Deathlands 118: Blood Red Tide by James Axler

Author:James Axler
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 0373626282
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-09-02T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Ryan marched across the wet, rolling, winter pampas. His party had rowed ashore just before dawn and had been walking inland for hours. It felt jarring to have the earth beneath his feet after so many days at sea. Strawmaker was the clear candidate for translator-negotiator, and he was pathetically grateful to have solid ground under his feet again too.

Ryan had brought Jak and Doc from his own people. Of the sailors, Hardstone was a Deathlander and had been a hardened fighter before he’d heeded the call of the sea. Miss Loral had come along to represent the ship and Skillet its larder. Manrape rounded out the party as the most dangerous man on two legs. The shore party was festooned with weapons. Manrape and Hardstone were loaded down with packs full of trade goods. Miss Loral wore her full ship’s uniform but had added a peacoat and combat boots. She and Hardstone carried AKs. Skillet looked positively barbaric. The handle of a two-handed meat clever jutted from behind the cook’s back, and the front of his bandolier held three more cleavers of various sizes that, according to rumor, he was adept at throwing. He carried a massive, double-barreled monstrosity of a longblaster with a horrifying, barbed, black iron harpoon head sticking out of each muzzle.

Ryan walked beside Manrape. The bosun held a nickel-plated pump scattergun that looked to have been lovingly maintained; he held it crooked casually in his arm as if he was going duck hunting. The effect was ruined, or heightened, by the ugly, painted red against rust, home-forged bayonet clipped to the ventilated shroud. A hatchet and his lead-weighted rope end hung at his side.

Jak topped another hill about a hundred meters ahead and stopped. He waved the party forward. They gazed upon a vale. A road ran through it. Like most ancient small towns, the buildings clustered on either side of the main road and spread back.

Every building had been burned to the ground.

Ryan snapped out his longeyes and scanned. It wasn’t that the ville had been bombed or a fire had raged through it. Every single building, including the outliers, had been deliberately reduced to ancient, blackened foundations. Only crumbling chimneys, cracked concrete, rusting rebar and collapsing stone or cinder block remained upright.

“Spread out,” Ryan ordered. The shore party formed a loose skirmish line and descended. The only thing still standing above head height was a perilously leaning lamppost holding a sagging sign. Nothing moved other than the miserable, misting rain. Ryan stopped and stared up at the sign. It had just two words on it in faded orange.

MONSTROS

PESTE

Jak frowned. “Pesty monsters?”

“Strawmaker?” Ryan asked.

The musician stared unhappily at the warning. “We use peste where you would use the word plague.”

“Plague monsters?” Ryan didn’t care for the sound of it.

Strawmaker’s shoulders twitched with more than cold. “This place was burned.” The troubadour pointed to a pit in what might have been the town square. “There, in the plaza, you will find your answer.”

Ryan walked over knowing what he would find.

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