James Axler Deathlands 014 Dark Carnival

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NOR FAR FROM CENTERPOINT they were taken to what had once been a large
hostelry, called the
Gator Motel. It had been cruciform in shape, with its lobby at the midpoint of
the four arms. But there had been a fire, long years ago, which had destroyed
three-quarters of the building.
Now only the Gator Wing remained.
"How many rooms you want?" asked the stocky noncom. "Six, five, four, three,
two or one. Makes no difference to me."
Ryan glanced at the others. Mildred took an almost imperceptible half step
closer to J.B. Dean looked at his father.
"One single room for Doc. Double for J.B. and Mildred. Double for me and
Krysty." He hesitated. "And a single adjoining for my son."
"Done. There'll be some of my men around the Gator all the time. Best you
don't wander. Might run into some of the posse. Once Boss Larry's had his
happy fix, he might call around and you can go on the rides.
Until then, stay here."
"BEEN IN WORSE PRISONS," Krysty said, lying stretched out on the queen-size
bed, feet crossed, staring at the star-painted ceiling.
Ryan had washed his face and shaved, using the disposable razor that was in a
plastic mug at the side of the basin. The water was hot and only faintly
tinted. He'd read that water in the old pre-nuke days had been clear in the
center of big villes as it was in a mountaintop stream.
A rapping sounded on the bolted door between their room and Dean's. "I'll get
it." Krysty swung off the bed.
The boy had also washed, and had gelled his hair to his scalp, making him look
older and oddly sinister.
Ryan went over and patted his son on the shoulder, hesitating a moment.
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"Fireblast! What's that smell?"
Dean blushed. "Called Prince Mayakovsky Splash On. Said on the bottle to use
plenty, so I did. Is it awful, Dad?" He glanced at Krysty. "What do you
think?"
She sniffed cautiously. "I think mebbe I'd use a tad less next time. But it'll
wear off fast. Hungry, Dean?"
"Sure. Time for second food?"
Ryan glanced at his chron. "Yeah, I'll order up for us."
"Dad, can I ask a question? Know you think I ask too many."
"Long as it's the right time, I don't mind. What is it?"
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"The baron All around are signs of triple-power, jack and sec men."
"Right."
"The guy Adam Traven. How come he orders Boss Larry around like he does? Got
him running scared."
Ryan finished wiping his face on the fluffy white towel. "Good question, son.
Mebbe we'll find an answer.
Until we do" he shrugged, "who knows?"
Chapter Twenty-Two
A brief, flurried thunderstorm had blown in from the east while the companions
were eating. Dean had dropped his paper plate of fried chicken and run to the
smeared window. He pressed his face against the glass, watching the blinding
daggers of lightning as they tore open the slate gray clouds, bringing a burst
of torrential rain that laid the dust and cleared away the stifling humidity.
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Ryan and Mildred had come in during the storm, followed shortly after by Doc
Tanner. The old man had been drinking brandy, supplied by the sec men, and was
in an unusually expansive mood.
"The pounding of the hammer of Thor upon the anvil of of someone or other,
whose name I have conveniently forgotten. I remember a particularly bitter
attack of sheet lightning in the fall of 1895. We had been traversing a bare
mountainside on our way to Hidden Lake, up in Montana. The very rocks sang
with the concatenation of thunder and lightning. The ozone in the air made
one's poor addled brain spin."
Dean looked at Doc, puzzled. "You said 'eighteen,' Doc."
"What was that, my fine young comrade?"
"You said you saw a storm in 1895, Doc. How can that be?"
"The tale is long, my boy. If you care to come to my room, I shall have
another sip at the rather good cognac and I will reveal to you the mystery of
my own being. Come." He stood, making an imperious gesture.
Dean glanced at Ryan, who nodded his approval. "Sure, son. Don't worry. Won't
go off anywhere without you."
The boy went out with Doc, the old man's cane rapping smartly on the
threadbare carpet in the corridor beyond.
The door hadn't closed properly, and Krysty moved toward it, hesitating a
moment. "Someone coming,"
she said.
It was Kelly.
The noncom glanced around the room, seeing the remains of their meal.
"Everyone eaten?" he asked.
"Sure, thanks."
The sec man had a sprinkling of rain across his shoulders, damping his
short-cropped hair. "Hell of a storm out there."
"We saw it," Mildred said.
"Passed the old man and your boy along the passage. Once Boss Larry gives the
word, you can take him on some of the rides. Be a double-buzz."
"When?"
"Traven wants you all out of here. Doesn't like any other outlanders stepping
on his turf. His turf! So take what comes, Ryan, and then move on."
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"Got no reason to stay."
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J.B. had been fieldstripping his new scattergun, checking it for any signs of
damp. He looked up at Kelly.
"Want to tell us what's going down here?"
The man glanced at the door, then went to lean against it, making the rusted
lock finally click shut. He looked at the curtains hanging over the picture
window. He moved to stand by it, staring out across the misty field of green.
"Don't know why I should trust you people any more than Adam's posse."
"We're not evil. They are." Krysty's voice hung flat in the room between them.
The sec man nodded slowly. "Could be that's the up and down of it. Used to be
a hell of a good ville once."
He launched into the story of the Garden of Eden and the serpent that had come
crawling, unbidden into it.
Accompanied by two younger men and six younger girls, Adam Traven had appeared
in Greenglades about three months ago. He'd come from the north, possibly,
Kelly thought, by boat. He'd brought a supply of a scarce known drug. Known on
the streets as dreem, it was a fine powder, tinted a faint pink, that could be
either smoked or snorted. It gave a fast rush, like speed, coke or jolt, then
eased the user into a mild and languorous lethargy.
"Like being awake and asleep at the same time," Kelly told them.
It also heightened all sensual experiences. Eating became almost orgasmic,
music hardly bearable in its insinuating beauty. Sex was a stretched splinter
of time that rang with an infinite resonance through the linked chambers of
yesterday and tomorrow.
Kelly described it with a cynical grin. "That's how Traven said it was. I
tried some, and he was partly right. But you could see through it."
"How do you mean?" Ryan asked.
"Like you're wearing a mask. But you know that you're wearing it. Like
watching things through a mist. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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