Part 9 (1/2)
”Rigoletto,” Doc said happily. ”It has been much too long since I last heard Verdi.”
”Beautiful.” Mildred sighed, wincing as she slipped on a boot. At the grill, Ryan arched an eyebrow but kept his opinions to himself, sprinkling some crushed salt over the sizzling steaks.
Vastly amused, Doc beamed a smile. ”Incredible, madam, at last we agree on something.”
”Had to happen someday.” She chuckled, tying off the laces and starting on the other.
Cutting a notch in the thickest steak with his knife, Ryan checked the interior. Pinkish-gray and getting darker. ”Almost done,” he announced. ”Better grab some plates.”
”A pleasure, sir,” Doc announced, going to a cabinet. Smas.h.i.+ng the stained-gla.s.s door with the b.u.t.t of his LeMat, the man gathered a stack of gilded plates from amid the china and crystal.
”Need some help?” J.B. asked, starting to rise.
”No. You stay right there,” Krysty said, pus.h.i.+ng some steamer trunks together to form a crude table for the repast. The stout bra.s.s-and-mahogany luggage would also give good protection to hide behind if they were attacked during dinner and had to fight.
Searching his fatigues for the fork he always carried, Jak pulled into view a frilly red-and-gold ta.s.sel.
”Son of a b.i.t.c.h,” he mumbled in surprise.
”Good Lord,” Mildred said, amused, crus.h.i.+ng a lump of salt in her hands and sprinkling the crystals over the sizzling steaks. ”Is that from the Leviathan?”
”Yeah, from the fifty.” Jak snorted, toying with the ornament. ”Must have stuffed in pocket after cut off.”
”Going to keep it as a memento?” J.B. asked, recrossing his legs to get comfortable.
”No,” the Cajun stated, tossing it aside. ”I know Shard is dead. Don't need relic.”
Just the way the Trader had taught him, Ryan raised a coffee mug full of warm water in salute. ”To Shard,” he said solemnly.
Everybody lifted their containers to drink to the memory of the hero of Novaville.
ON THE ROOF of the p.a.w.nshop, Dean faintly smelled the wolf cooking and smacked his lips. It had been a while since they'd had meat, and he was really looking forward to dinner. Daydreaming about meals long gone, the boy watched as darkness descended quickly over the desert, the dying red light of the departing sun climbing up the one great skysc.r.a.per in the ruined ville, going higher and higher until the building vanished completely.
Softly, a sterile wind blew over the dead city, only the fragile barrier of white gla.s.s protecting the thousands of piles of dusty bones from being disturbed from their centuries-old slumber, slumped at their office desks or sprawled in their bedrooms. An ordinary day for them, frozen into a h.e.l.lish tableau from a microsecond blast of supercharged neutrinos when cars and people alike died at the exact same instant.
In the crumbling belfry of a church, an owl softly hooted for its mate. On the streets, lizards darted from one hiding place to another on an endless quest for insects to feast upon. In a city possessing a million lights, blackness reigned supreme. Leaning dangerously far over the edge of the rooftop, Dean rested his elbows on the cornice as the wind ruffled his hair. There was a park just off to their right, nothing much there except for dead trees and a dried-up lake with a marble statue of a mutie in the center. The woman was half norm, half fish. Creepy, although he did like the way she wasn't wearing anything but a necklace and a smile. Not bad for a mute.
Then the boy spotted a sudden movement on the sandy streets below. Black specks moving fast and coming straight this way.
”Must be more wolves,” he said to himself, and, digging in his pocket, he unearthed some spent sh.e.l.ls.
Dean carefully counted out three and put the rest back in his pants. There was no need to drop a handful.
He was giving a warning to the folks below, but that was no reason to waste perfectly good bra.s.s.
Reaching over to drop the warning sh.e.l.ls, the gray moonlight unexpectedly disappeared and darkness enveloped the boy.
A terrible stench washed over him, smelling worse than rotting corpses. Dean choked on the fetid reek, almost retching. Backing away, he instinctively pulled out his Browning Hi-Power, and it was slammed from his grip by a powerful blow. He s.n.a.t.c.hed for the flying weapon, but it disappeared into the night.
Pistol gone, the gren in his pocket worse than useless at that range, the young Cawdor decided that this was no place for heroics, turned and sprinted for the tiny kiosk at the rear of the roof, the entrance to the stairwell. But something large landed between him and the exit as another stinking wave of h.e.l.lish air washed over the boy, stealing the breath from his lungs. A ragged cough seized his throat, and yellow eyes opened wide in the blackness.
