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"Stickies. Enough left of their hands to tell. And there was also some I never
seen before. Real strange. What was left of the skins was like a lizard or a
gator. You know?"
"Scalies, Ward. Yeah. I don't recall hearing of two tribes of different muties
running together. Could be a real nasty mix."
The wag master stood in silence for a few moments. He pulled a worn briar from
his pocket and stuffed some home-cure in it, got it burning and drew
contentedly on it. "Care for some, Ryan?" he asked. "Got plenty in my rig."
"No, thanks."
"Reckon your arrival could be a matter of real providence, son."
"How's that?"
"Another day or so without food or water and you'd have been on your back
looking at the sun."
Since the scout wasn't aware of the proximity of Christina Ballinger's spread,
Ryan decided not to mention it. Privacy and safety in Deathlands often came
down to the same thing.
"Yeah. Could be."
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"But the sword cuts both ways."
"What?"
"I heard your tale about being traders and losing your animals and all.
Bullshit, Ryan. Pardon me, but it's bullshit. I seen mercies before."
"We're not mercenaries, Ward."
"You sure aren't traders, neither."
Ryan nodded slowly, allowing his hand to fall, very naturally, toward the butt
of the SIG-Sauer blaster in its holster. Ward saw the movement.
"Have thirty guns here if you pull the trigger, Ryan."
"Three hundred guns and you'd still be down and gut-shot."
"That's a fact, son."
"We aren't hired chillers, and we aren't traders. If you knew that, why d'you
take us in?"
The older man sighed and tapped the pipe on the heel of his boot, the tiny
ball of glowing ashes falling into the sand. "Been around, son. Like to think
I know folks.
I don't see you murdering us in our bed, but with blasters like you got, you
could sure help out if we meet muties."
"Or Skullface. If he exists."
"Right, son. We feed you, and you stand at our shoulders if the muties come.
That a deal?"
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Ryan shook the wag master's gnarled hand. "Yeah, that's a deal. Mebbe you feed
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us and we never need to do any fighting. Long as that goes on, I'll be happy,
Ward."
"Me, too, son."
Their happiness didn't even last twenty-four hours.
Chapter Eleven
THE NEXT DAY DAWNED bright and clear, with a fresh breeze from the southwest.
Ryan and the others watched, impressed, as the circle of wagons readied for
the next part of their journey.
Everyone seemed to know their particular task. Men and women packed and
stowed, young boys collected the patient, lumbering oxen from the makeshift
corral and led them to the rigs to be yoked, and the young girls began to
prepare breakfast.
The oven smoked and the camp was filled with the delicious aroma of fresh
bread.
Eggs were cooked in skillets over the embers of the night's fires, with slices
of salted bacon.
As soon as everyone had eaten, the dishes were scoured in dry, clean sand and
packed away in the wagons. The youngest children had the important chore of
making sure all the fires were stamped out.
Within an hour of the dawn, they were ready to roll. Ryan spotted Major Ward
and went along to join him.
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"Congratulations," he said.
"How's that, son?" Ward asked, shifting a chew of tobacco from one cheek to
the other.
"You got a hundred people woken, oxen watered and tied on and everyone fed.
All of that in just under the hour. Good work. Now we get going."
"No."
"No? Then& "
The wag master simply pointed to the far side of the circle, where the
skeletal figure of Elder Vare was stalking toward them, Bible firmly in his
right hand, followed by his coterie of assorted preachers and women.
"Morning prayers, before we go," Ward said gloomily. "Lose us around three
hours' good traveling time."
"Can't you tell him to go take& " began Ryan, but Ward shook his head.
"He's party leader. Elected. They pay my jack for this job, which means Elder
Vare pays me the jack. So, if he wants to pray the sun away, I just stand back
and let him do it."
"Me, I'd break his jaw," Ryan said. "Going across this part of Deathlands you
can't waste time. Time's blood." But Elder Vare had his way. Since they were
freeloading guests, Ryan and the others paid a token price by standing with
the others as the preacher indulged himself. Ryan let his mind drift away,
wondering about the mix of stickies and scalies that were reportedly in the
area.
"Teach us to smite thy enemies, Lord, if any appear. But we hope you'll be
taking care to stop 'em coming close to us. Because we warn you now that we're
humble and obedient servants who cringe at the shadow of your passing. But we
aren't into that turning the other cheek crap! Just so's you understand, Oh
mighty and
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merciful Jehovah!"
And so it went on.
And on.
Apart from the drivers of the swaying wags and the very young children,
everyone in the party walked. As long as the old prenuke blacktop held out,
they could make good progress. But time and again an earth shift had broken
the highway and the oxen were driven into the soft sand, slowing their pace to
a bare crawl.
Ward was one of the few people in the group who owned a horse, and he rode it
all morning, moving constantly from front to rear and back again, encouraging
the stragglers and slowing the enthusiastic leaders. After an hour he reined
in along
Ryan and the others.
"Water! "he called.
"Short?" asked Ryan, who'd wound the long white silk scarf, with its lethal
weighted ends, around his mouth to mask off the worst of the choking dust.
"You said it, son. Got us enough for another five, six days if we ration. Got
me a map that shows water only a few miles ahead."
"You send someone to check it out?" J.B. asked.
Ward looked away, tipping his hat back and wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Well, no. No, I haven't done that, Mr. Dix."
The Armorer's mouth dropped open in surprise. "You got some map that mebbe
shows you where there's water, less than an hour's ride on horseback! And you
haven't sent anyone. Dark night! Why not?"
"This Skullface guy and the muties. No point in sending a man alone, is there?
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And I can't send out an armed patrol and weaken the train."
"Fucking shit!" Jak exclaimed. "Man alone scouts good."
"You got no right to speak like that, kid! Not to "
"Don't call 'kid,' you "
Ryan laid a cautious hand on the teenager's arm. "Cool down, Jak. But he's
right, Ward. You seriously telling me you don't have scouts out?"
"I lead this train my way, and if you outlanders don't like it then just walk
on."
"Leave it," Mildred said. "A man has to do what a man has to do. That right,
Major Ward?"
"Guess so, ma'am."
"So. Let's get on with the day."
They breasted a rise and looked down onto a region dotted with the rusted
relics of ancient oil-derricks, resembling the frozen corpses of prehistoric
birds. The road straightened and cut almost due west, vanishing between walls
of red rock.
Krysty, shading her eyes, thought she could see some trees beyond the narrow
ravine. But the shimmer of the heat haze made it difficult to make out any
details.
She told the wag master, who slapped his dusty hat against his thigh with a
whoop of delight. "Well, if that ain't jug-drinking good news, little lady.
Just where my map shows water!"
J.B. stood next to Ryan, and he nudged him gently with his elbow. "Figure his
map shows what an ace-on-the-line place for an ambush that ravine is?"
Ryan didn't reply.
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