Perception Fault (17 page)

But there was no sign of Ryan and J.B. at all.

Ryan hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, his attempt to roll with the impact thwarted by the narrow space he found himself in, trapped upside down between the dry earthen wall and the wag’s front fender. Tasting acrid dust, he spit to clear his mouth. He knew his ambusher was still nearby, but couldn’t tell exactly where he was, and that was the second largest problem he had.

On the wag’s other side, he heard the short burst of an automatic weapon—J.B.’s mini-Uzi. He’d bet his life on it. He tried to call to the Armorer for help, but he could only manage a pitiful wheeze. The awkward way he’d landed was compressing his lungs so that he could only suck in enough air to survive, but not to call for help.

His right arm was pinned against the ground, making drawing his blaster impossible. Reaching out with his left hand, he felt empty space, then warm rubber—the tire of the wag! Just then he felt a stinging blow on his leg, as if someone had whacked him with a thick stick. He didn’t know if his enemy was checking to see if he was still alive or just torturing him, although judging by his throbbing shin, Ryan suspected the latter. He reached around the tire just as the stick came down again, this time on his other leg, making him grunt with pain. He lashed out with his left foot and felt it graze
something, but before he could connect with it a second time, his shin was struck again, the pain jolting all the way up his leg.

Gonna grab that fuckin’ stick and shove it up his ass, Ryan thought. Grabbing the tire again, he pulled himself forward with all his might. At first he didn’t move, but then his body shifted an inch, then another. All the while more blows rained down on his legs, the pain radiating from each strike almost overwhelming. Ryan grit his teeth and remained silent, not wanting to give his tormentor the satisfaction of knowing he was doing damage. At last, his other arm was free, and he scrambled underneath the mil wag, narrowly avoiding another flurry of blows.

Ryan groped for his Sig Sauer just as a face out of nightmare appeared, glaring at him from the side of the Hummer. With wide, wild eyes, a snarling mouth filled with rotting teeth, and his entire face painted in diagonal stripes of blue, the warrior brought the other end of his stick around—this one ending in a razor-sharp metal spearhead—as Ryan was trying to line up his blaster with a tingling, partially numb hand.

Both men attacked at the same time. Ryan was forced to scoot backward to avoid being stabbed by the spear, which threw off his aim, making his shot go wide. The Native American saw the blaster but apparently didn’t care, since his only reaction was to crouch near the rear tire and advance under the Hummer, jabbing with the spear as he did so. As he shuffled forward, chanting an incomprehensible language, Ryan saw he was mostly naked, with only a leather breechcloth covering his genitals. His face was broad and flat, with narrow, dark brown eyes and a protruding forehead and jaw that made the rest of his face look like it had been pushed
in. He was also fairly short, at least a foot shorter than Ryan’s own rangy frame.

Hot, sweaty and furious at being stymied by his stone-age attacker, Ryan rolled toward the front of the vehicle, giving him enough time to aim properly and fire three times. The trio of bullets pierced the man’s chest and carved through his heart, killing him almost instantly. He stumbled backward, leaning against the rear tire for a second before it shifted under his weight and sent him sprawling to the ground.

J.B.’s face appeared on the far side of the Hummer. “You okay?”

Ryan tried to speak again, but only expelled a small cloud of dust. He nodded, hawking up saliva for his parched throat and spitting out more brown dust. “Fine, thanks…” He took J.B.’s extended hand and slid out from underneath the wag, narrowly avoiding stepping on four more breechcloth-wearing, brown-skinned bodies. “Busy over here?”

“Only took out two. Other two were dead when I got here. There’s a wounded man, too, one of Carrington’s. Not for too much longer, looks like.” J.B. shook his head as he regarded the man sprawled half out of the passenger seat, the front of his fatigues covered in dark red blood. The man’s face was growing paler as he bled out, but he lifted a soaked hand and beckoned the two men closer.

“Hell, it’s a wonder he’s still living now.” Ryan leaned over to hear what he had to say. “Rachel…Carr…ington…stowaway…taken prisoner…taken…” He tried to say something else, but his voice was cut off by a bright red bubble of blood, and when it burst on his lips, his last breath hissed out with it.

Ryan turned to stare at J.B. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We have to go after her again?”

“Apparently so. But where the hell’d they take her? Didn’t see anyone come out on my side.”

