Axler, James - Deathlands 77 -Cannibal Moon by Axler James

Author:Axler, James [Axler, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure
ISBN: 9781460373415
Google: ATpXAgAAQBAJ
Goodreads: 20311003
Publisher: Gold Eagle
Published: 2007-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Cheetah Luis stared down at the dead Cajun fighter as Ryan slowly rose to his feet.

The one-eyed man could sense the headman’s sputtering fury; it came off him in almost tangible waves. He was like a frag gren about to blow. Because of all the pain, all the loss he’d witnessed and suffered, Cheetah Luis was a couple hundred miles around the bend of sanity. But the Cajun didn’t explode. He’d learned to use the power of his rage, to shape it, to wield it like a splitting maul, which didn’t make him any less dangerous, or any less crazy.

“I want a head count,” he told Lyla, his chunky female lieutenant. He spoke with the extinguished ganja stick clenched between his teeth. “I want to know exactly who’s here and who’s gone.”

As she moved to do his bidding, Cheetah Luis flicked away his cigarette. His eyes were unfocused, his expression fixed with abject hatred. He was lost in a waking dream of blood and death, sorrow and guilt.

This, Ryan told himself, was the downside to staking a claim in Deathlands, to putting down roots in anticipation of some kind of an unfolding future. Roots by their nature limited action and mobility. Offense automatically became defense. And in the end, if you were committed to die for a piece of dirt, not even a hundred seasoned fighters could ensure success, short or long term. The hellscape was wicked devious, it unleashed wave after wave of constantly shifting attacks until it found or created a soft spot.

Lyla returned a few minutes later, her weathered face pale with shock. “It’s worse than we thought,” she told Cheetah Luis. “Close to half our folks are missing.”

“What?” the head Cajun snarled. “You’re sure?”

“I counted twice.” Then she began to recite the names of the lost.

The other Cajuns listened to her in dead silence. These were people accustomed to grief, to chilling, but not to a defeat like this. They looked gutshot.

“We have to cut off the head,” Ryan told Cheetah Luis after the woman finished listing the missing. “No matter what it costs. None of us stands a chance if we don’t chill that cannie queen. Whether the stuff about the power of her blood is true or not, she’s the one in charge. She organized all this shit.”

“Fucking freezie.” The headman spit.

“Face it, Cajun,” Ryan said, “this La Golondrina hit the ground running. Who knows who or what she was before the Apocalypse. But she knew what she wanted when she got here, and she knew damn well how to make it happen. No other cannie before her has done what she’s done. No other cannie will do it after she’s dead. If we take her out, the flesheaters will fall back to their old ways, hunting in small packs, dog-eat-dog, making their living by picking off the weak and the stupid. That’s something we can deal with, just like we always have.”

Cheetah Luis stared at him for a moment then said, “I’ve worked hard to keep it together here.

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