James Axler Deathlands 00 Encounter

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Shabazz snarled at the baron's sec men.
"Nice stroke, Sam!" Trader shouted over to the woman, who despite her
predicament and her discomfort, immediately brightened.
Shabazz pressed the Desert Eagle's muzzle to the top of
Trader's head. "Won't have no more of that hoo-ha, now," he warned. "Any of
your people act up from now on, and I'll start chilling. Won't be no fooling
around. Just chilling. You understand?" Trader nodded.
Shabazz and two of his crew jerked Trader to his feet. He couldn't have stood
without their help. Before he completely regained his senses, they had clapped
an iron collar around his neck and manacles around his ankles. As with Sam,
all three iron bands were connected by lengths of stout chain. The chain
sections were made short on purpose, so a captive couldn't fully straighten or
run far without falling on his or her face.
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"Well, well," Shabazz said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "The mighty
Trader ain't so rad-blasted mighty now, is he?"
Trader said nothing. He was looking over the bodies of his crew and was
grateful to see most of them were stirring now, either on their own, or thanks
to kicks or punches from the enemy.
Most, but not all.
There were a dozen or so stretched out to one side who weren't moving, and
nobody was bothering to kick them awake.
To Trader, it looked like the corpses were already going stiff.
There was green foam around their open mouths, and their tongues were all
swollen and sticking out black.
Because Trader always handpicked his crews, he knew all their names, knew if
they liked to joke or if they were cold fish, knew if they had families
waiting for them back at the cavern. At that instant, his sense of failure was
personal and complete. This disaster was, ultimately, his responsibility. No
sooner had the feeling of defeat surfaced than he shut it down, slammed the
door on it. It was of no help to those who were still living. He had to keep
his mind open, alert for the opportunity to make things right.
While he looked on, the baron's sec men clapped the chains
on every surviving member of his crew, then they forced everyone into a line.
J.B. got shoved in behind him. Ahead of him was Samantha. The sec men linked
up all the neck collars, running a long, single length of heavy chain through
the iron rings welded at their fronts.
When this was done, and the sec men had moved away, J.B.
said softly to Trader's back, "We lost eleven."
"Mebbe they're the lucky ones," Sam said.
Trader ignored the remark. Shabazz's crew was splitting up and piling into the
doors of his wags, which in the confusion and suddenness of the gas attack
hadn't been sealed. Nor had their external mines been armed. One by one, the
pirates started up their engines. What pissed him off most of all was the
sight of
Levi Shabazz's hairy head sticking out of War Wag One's driver's compartment
vent hatch. The bastard was in control of everything he valued.
Under a heavy hand, the MCP's engines roared to life. The exuberant Shabazz
revved the wag hard and long, holding it at redline until Trader was sure it
was going to throw a piston. It didn't, though. Shabazz shifted it into low
and drove it alongside the line of prisoners. When he reached the head of the
line, he braked and shouted to his crew, "Hook them up!"
Two of the road pirates grabbed the first man in the line and connected his
neck collar to the rear bumper of the MCP.
Counting Trader, there were thirty-three captives in tow.
The sec men shot their blasters in the air as War Wag One started to lumber
down the road. The chain jerked tight, making
Trader and the others stumble forward, forcing them into lockstep behind.
Over his shoulder, Trader could hear J.B. cursing. He let loose with an
unbroken string of expletives as they staggered in the cloud of dust and
exhaust thrown up by the MCP.
He stole a quick glance behind. All the other commandeered wags were
following.
"J.B.!" he growled. "J.B.!"
The swearing stopped. "Yeah, Trader."
"Still got your watch?"
"Yeah."
"How long until the internal boobies blow?"
Sam, hearing this, looked over her shoulder with wide eyes.
"We got a little more than three hours before they kick off."
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"Be plenty dark by then," Sam said.
"No way, Panther," J.B. said. "When those charges of mine go off, it's going
to look like dawn."
"What about the externals?" Trader asked him. This to confirm his own belief.
"They aren't set, far as I know."
"Then we've got to figure out a way to arm at least a couple of them." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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