred blaster as long as his forearm, and both men had impressive beards that brushed against their dried-skin clothing. Ryan didn’t hesitate. Already he had the Smith & Wesson raised, and he snapped off a shot at the blaster bearer.

The man slumped back as half his head exploded in a bloody splash. Ryan was already moving, bringing his blaster around as the second man spotted him. There were more of them behind, Ryan saw now, hemmed in by the narrow confines of the tunnel, unable to attack in force. That might help, if he and Doc could avoid getting shot anyway.

Ryan brought the heavy weight of his blaster around to pistol-whip the second man—no use wasting bullets where he didn’t need to. As Ryan waded into the next sec man, he trusted Doc had his back.

Doc had spotted the men scurrying along the corridor that Ryan had seen, and he targeted them with the long barrel of the Stechkin.

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