Gasping for air, Dean recognized it as the winged mutie from the tunnel. Coughing and hacking, he cradled his aching hand and slowly retreated, trying to circle the beast, get on the other side of the kiosk, then scoot around fast and slam the door. But every move was countered by the winged beast, its great wings spread wide, blocking any chance of escape as if this were a game it played often. Dean knew that some animals played with their prey before killing, and he had a terrible feeling this was one of those breed. He tried to draw in air to call for help and only choked on the awful stench again. It was sort of like skunk mixed with burning sewage, impossible to breathe.
Flapping its huge wings, the mutie hissed loudly, exposing long yellow fangs, and Dean knew the game was over. It was going to attack. When a person had nothing to lose, attack and hope for the best, his father had always told him. Fumbling for the knife on his belt, Dean charged forward, slas.h.i.+ng hopefully for the vulnerable throat below the inhuman eyes. The mutie easily dodged out of the way as silent as a dream. Then white-hot pain struck the boy's shoulder and he found himself airborne.
Breath exploded from Dean as he landed sprawling on a hard surface. Looking about, he saw he was on the roof of the next building over. His chest felt as if it were on fire, and he wondered if bones were broken, when clouds overhead parted for a brief instant, admitting a wealth of silvery light. Black wings extended, the mutie was flying straight toward him, and there on the rooftop by his boots was the dropped knife. Desperately, he dived for the weapon and collided headlong with the animal. Something snapped just over his head, and he kneed it hard as he could in the belly. The mutie snarled in response and stepped back, its clawed feet accidentally kicking the knife farther away.
Cursing his luck, Dean snarled back at the thing, hoping to frighten it, then ducked under a slas.h.i.+ng wing that would have taken off his head. Blaster gone, knife lost, and he was still hacking for air, with no chance of a good scream for help. Matches, didn't he have some matches in his pants? That would chase it away. Maybe rip off his s.h.i.+rt and set it on fire. But he needed a minute first to get some more room.
Had to keep his distance. He didn't want to go hand-to-hand with the creature again, not with a brokenarm and ribs. The pain was becoming a warm fuzzy feeling, and the boy knew that shock was starting to set in. Not good.
The mutie launched itself into the sky, and Dean dropped and rolled to the left, the rough concrete becoming smooth and sloping sharply upward beneath him before he realized that he was now lying on the skylight he had spotted earlier.
Delicately s.h.i.+fting his weight, Dean heard the gla.s.s musically crackle, and he forced himself to go limp to try to slide off. but one wrong move and he would go through. He had to get off the skylight, find the knife, jab for the eyes and wait for help to come. The others had to be only moments away. All he had to do was stall.
Another warm stench flowed over the boy as the animal landed heavily on his chest, talons racking across his s.h.i.+rt and flesh. Dean cried out in pain, and the weakened gla.s.s shattered, sending the boy plummeting into the inky blackness beyond. His last coherent sight was of the broken skylight receding into the distance, the frosty panels of gla.s.s framing a black-winged figure, the cold yellow eyes watching him fall.
STANDING AT THE DOOR, J.B. pressed his ear to the gla.s.s and tried to hear. ”And I tell you,” he repeated, ”I heard something odd.”
”Dropped sh.e.l.ls?” Ryan asked intently, pausing in his eating. If Dean had spotted somebody coming their way, the meal was over. The wolf was excellent, but not worth dying for. Hastily, he swallowed the last morsel unchewed.
”Well, no,” the Armorer relented.
Ryan relaxed and returned to his rice and steak. Hopefully, they could trade for some cans of vegetables from the ville the next day. He was getting mighty tired of b.a.s.t.a.r.d rice.
”But definitely something metallic,” J.B. added stubbornly, lifting a corner of the blankets and peeking outside.
”Mebbe lizard on can,” Jak mumbled around a mouthful of food.
”Mebbe not,” Krysty retorted, wiping her lips on some Irish linen.
”We better do a recce,” Ryan said, rising and placing aside the unfinished meal.
The closest, Mildred leaned back in her office chair toward the barricaded door. She heard nothing.
”Think the wolves followed us?”
”Possible,” J.B. said, placing a gren on the top of a steamer trunk. Laying down the Uzi, he deftly removed the black electrical tape holding the handle in place. A quick yank of the pin and they were in business.
”Great. How many more of these do we have?” Mildred asked, looking at the dull green gren. The color said it was HE, high explosives, with no shrapnel. Not a very good killing device. But enough of them could bring down an army.
”One each,” J.B. answered, reaching into his munitions bag and pa.s.sing them around. ”The rest arehidden upstairs in case we had to fall back.”
”Sufficient unto the day,” Doc declared, both hands busy resetting the hammer on his LeMat to fire the shotgun blast first. ”These days, there is no such thing as overkill.”
”Agreed.”
”Best check wag, too,” Jak suggested, tucking his gren into a pocket.
At that moment, something thumped onto the sidewalk in front of the store. Everybody stopped eating as plates and drinks were cast aside and blasters were grabbed.