“Me neither. And if these guys were waiting to attack anyone in the vehicle, that means…” Ryan grabbed a flashlight from its holder under the dash, switched it on and played the beam around the interior of the pit. Underneath the rear wheels he saw what he was looking for, but hoped he wouldn’t find—a low, narrow tunnel leading away from the trap.

“Still thinking this was a good idea?” J.B. asked as he stared at the black opening.

“Less every minute.” Ryan coughed as he replaced the low magazine in his blaster with a full one. Climbing up on the fender of the wag, he peered into the passenger compartment until he found a heavy, plastic canteen. After draining half the bottle and splashing the rest over his head, he walked to the entrance to play his light down the tight corridor. “That woman’s going to be the death of me yet.”

“Tell the others?”

“No time. If we’re only a few minutes behind, we got a better chance of taking them by surprise and getting her back now than if we regroup and come back later. Come on.”

Ducking, he entered the passageway, almost stumbling over another body as he did so. A third warrior lay before him, his bulging eyes and protruding tongue making it fairly clear how he’d died. “Looks like someone took out another one here.”

J.B. didn’t waste words on the body’s condition. “Yup.”

Ryan shuffled down the tight passageway, breathing
shallowly with each step. As hot as it had been in the pit itself, the tunnel had to have been at least twenty degrees warmer, making sweat bead all over his body. The air was also thick and foul, smelling of earth, unwashed bodies and smoke. The top of Ryan’s head brushed the ceiling, and there was just enough room for him to advance if he turned his shoulders so they were at an angle to the walls. Blaster in his right hand, crank flashlight in his left, he duckwalked farther in, ready to chill anything that moved in front of him. He thought he might be on a downward slope, but it was hard to tell. He heard J.B.’s stealthy movement behind him, so Ryan had no worries as far as his back was concerned.

The tunnel continued straight for several dozen yards, then doglegged left. Ryan paused at the bend, keeping the light low so as not to make himself a target. He flashed the light around the corner first, trying to flush out any ambushers. When no spears or bullets came his way, Ryan leaned out long enough to glance down the tunnel, seeing nothing but empty corridor.

He reached behind to signal J.B. to move out, then crept into the passageway. After the noise of the fight both in and out of the pit, the silence was disconcerting. Ryan expected to hear movement at least, maybe conversation, screaming, some sign of life, but although he strained as hard as he could, he heard nothing at all up ahead.

Where the fuck did everyone go? he wondered. He hadn’t passed any side tunnels, and there hadn’t been any forks yet, either. The passageway just seemed to keep on going, deeper and deeper. Squaring his shoulders, Ryan followed, trying not to think too much about the tons of dirt and stones above his head, or what
would happen if a section of tunnel were to suddenly collapse on him.

After another hundred feet, he saw that the tunnel seemed to open into a larger room, almost big enough to stand in. Ryan still approached cautiously, leading with his blaster. He could make out at least two other tunnels branching off from the intersection, and stopped just before the entrance, concealing his light again. With J.B. still and ready right behind him, Ryan listened for any sign of life in the area ahead. Just because he couldn’t see anyone didn’t mean the area was clear.

After a slow thirty-count, he was satisfied the area was empty. Edging into the doorway, he swept the entire area with the muzzle of his blaster one last time. Straightening, Ryan stepped inside—and was shoved to the ground as a large weight fell on him from above, his blaster flying from his grasp as a dirty arm snaked around his throat.

Ryan felt another hand tear at his face, and he grabbed it and bent the fingers back at an impossible angle, feeling two snap under the pressure. His opponent didn’t make a sound in response, but the forearm around his throat constricted more tightly, cutting off Ryan’s air. Grabbing the man’s arm with his left hand, he wrenched it off his windpipe and back around while reaching for his blaster, just out of grasp, with his right hand. His adversary wriggled out of his grasp and tried to choke him again, but Ryan jammed his chin into his chest, preventing the warrior from securing his stranglehold again. Feeling hot, fetid breath on his ear, he dipped his head even lower and snapped it back, feeling a crack as his skull smacked the other man’s jaw. He head butted him a second time, this one landing more solidly, making the man rear back.

Giving up on reaching his blaster, Ryan went for the panga on his left hip, drawing it as he rolled onto his back to try to dislodge the man. As he did, he saw J.B. locked in combat with another of the short men, both of them shuffling around as if in a deadly, clumsy dance.

