Deathlands 01 - Pilgrimage to Hell by James Axler & Jack Adrian & Laurence James

Author:James Axler & Jack Adrian & Laurence James [Axler, James & Adrian, Jack & James, Laurence]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, Adventure, Men's Adventure, General
ISBN: 9780373485956
Google: 0usKAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0373485956
Barnesnoble: 0373485956
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 1992-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Eight

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DESPITE ORDERS, you kept to the shadows. The deep shadows. The deeper the better.

You kept to the shadows despite orders, despite doomy warnings from your unit leaders, despite hideously snarled threats of disembowelment or being flayed alive or having your hands nailed to the wall. Despite all these and more, you kept to the shadows because you were beginning to get… cautious.

A sec man’s life in the old days used to be different. It used to be fun, used to be a laff riot. It meant you were top of the pile, king of the ville. Meant you could do what you wanted, when you wanted, for as long as you wanted, and free. Mocsin was open city for the sec men, and you could tool along its streets and whatever you saw was yours. Not for the asking—you didn’t need to ask for anything. It was all yours for the taking. Yours by right of conquest. Didn’t matter what it was, you had an open license on it. Food, booze, men, women. Whatever was your fancy, it was yours.

And sure, on the surface the situation hadn’t changed. On the surface it was still the sec men’s paradise. On the surface everything was as it was, as it had always been, since Jordan Teague first hijacked the burg way back when most of today’s sec men were brawling brats.

On the surface.

But underneath, paradise was maybe not quite what it appeared to be. There was a tension in the air—something you could almost feel, almost gnaw at—that none of the old-timers had ever known. A population that had once been like rabbits, cowed and submissive, seemed to have changed, seemed to have become insolent. They always seemed to be watching you, except when you looked straight at them and then they weren’t watching you at all. Except you always caught that twitch of the face, that nervous flicker of the eyes, that meant they had been watching you. And they always seemed to be whispering about you behind your back, except when you swung around and they weren’t whispering at all, their lips were closed. Except you knew they’d been whispering about you, insulting you. And you got so mad at this sometimes that you took a whole bunch of them—men, women, brats—and herded them into the trucks and took them back to the Cellars and you stopped them watching you out of the corners of their eyes by taking their eyes out. And you stopped them talking about you behind your back by sewing their lips together.

But the funny thing was, it didn’t seem to do the trick, didn’t seem to stop the watching and the whispering. And you couldn’t herd the whole town into the Cellars.

And then there was the sniping. You’d be in a jeep and heading to the mines or coming back from them, in the line of duty, and suddenly one of the guys with you would keel over, one side of his head blown away, his soft nose and blood and brains splashed everywhere.

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