Basic chemistry there, bases and acids.” Then she paused and frowned. “However, for water this strongly polluted, it might require so much urine that the resulting mixture would be rendered totally undrinkable afterward.”
“Well, I would certainly think so,” Doc muttered softly, trying to contain his revulsion.
Titling her head, Mildred smiled. “I agree. Tobacco also works on scorpion bites, but with the same results. The water might be safe, but nobody would willingly drink it until absolutely necessary.”
“Which might become the case,” Krysty said. “We’re low on water now, and have no idea how much farther it is to reach the lowlands where the Trader travels.”
“Couple of hundred miles at least,” Ryan growled, looking into the distance. “From now on, we piss in that bag and save it for boiling later.”
“Much much later,” J.B. said.
“We can only do this once,” the physician warned. “We’re already dehydrated, and the ammonia content of our urine will be dangerously high.”
“Better that than death,” Ryan said grimly.
“Okay, do we have anything else that hasn’t been checked over yet?” J.B. said wryly, hooking both thumbs into his belt. “We could be hauling a dozen more boobies among our stolen supplies.”
Quickly, the companions laid out their belongings and checked over every item carefully, but no other traps were discovered. That was good news, but it was tempered by the fact that the companions were now dangerously low on water and reduced to only five horses for seven adults.
“Mebbe take turns riding,” Jak suggested hesitantly, rubbing his wounded arm. “Horses too tired for double riders.”
Just then a large black scorpion scuttled into view from under a rock, snapping its pinchers happily at the heat of the morning sun. Standing nearby, Dean moved fast and crushed it under his combat boot, grinding the heel to make the little killer was thoroughly aced.
“Okay, no time to waste. We leave on foot,” Ryan commanded brusquely. “We need shelter and we need it bastard fast! We’re all going to walk for a while. That will let the horses get some rest in case serious trouble arrives and we have to ride again. If that comes, Dean goes with Jak on the stallion, J.B. with Mildred on the big gelding.”
Krysty stepped to the man and rested a hand on his shoulder.
“Correction, lover,” she said sternly. “We walk, but you ride. Each of us caught some sleep yesterday, but you haven’t in days. We’re alive now because of that, but right now I doubt if you could shoot the side of a barn with your longblaster even if you were fragging inside the building.”
Inhaling sharply, Ryan felt his hair-trigger temper flare at the words, but then found himself too bastard weary to even argue. She was right. Even with the coffee working, he was on his last legs. Nodding assent, the man forced himself to climb into the saddle and squeeze his feet into the small stirrups. This had to have originally been a woman’s horse. Mebbe one for the baron’s many wives. Unless Gaza himself was a very small man. It was well trained and bridle-wise, but didn’t really seem to like a rider as large as Ryan.
“Okay, I’m on point,” J.B. said adjusting his fedora and swinging his Uzi around to the front. He worked the bolt, chambering a round for immediate use. “Two-yard spread. Jak and Dean, take turns leading your mount. Doc, you’re rear guard. Stay razor.”
“I am honored! And shall remain as sharp as the Sword of Damocles!”
Annoyed, J.B. glanced at Mildred.
“That means yes,” she stated.
Guiding the horses by the reins, the companions started across the dune and down the other side. Ahead of them stretched the endless vista of the desert, the salty ground rippling from the gentle morning breeze.
Allowing his tense muscles to slowly relax, Ryan swayed in the saddle. Slowly stooping his shoulders, Ryan expertly leaned forward, his hands crossed at the pommel, with the reins looped securely over twice. Slowly allowing himself to succumb to the sweet siren call of sleep, the big man’s eyes soon closed.
Walking close by, Krysty smiled as she heard a soft sound of snoring. Brave didn’t make a warrior bullet-proof, and even men of iron needed to eat and sleep.
AS THE COMPANIONS disappeared over the southern horizon, the salt and sandy ground of the big dune broke apart and strange figures rose from its depths, shaking off the loose debris. Standing taller than any norm, the beings were bipedal, but impossibly skinny, with every inch of their bodies wrapped in dirty rags that completely hid any possible view of their anatomy.
More of the creatures arrived from belowground, as their leader, who carried a long spear, bowed once to the sun, then gestured violently at the dead horse. Now the others pulled curved daggers from within their rags and began to dissect the corpse, the tainted blood flowing in rivulets down the slopes of the dune.
Chapter Three
Fleeting visions of a bad mat-trans jump boiled in Ryan’s dreams, constantly punctuated by distant blasterfire. Or great preDark war machines charging after the man with their cannons clicking on shells no longer there. Or sec hunter droids snapping deadly scissors, or…
With a start, Ryan awoke to find both hands tied to the pommel of the saddle. For a split second, he thought they had been captured and his blood surged with adrenaline, his wrists breaking apart the twine as he clawed for the blaster on his hip. But surprisingly, it was there and as the mists of sleep faded away, Ryan saw the other companions leading their horses along the brightly lit desert. Fireblast, just a bad dream.
“Good afternoon, lover,” Krysty said, glancing sideways. “Nice to have you back.”
Afternoon? Had he really slept that long? The dull ache in his back from sleeping in the saddle seemed to confirm that, and the sun was high overhead, the air stifling with heat.
Licking his dry lips, Ryan started to reply when a faint clicking sound reached his ears. When he realized Bloodfire that his usually silent rad counter was the source, he flipped his lapel and took a look, recoiling in shock when the counter revealed they were in a lethal zone. They were walking directly into a nuke crater!
“Everybody freeze!” Ryan roared, grabbing the reins and bringing the horse to an abrupt halt. “We’re hot!”
“What?” J.B. replied gruffly, turning. Placing a thumb behind his lapel, he flipped the cloth. “See that? Mine is—Dark night! I put it in my backpack at the ville for safekeeping!”
J.B. hurriedly snatched the pack from the saddle pommel, rummaged inside for a moment and removed a small lacquered box. Inside lay the precious rad counter. “Hard at the edge of the danger zone,” J.B. announced, his voice strained.
Suddenly, the companions went pale, each person straining to sense the invisible death pouring from the featureless ground around them.
“Which way?” Krysty asked, climbing onto her horse.
Taking the rad counter in hand, Ryan turned about in every direction until pointing due west.
“That
