Part 6 (1/2)
Dean Cawdor was sometimes headstrong and impulsive and all of the other things a boy his age could be called, but certainly he wasn't a coward. That much of his makeup came from his gene pool. Still, he could be startled and react accordingly. So when his choked cry of surprise reached his father and friends, they knew something unexpected had happened.
After Dean yelled, he almost fell backward as he tried to put distance between himself and the unexpected figure he'd nearly run over. The boy pulled out his blaster as he retreated and leveled it at the intruder.
Already heading toward his son, Ryan had unholstered his own weapon and readied it. ”Back off, Dean,” he yelled, lining up the sights of the pistol to fire a killing shot as he waited for whatever it was to advance carefully around the blind spot of the corner.
”D-don't shoot, for Christ's sake!” the offstage figure said.
”Doesn't sound like a stickie,” Krysty remarked. ”Come on around, then, nice and slow,” Ryan ordered, the barrel of the blaster unwavering.
Dean was still in the vantage point. ”He's got his hands up, Dad.”
A man stepped carefully around the corner, his hands held high over his head, smooth palms out and open to show his nonmutie status. His mouth was hanging open in complete and utter shock. The entire force of stickies had been cleared in less than thirty seconds, their lifeless bodies littering the floor.
”You got them all?” he asked.
”No. There's still you,” Ryan growled.
”Don't shoot,” he cried. ”I'm a norm!”
”Good way to get chilled, norm or not. Toss your blaster over here, nice and easy. Take it out with two fingers, and try not to drop it and shoot yourself in the foot.”
”How do I know you won't chill me?”
”What's stopping me from chilling you now, stupe?” Dean retorted, his courage flowing back into his veins.
”Got a point, I guess.”
”Been enough chilling in here. Until you do or say otherwise, I'll take you as a norm. Keep your blaster on him, son,” Ryan said as he holstered his own drawn pistol and handed over the captured piece to J.B.
”Colt .45 auto,” the Armorer said. ”And even without my specs, I can tell it needs a good cleaning. What do you want to do with this dumb s.h.i.+t, Ryan?”
”Ryan?” the scavenger repeated, a light of recognition in his brown eyes. ”You're Ryan Cawdor! And that must be J. B. Dix! I'll be dunked in honey and oven-roastedyou guys rode the wags with Trader!”
”That was a while back. And you seem to know a h.e.l.l of a lot about us for a stranger.”
”I get around, Mr. Cawdor. Heard some things. Talked late into the night with a guy named Abe who was trying to track down Trader after he'd heard the old salt wasn't as dead as had been previously reported. Abe told me some stories and described you two. Not that many people walking around Deathlands with features as distinctive as yoursat least, traveling together with other people like the redhead and the albino. Uh, no disrespect intended,” the man babbled nervously.
”What's your game?” Ryan asked.
”I'm a scaviea scavenger. I find and I sell.”
”You're a d.a.m.n bone-picker, is what you mean,” J.B. muttered.
”We all got to make a living, Dix. But I don't pick no bones or truck with dead men.”
”Speaking of dead men,” Mildred said. ”I'd just as soon get the h.e.l.l away from all these stickies. Find another place to quiz our new buddy.”
”Okay. You keep quiet, and you might get out of here alive. Got it?” The scavie nodded eagerly. ”You're a fast learner,” Ryan noted approvingly. ”Most people screw up and say 'Yeah.' Can't seem to keep their mouths shut.”
The travelers split into two teams, with J.B. and Dean staying in the corridor to keep an eye on the scavie. Doc and Jak took one end, Ryan, Mildred and Krysty the other. The rooms and corridors were laid out in a simple rectangle shape. They pa.s.sed a cryo lab, a suite of empty hospital beds, a single nonfunctioning elevator, a front reception area with long dead phones and other such hardware and a sizable hole that Adrian had blown into the wall for admittance. No armory, no food and no supplies, except for a small first-aid kit Mildred found in a bedside drawer.
”Got J.B. some adhesive bandages at least,” she announced. ”There's a brand-new box in the kit.”
”It's not a redoubt,” Ryan said. ”Just like J.B. predicted back in the gateway.”
”Feels and smells more like a hospital,” Mildred observed.
”Perhaps we need to question our new friend. I wonder how long he's been down here anyway?” Krysty said.
”Blast in the wall looks fresh,” Ryan replied, picking up a chunk of concrete. ”New grit on the ground from the explosion. Our timing might have been better or we might just be unlucky. I'd say the guy with the beard hasn't been stumbling around in here for very long.”
”Could've done without him and those stickies. He probably brought them in here in the first place,” Mildred said.
When the two groups had converged, the scavie suggested adjourning to the cryo room, away from the smell of the fire the muties had set and the stench of death where the dead stickies had fouled themselves as they died. Ryan agreed, wanting to get the man away from the still intact and working gateway as quickly as possible.
They talked as they walked to the labs. The newcomer seemed to take particular delight in discovering Ryan had a son. His own boy was down south in Georgia with his mother and her kin.
”Guess you can say she left me. Her loss, as well as my own. Glad to meet all of you. I'm Alton, Alton Adrian. I guess you heard the explosion. That's what brought you down here.”
”Uh, right,” Ryan improvised. ”The explosion. Made my eardrums pop.”
Adrian shrugged. ”I overdid it. Not a demo man. Better too much than too little.”
”Not always,” J.B. replied. ”Can bring the roof in on your head.”
”I'll remember that. Well, I owe you, I guess. I'd be chilled for sure if those stickies had got their hands on me. I've got squatter's rights, so I'm claiming half, you all can divvy up the other part between yourselves. Fair?”
Ryan frowned. ”What are you talking about?”
”Scavenge the cryo spots. Try and thaw a few of the freezies, see what valuables they decided to hang on to during their stay in the cooler.”
”Yeah. We were looking like anyone else,” Ryan said gamely. If the man wanted to think they were fellow ghouls, so much the better. Such beliefs saved questions, including the big one of how they'd gotten into this area in the first place.
”I didn't think anyone else knew about this hidden level but me. I got sloppy and used too much plas ex. Muties must've heard just like your group did and followed me down here. Good thing you came along.”
”Timing is everything,” Krysty said with a smile.
”Don't I know it,” he replied, reluctantly pulling his eyes away from Krysty's beauty to peer back at Ryan and J.B.
”Listen, Cawdor, don't take this wrong, but you and your pal there are two of the most curious-looking fellows I ever seen around here. The stories Abe told me didn't say you had such weird coloration.”
Doc cackled. ”I take it you are in awe of their dusky pigmentation.”
”Say what?” Alton asked.
”Their skin, man! You are talking about their skin!” Doc replied.
”Yeah. Take the lady doctor here,” Alton said, gesturing to Mildred, who was busy applying the bandages she'd found to the coin-sized flesh wounds on J.B.'s face. ”She's beautiful. Don't get me wrong. Skin color don't mean s.h.i.+t to me. Attractive is attractive. And the rest of you look like any other poor white bucks running around Deathlands, even the albino.”
Jak glared in way of response. The teen wasn't sure if he trusted Alton yet or not, and as a newcomer the man invited and deserved extra scrutiny.