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THE SUN HAD BEEN DOWN for nearly an hour by the time they reached the small
ville. If ever there had been a ville that deserved to be described as a
pesthole, then this was it. A few fires around the edges of the shacks and
huts that comprised the ville were all that protected it from the encroaching
dangers of nocturnal predators.
Ryan couldn't see if there were any wags in the dim light, but somehow he
doubted it.
Mildred looked at J.B., strung out between Ryan, her heart sinking. She had
been hoping to pick up some sort of supplies from the ville to improve J.B.'s
condition, but from her first look, it seemed likely that she was better
equipped than they were.
They walked unchallenged into the heart of the ville, Mac leading the way. If
there were any guards around the outskirts of the ville, Ryan didn't see them.
Mac answered his unspoken question. "No one moves out or across the valley
after sunfall. You've seen it in daylight. It's far worse in the dark. Never
know where you are. The insiders are as wise to that as we are. They've never
attacked us by night, 'cause they wouldn't want to risk crossing the valley."
"What about people from outside the valley?"
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Mac grinned with a return of the old sick humor, now that he felt safe on home
territory. "They get this far, then the storms eat 'em up anyway. They're our
friend, as well as our enemy."
They continued until they were in a rough earthen square that served as the
meeting point for the ville dwellers. In the dim light provided by the lamps
and fires, faces appeared from the doorways of huts, keeping their distance
but peering with interest at the newcomers.
Particularly at Dean.
"Why are they staring at me like that?" he whispered to Krysty.
Krysty looked in the darkness, and could see that there weren't many children
in view, and those who were all seemed to have some kind of deformity
springing from either rad-blasted genes or inbreeding faces with squat,
snuffling noses dripping with mucus; hare-lipped, gap-toothed grins; slack
jaws that hung open over black eyes.
"I think you're probably the first child without a mutation or genetic problem
they've seen for some time," she whispered. "This could be a good thing for us
if we play it right."
Ryan was too close to Mac to acknowledge her verbally, but he heard& and
agreed.
When they were all in the small square, there were muttering and rustling
sounds from the huts as a small crowd gathered on the fringes.
Ryan and Jak lowered J.B. gently to the ground. He was mumbling softly and
incoherently. Mildred bent over him and felt his skin and took his pulse. He
was too hot, and his pulse was racing. If they could have some water boiled,
and a dry, relatively clean place clear of the ground, she could clean the
wounds and redress them, maybe give him more of the antibiotics. She was
uncertain how stable or effective the pills would be after so long, but they
were better than nothing.
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"John needs to be rested and cleaned up," she said to Mac. "So if you show us
where we're sleeping, and get me some hot water& "
She trailed off, noticing that the potbellied sec man was looking at her
uncomfortably.
"Reckon it may not be that simple, missy," he said softly. "See, all
outlanders or insiders are killed to appease sunup. Without sacrifice to the
sun, well, the storms could get worse."
Mildred regarded him coldly, suddenly aware once again of the light scouring
of dust and the perpetual breeze. It was much less than at its worst, but
still ever present.
Mac flinched before her stony gaze.
"You mean to tell me that after all we did to try and save that freakin' rag
woman and that fat giant, after all we did together to fight off those
freakin' squirrels, you'll sell us down the river and let us be chilled to try
and stop a storm that never ceases?"
Mac couldn't look at her. He stared at one of the huts. "Mebbe Abner will make
the decision& under the circumstances. But it's not up to me."
"Not up to you," Mildred spit back, looking at J.B., whose eyes flickered
wildly behind closed lids, encountering terrors in his delirium that only he
could ever understand.
"It's okay, Mildred," Ryan said softly. They had their blasters and other
weapons, but they were a man short and in the middle of the ville. He wanted
to buy some time, and if it meant being nice to these bastards, then so be it.
"No, let the black woman speak."
The voice was wheezing, old and had a sly quality that immediately pricked
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Ryan's suspicion. It came from the edge of the clearing, and the speaker
walked
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He was shorter than Mac, and if anything, even more potbellied than the sec
man.
His breathing was labored, and his long, thinning and straggly hair was a
dirty gray streaked with black. His long mustache and beard were similarly
peppered.
"Are you the baron of this ville?" Ryan asked him.
The man looked puzzled. "Baron? That's not a word I know for what I am. I'm [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]