Deathlands 110 - Sins of Honor by James Axler

Author:James Axler [Axler, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Worldwide Library
Published: 2013-06-21T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Ryan came awake gasping for breath, then a surge of adrenaline flooded his body and he sat up clawing for the SIG-Sauer. The blaster wasn’t on his hip, and he started to curse, when he spotted it lying on a clean cloth alongside his pile of straw.

Taking the weapon, Ryan saw that he was lying on a clean blanket draped over a pile of straw. The makeshift bed was inside a big wooden buckboard wag that had a patched canvas tent stretched over iron hoops, affording a lot of room inside. The other companions were nearby, also lying on piles of straw and blankets. Their boots had been removed, but they were placed next to each person, along with their backpacks and weapons.

Okay, not prisoners, Ryan realized, checking the SIG-Sauer for any tampering.

The weapon was fine, but he was covered with scabs and bruises, some of them turning the most glorious shades of green. The minor injuries were already half healed. Just how long had he been unconscious?

The rest of the wag was filled with an assortment of wicker boxes and wooden barrels. Strapping on his gunbelt, Ryan listened for any conversations, but there was only the gentle murmur of the wind, the crackle of a fire and the muffled noise of horses snorting. This sounded like a campsite.

Rummaging around, he easily found the Steyr and both of his bandoliers. Whoever these people were, he owed them a tremendous debt. When the companions hit the lake, all he remembered was Doc’s last words, and then trying to reach the light overhead, his lungs aching to drag a breath while he was under water.

Shuffled to the rear of the wag, Ryan kept a hand on the holstered handblaster. The buckboard containing the companions was just one of several forming an arc around the remains of a large campfire. Big logs burned through in the middle, but the ends remained untouched. Clearly, a cook fire had been made, and then abandoned. Curious.

There was a score of oxen contentedly eating grass in a nearby field, and a dozen horses tethered to a running line between a couple of large trees. Ox to haul the wag, horses for riders. Ryan felt a chill go down his back. Nobody sane would attack a camp, and leave a valuable prize like these trained animals behind.

Just then, somebody in the wag coughed and rose from his or her bed.

It was Krysty.

Ryan smiled. He was immensely pleased to see that she appeared fine, just decorated with a variety of bruises and scrapes as colorful as his own. More importantly, all of her clothing was intact, and in the proper order. She hadn’t been harmed in any way.

Stiffly moving forward, Krysty looked across the deserted campsite. “What happened, lover?” she whispered, a hand resting on the S&W blaster tucked into her belt.

“I don’t know,” Ryan said honestly. “But my best guess would be that some travelers gave us shelter and then...” He shrugged.

Frowning deeply, Krysty went back to her bed and started pulling on her cowboy boots.

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