Deathlands 076: Perdition Valley by James Axler

Author:James Axler
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 0373625863
Publisher: Gold Eagle
Published: 2006-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

Giving no reply, Doc continued to heave with a racking cough.

Furiously, Alan walked over to the pile and lifted the stick. It was too light to make a good club, and the silver head was too small to do any real damage to a person, much less to a Rogan! Taking it by the end, Alan swung the stick a few times, getting a feeling for its weight and offensive capabilities. Which were zero. It was just a fucking cane the wrinklie used to walk. But he didn’t see any pills attached. Mebbe inside?

“Here!” Alan snapped, tossing the stick to the crying man. “Open it, and shut the fuck up, or in spite of what Delphi says, I’ll kick in your teeth!”

“My cane,” Doc panted, cradling the stick. Then he smiled at the disgusted coldheart. “Thank you. But if I do say so, sir, I believe that these handcuffs are far more intelligent than yourself.”

Startled by the abrupt transformation in speech, Alan could only gasp as the wrinklie twisted the silver lion head of the stick, pulled out a steel sword and buried it in his throat.

Blind from the pain, Alan clutched at his neck, cutting his fingers on the razor-sharp length of Spanish steel. Rising smoothly, Doc shoved the sword in deeper until the tip came out the other side, red blood gushing from the front and back of the dying coldheart.

Gurgling and choking, Alan fought for air as he started drowning in his own blood. Clawing for his blaster, Alan found it was gone, and on impulse jerked backward to free himself. Spraying blood with every beat of his weakening heart, Alan opened his mouth to call for help when Mildred rose and slammed the butt of the blaster directly onto the rear lambdoid fissure of his skull with surgical precision. There was a soft crunch of bones, and Alan shook violently all over as if struck by lightning. Exhaling his last long breath, he fell to the ground, dead before he landed on the soft green grass.

Frantically, Doc started searching the clothing of the corpse for a key, while Mildred braced the bulky revolver in both of her sticky hands. Her fingers were covered with her own blood, making the grip slippery, so she spit on the blaster and managed to thumb back the hammer. Damnedest thing, though, the gun felt satiny-smooth, as if it was brand-spanking new and right out of the manufacturer’s box.

“Well?” Mildred whispered impatiently.

“I found some brass,” Doc confirmed, displaying a fistful of speed loaders. “But he doesn’t have the key.”

“Damn! Well, then, it’s been nice knowing ya, Theophilus.”

“You, too, Millie.”

As the laughing men began to drag off Krysty’s pants, Mildred leveled the weapon, testing its weight. Gauging the gentle breeze on her cheek, she noted the placement of the campfire, took the rising air thermals into account, made one last adjustment for height and fired a fast three times.

A hundred feet away, all three of the men cried out. Clutching different parts of their bodies, the coldhearts fell over to reveal Krysty.

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