with the appearance of one who had, at one point, been malnourished and had found it hard to build up his muscles once more. This impression was born out by his face: it was long, with gaunt, high cheekbones that only accentuated the sallow skin stretched tight. His eyes were deep-set, with a darkness underneath them that made his steady, staring gaze seem all the more intent. His nose was scarred and had been broken several times, and the long, thin blond hair that he wore tied back into a ponytail was an ash blond, flecked with more gray than should have been evident in a man of his years. He wore old, tattered fatigues that hung on his lean frame, and a Heckler & Koch was hanging by his side, still grasped in his hand but with the barrel pointing downward.
His eyes met Ryan’s gaze, and locked there. The one-eyed man knew immediately that Correll would tear them apart if they crossed him, but would play by agreed rules if they were going his way. He would be a good ally, but a dangerous enemy.
Correll was thinking much the same thing as he sized up Ryan. He was impressed by the obvious strength of the man, and the fact that he had lost an eye, had a jagged scar to prove it had been a tough fight. That he had obviously chilled the opponent and was still here was proof of his abilities. Correll’s gaze flickered over the rest of the companions. Mildred fascinated him, as he hadn’t seen a black woman for many a year; Krysty was an obvious beauty, and looked strong; the white one showed the signs of many battles, and from his size Correll would have expected him to have been chilled long ago—obviously a good fighter; the old man seemed crazy, smiling to himself as he stood there with an ancient blaster in his fist—yet he had to be able to look after himself. Likewise the boy, who was barely in his teens, yet had to be a good fighter, as this group was far too small to carry any passengers. Besides, he looked like One-eye, mebbe a son, so he probably learned to fight from his father.
They were a small group, and looked too odd to have taken on and outsmarted his people. So mebbe they could help after all in the task ahead.
Ryan noticed the movement of Correll’s gaze, and wondered what was going on behind the impassive countenance. He heard a small grunt in the back of Correll’s throat, the slightest nod, as if to himself, and then Correll spoke.
“So what do I call you, One-eye? You know me, after all.”
Ryan answered simply with his name, taking the opportunity to look over the rest of the company who were behind Correll. There had been a party of ten after all, then, as there were six people lining up behind the leader. Five of them were men, all looking lean and ready to fight. The sole woman was stouter, with a better developed musculature. She looked to be of Native American heritage, as her skin had a darker tint, and her hair was black, like her glittering eyes. All of them were dressed in better fatigues, camou and old military clothes than their leader, which made a part of Ryan wonder why Correll still wore his old rags. They all had the wariness that Ryan could feel in his own people, yet they had all relaxed the instant Correll had spoken, as though they trusted his every word, as well as following it. They carried Uzis, H&Ks, and one had an M-4000 like the one J.B. carried. Their clothes and blasters suggested that they had been in this redoubt for some time, and had made full use of what had been left behind after skydark.
In the distance, back at the bend of the tunnel, Ryan could see the two chilled corpses, and the wounded man, now semiconscious.
“Let Mildred go and see to your man,” Ryan added after he had spoken his name, indicating the woman with an inclination of his head. “She knows a lot of healing skills and understands some of the old medicines. Let her take him to the med lab here, she may be able to help him.”
Correll furrowed his brow. “Med lab?” He pronounced the words as though they were completely foreign, rolling them around his tongue.
Mildred spoke for the first time. “Med lab—it’s usually on the same level as the armory. Look, a couple of your people carry him, and I’ll see if I can help him.”
Correll gave Mildred a penetrating stare that, for one moment, completely fazed her. She felt a shudder run down her spine as those deep-set eyes seemed to search into her. Then he nodded, turning his head to two of the men behind.
“Lonnie, Travis—help this here lady to take Cy to the med lab, see if she can help him. Let her lead.”
He had, once again, pronounced the words “med lab” as though they were something strange and freakish, but his voice still carried authority. Two of the men—a tall, crop-haired guy and a slightly shorter guy with longer, red hair—nodded, shouldered their blasters and moved back to where Cy was lying. Mildred, with the briefest of glances at Ryan and J.B., holstered her ZKR, which had been in her hand, pointing down, as were all the blasters, and hurried past the one-eyed man and his counterpart, moving through the other people to reach the injured man.
The two men assigned to assist her were about to lift him, but she stayed them with a simple “Wait, please,” and examined the prone body as they hovered over her. It was a bad injury, and she couldn’t guarantee saving the use of the arm, but as long as the refrigeration on the blood-and-plasma bank in the redoubt was still working, she may be able to keep him alive. “Okay, let’s go,” she said firmly, establishing her authority and leading Lonnie and Travis, carrying the prone Cy, out of sight around the tunnel bend and in search of the med lab.
Correll had turned to watch them go, and now he returned his gaze to Ryan.
“So, Ryan Cawdor, we know who we are. Introduce me to the rest of your people, and then we can go back to the living quarters and you can meet my people.”
Correll slowly shouldered his H&K and extended his hand in a gesture. Ryan holstered the SIG-Sauer and grasped Correll’s hand. The grip was firm and dry.
“That’s a deal,” Ryan said.
After the introductions had been made, the two forces joined up and moved out of the lower tunnel, walking up toward where the redoubt dwellers had made their home. Correll explained on the way that his people had learned early on that the worms liked to dig deep in these parts, and apart from one or two isolated incidents they had never experienced any problems with the giant muties on the upper levels. They rarely used the lower levels, just venturing down when necessary to use the shower room, or take supplies, or effect repairs.
Jak and Dean volunteered themselves to help the woman and one of the other men carry the corpses of those they had chilled up to the higher levels, where they would be disposed of. The man and woman still seemed to have a degree of hostility over the chilling, even though they abided by their leader’s word, and seemed uneasy at Jak and Dean assisting. But both felt it was a necessary gesture and carried on regardless.
They passed the med lab, and Correll stopped to see what was going on.
Mildred turned as the door opened. Travis was assisting her, his red hair pushed back from his face as he leaned over the prone Cy, but Lonnie had been overcome by seeing the state of Cy’s wound closeup, and was standing some distance away.
“What’s going on?” Correll asked.
Mildred, bent over the recumbent man’s shoulder, spared Correll the briefest of looks. “Hard to say at the moment,” she replied as she returned to her work. “There was some superficial flesh wounding from the fléchettes, but the real damage is around the joint itself. I’ve cleaned up the rest of his arm, and I’m looking at the tendons and muscle damage, see what I can do. Thing is, I’m no surgeon. I can patch him up, but he may not be able to use the arm too well.”
Correll nodded, as much to himself as anyone else. “That is as may be, and there is nothing we can do about it. I thank you for your help. We’ll leave you to
