Deathlands 48 - Dark Reckoning by James Axler;Nick Pollotta

Author:James Axler;Nick Pollotta
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: General, Romance, Science Fiction, Adventure, Men's Adventure, Fiction
ISBN: 9780373625482
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2000-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

RICH SMELLS of roasting meat permeated the kitchen of the Tennessee redoubt,

four of the sixteen ovens radiating waves of heat. Wearing an apron, Krysty laid

a platter full of fried mushrooms on the counter and Dean carried it to the

table, snatching a couple with his bare fingers. Doc gave everybody a serving,

and the companions dug in without talk.

"No more for me," Ryan said, pushing away the plate of tiny bones. He wiped his

mouth with an Army napkin and released a tremendous belch.

"In Arab countries that is a mark of appreciation," J.B. said, then chuckled,

slicing a small steak off a nondescript roast. He knew it was rat, but fresh

meat was healthier than the predark foods, even if the MRE packs did taste

better.

"Damn straight. Best rat I ever had."

"I raided the MRE packs," Krysty said from the kitchen. "Some salt and pepper, a

little mint, and rat cooks just fine."

"Mint?" Mildred asked, her fork paused before her face.

The redhead laughed. "Toothpaste."

"Mushrooms best," Dean mumbled, his mouth stuffed full as he shoveled in more

roasted meat. He didn't care what it was, as long as there was plenty. The more

he ate, the hungrier he seemed to be.

Wisely, Doc used a spoon to ladle the growing boy another heaping portion of the

mushrooms. "Don't forget to take some vitamins from the MRE packs after dinner,"

the man said. "Apparently, the blues had no idea what the tablets were."

"Fools," Jak said, chewing on a leg bone.

Ryan added, "Dead fools."

"Millie, what did you do with the boot soup?" J.B. asked, ripping open a plastic

pack and taking a bite of the cherry-nut cake inside. A hundred years old and it

was still moist. Predark whitecoats probably thought the mat-trans was their

greatest invention. His vote went for vacuum-sealed food packs.

"I sealed the rest in a couple of pots and put them the main refrigerator,"

Mildred said, pouring hot water from a tea kettle into a cracked mug. It had

some sort of an anchor logo with a Latin phrase that was too faded to read. "We

have fresh meat now, and the MRE packs for later, but it never hurts to have

spare rations tucked away. When we needed it, the soup kept us alive."

"Barely," Jak said in earnest honesty. He added a sprinkle of powdered milk into

his coffee, then some sugar. The teenager took a sip and felt the soothing

warmth spread through him like a healing potion.

"Damn," he exhaled in satisfaction.

Going to a sink in the kitchen, Ryan washed and went to the weapons table. They

had food now, and a way into the home base of the blues. Blasters were now their

top priority.

Before they left the tunnel, J.B. had drained the oil from the wag, and once

they were back in the redoubt, he filtered it carefully through some washed

sheets until satisfied it was pure enough to lubricate the weapons.

"Two crossbows," he said aloud, taking inventory. "Eight arrows with no heads.

Twelve AP grenades, two pounds of plas-ex with no detonators. Two gallons of

fuel, but no bottles to make Molotovs, a roll of fuse we can't get clean enough

to work, a Colt .

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