that, Dnal tilted her masked head. “How did you know Alar was my father?” she asked quizzically.
Ryan continued eating and said nothing. As if a chief would have sent anybody else but blood kin to palaver with the outlanders visiting the tribe.
“If I may, I would like to ask a question, dear child,” Doc said as casually as possible, patting his greasy mouth clean with a grayish linen handkerchief. “Can we really leave whenever we wish?”
“Of course!” Dnal answered, sounding slightly insulted that the word of the Core should be questioned, especially by meat eaters. “Go anytime, and anywhere.”
Then she turned and pointed. “Except to the south. That is the blessed land, the origin of the Core and none may go except for the leader of the Core. For any others, it means death.”
J.B. shot Ryan a glance, and the Deathlands warrior subtly nodded in agreement. The land to the south was probably radioactive, he thought, glancing at the rad counter on his lapel. But the device indicated that they were in a safe zone. If so, why did the Core mutate into telepaths? Was it the bug juice? Merely another reason never to touch a single drop of the stuff.
“What about those?” Dean asked, waving at the nearby ruins.
“This is where we mine for the metal of our weapons and the clothing that protects us from the sand,” she said. “Explore all you wish, take anything you find.”
Turning on a heel, Dnal started to walk away into the wind, the loose ends of her wrappings jerking with whipcrack snaps. Then over a shoulder she added, “It doesn’t matter what you do. There is no water for a hundred miles. When your thirst is great enough, you will return to drink and join the Core.” As the girl walked, she soon vanished into the darkness and the windblown sand.
“Yeah?” Jak growled, easing the safety back on the blaster in his holster. “Like hell will.”
“Indeed, my taciturn friend,” Doc rumbled, placing aside his mess kit. “I do believe that it would be preferable to put lead in my head then join these antediluvian freaks.”
“How much water do we have?” Dean asked, wiping his hands clean on the sand and then on his pants.
“Three days,” Mildred answered promptly. “Not counting the poisoned stuff we’re saving for an emergency.”
“How far away?” Krysty whispered in a strained voice.
Looking at the stars overhead, J.B. hazarded a guess. He wouldn’t be able to shoot their exact position until the sun rose. “To reach the Grandee?” he said, rubbing his chin, “I’d say about three days on foot. If we move fast and head straight south.”
“Across the forbidden zone?” Dean said, casting a glance over a shoulder at the featureless blackness stretching behind them.
“Yep.”
“Damn,” Mildred murmured unhappily. “We have no choice, then.”
“Agreed. We better cook all of the meat tonight,” Ryan said, returning to his meal. “Gonna need it when we start running for our lives at dawn.”
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