the help of his lion’s-head ebony swordstick, Doc rose to his feet, knees popping with the effort, and dusted off his ancient frock coat before favoring them all with a broad smile. “Let us sally forth and investigate whatever new labyrinth we find ourselves inhabiting this day.”
“Awake sure. Mouth already runnin’.” Jak shook his head, then glanced at the walls. “Color different.”
The walls of the mat-trans chambers were a bewildering variety of colors that seemed to have no rhyme or reason to them, from black to silver and every shade in between.
“Triple red, people. Let’s see what we can see.” A broad variety of weapons appeared in everyone’s hands. J.B. readied his ever-present mini-Uzi, flicking off the safety with his thumb. He had taken up a position to one side, ready to catch anyone—or anything—outside in a lethal cross fire.
Although the self-sustaining redoubts had been built in secret and carefully hidden from the world more than a century earlier, the companions knew all too well that time had a way of revealing the concealed. The walls were sometimes breached. Until they knew for sure, the only way to go was slow, steady and ready to shoot anything that moved outside.
“Everyone set?” Ryan kept his blaster up and ready as he reached for the lever that would open the gateway door.
Chapter Two
The door hissed open, and Ryan immediately felt a breath of warm air waft over him. Blaster leading the way, he edged out past the left side of the mat-trans wall and into the anteroom, scanning for the slightest hint of movement. On reflex he checked the small rad counter clipped to the lapel of his jacket, but it edged up into the green.
“Seems clean—no leaks. Not much else either.”
The control room was empty, filled with blinking banks of comp consoles with plain chairs in front of them. The walls were dull gray, and as bare as stone.
J.B. was already moving to the right, the muzzle of his submachine gun tracking in a forty-five-degree arc in front of him, ready to spray chattering death in an instant. He reached the sliding door that would take them farther into the redoubt. “Green clear.” He wiped at his forehead. “Warm.”
Krysty and Jak came in next, still carrying their side-arms. Mildred and Doc brought up the rear, all looking for any sign of where they might have ended up this time.
Doc’s gaze wandered around the barren room. “Besides what hope the flight of future days may bring, what chance, what change worth waiting—”
“Shut it, Doc.”
“My apologies, dear friend, it was my hope that a bit of doggerel might enhance the otherwise drab quarters we currently find ourselves in.”
“That was John Milton, wasn’t it, Doc?” Mildred looked wistful for a moment. “Paradise Lost indeed.”
“Let the future take care of itself and let’s all concentrate mighty hard on the here and now.” Frowning, Ryan crossed the room to the door, blaster held down at his side.
“If anything happened here, it was long ago and far away,” J.B. opined. “Let’s get the hell out.”
“Hopefully the rest of the place is as well-preserved,” Krysty said, opening one of the small drawers next to a station, only to find it empty. “Been dreaming of a hot shower lately.”
Mildred nodded. “You and me both, sister.”
“Best not be running your bath water just yet, ladies. J.B., on me.” Ryan waited for his friend to reach the other side of the steel door before punching numbers on the keypad, and readied himself again as it cycled open.
“Phew!”
“Stink dead dog shit!” Jak commented.
“What sort of odorous miasma is assaulting us, friends?”
Ryan thought Doc’s question was the winner. The corridor beyond was filled with a stench that nearly made him gag—a heavy, clammy, stomach-churning reek so overpowering it was almost tangible, pouring into his nose and mouth to settle into his lungs as if it would never leave.
J.B.’s nose twitched once as he took in the sight ahead of them. “Black dust, what the hell is that?” Fluorescent lights had flickered on down the hallway when the door opened, revealing what had once been a plain, concretewalled, tiled corridor. Now, however, the floor and walls were caked with several inches of a green-black, viscous substance, piled in clumps in the corners, and stretching as far as the eye could see. Overhead, a triple row of olive-drab pipes ran down the tunnel before snaking off deeper into the complex walls.
“Krysty, do you sense anything?”
The flame-haired woman came up behind him, swallowing hard. She frowned as she tried to fathom what might have made this hallway a communal toilet. “Nothing really dangerous—some kind of rats crapping down here for a few years—mostly just disgusting.”
Ryan resisted the powerful urge to cover his nose as he edged into the filthy hallway. “Right in one.”
J.B. stepped into the corridor, his booted feet breaking through the top crust and squishing into the muck. “Got something here, Ryan. Cover me.”
Fighting the urge to vomit, Ryan watched for movement as the Armorer scraped crusted gunk off the wall. Meanwhile, Doc and Mildred looked on in horrified fascination.
“Upon my soul, I would swear that I have breathed in this very stench before. Indeed, it is almost familiar, which is not something I admit to lightly, my friends.”
Jak’s assessment was more succinct. “Stinks! Go back?”
“Let’s see what J.B.’s found first.” Ryan saw absolutely no signs of life in the tunnel, but if there wasn’t, what had made this incredible mess?
“Got a map of the floor here. We’re under a place once called Fort McCoy. Military base, looks like. Could be weapons, ammo topside.”
“And quarters, maybe even with running water.” Mildred’s voice lilted with faint hope.
“Mebbe something better than jerky,” Jak chimed in.
J.B. peered closely at the map. “According to this, the elevator’s at the far end. Other levels look promising.”
Ryan looked at the expectant faces around him. “Sure as hellfire anything’s better than this. All right, let’s try for the elevator. Wrap your nose and mouth if you can, and don’t fall, because I’m not giving you a hand up.” Gritting his teeth, he stepped into the ankle-deep waste.
Krysty sighed as her blue Western-tooled cowboy boots with the chiseled silver falcons on the sides disappeared into the dark muck. “Better be a shower, or at least a hose to wash down with.”
“One thing I am always assured of is that you people take me to the most elegant of places.” Doc stabbed his swordstick into the feces, but was stopped by Mildred.
The black woman offered Doc her arm. “Shall we?”
“It would be my pleasure