Ryan’s enemy tried to grab him again, but he sat up out of the guy’s reach and turned, swinging the heavy panga at the man’s head as he did so. The warrior threw up his right arm to block the blow, and the thick blade chopped into his forearm, breaking both bones with an audible crack that Ryan felt through the knife’s handle.

The serious wound didn’t stop the warrior in the least. Instead, he pushed off the ground with his good arm and came at Ryan again, his teeth bared and spittle flying from his mouth. Ryan brought the panga around again, this time in a savage chop to his enemy’s throat. The keen edge sank in, cutting through skin, muscle and the major blood vessels. He pulled the blade down and out, slicing through even more flesh, so deep he felt the metal grate against the bones of the spine.

The man halted in his tracks, his outstretched hand falling to his side as the knife nearly cut off his head. When Ryan finished pulling the blade out, a huge gush of blood followed, splattering on the dusty floor. The Native American put his uninjured hand to the gaping slash, but his eyes rolled back in his head even as he fell to one knee, then onto his side, the fountain of blood already subsiding.

Glancing over at J.B., Ryan saw the smaller, wiry man standing over the body of his fallen enemy, wiping blood off his knife, still watching the other tunnel entrances. His eyes suddenly widening, he flipped the knife end-over-end to throw.

Ryan hurled his panga in the general direction the
Armorer was staring at as he dived for his Sig Sauer. Even as he hit the dirt, his fingers closed around the blaster’s grip, a part of his mind screamed that it was probably already too late, but he figured he’d rather die with a blaster in his hand than with nothing.

Raising the dusty Sig Sauer, he saw another of the squat Native Americans, this one armed with an ancient-looking AK-47, aiming directly at his face, his finger about to squeeze the trigger.

Realizing he was a heartbeat away from dying, Ryan lined up his blaster’s sights on the man’s chest and squeezed the trigger, knowing he’d at least be able to take the fucker who’d chilled him along on the last train to the coast.

As he fired, the man spasmed and arched his back, raising his head as if to scream, but no sound came out. The automatic rifle slipped from his fingers, landing on the floor without a shot fired. The man bucked once more, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth before easing limply from the ground—almost as if he was being set down by someone. Ryan didn’t lower his focus for a moment, but kept his blaster’s sights aimed at the middle of the darkness, ready to shoot again if necessary.

A moment later, a human shape appeared in the tunnel’s black mouth. Sergeant Caddeus knelt and wiped his crimson blade on the dead Native American’s loincloth before sheathing it, then picked up J.B.’s knife and Ryan’s panga and held them out to the two men, handle first. “Dropped your knives, boys.”

Ryan stood and accepted his, brushing as much dirt and blood off as he could. “I had him, but thanks for the help.”

“Doesn’t matter who takes ’em down, long as they go down for good.” Caddeus was dressed in his full web
harness, and had a short-barreled Colt Commando 5.56 mm carbine slung over one shoulder. “Damn warriors have been a thorn in our side for years. Always hittin’ and runnin’, then vanishing when we try to follow. Thought they were hidin’ out in the hills, but looks like they did the opposite—went underground.”

“Where did you come from?” J.B. asked as he snatched his knife out of the sec man’s hand. “We were in the tunnel two minutes after the wag hit bottom, and didn’t see you there.”

Caddeus smiled. “My momma told me, ‘always be faster than everyone else thinks you are.’ Those raiders were all over us. My driver collapsed his sternum when he hit the steering wheel—always told that crazy mother to wear his seat belt. I tapped two, then saw Carrington get snatched—”

Ryan raised a finger. “Hold up. You knew she was in your wag?”

Caddeus shook his head. “Keep your voices down. No, I didn’t know. She was in the back and kept her cap low the whole time, at least till she was grabbed. I heard her yell and started after them. She took out one at the tunnel entrance. She’s a tough girl.”

“Didn’t stop them from taking her, though.”

Caddeus nodded. “That it didn’t. I followed them to their main quarters, then headed back to get reinforcements when I heard fighting here, and figured I’d better lend a hand—just in case, you understand.”

“Yeah. Guess we’re it, far as I know. How’re you seeing down here, anyway?” Ryan asked.

Caddeus turned on the small LED flashlight tucked into the epaulet on his shoulder. The light it emitted was red, enough to see the immediate surroundings without giving the wielder’s position away.

Ryan grinned. “Slick. You’re on point, then.”

The black man smiled back. “Well, I
am
the only one who knows where we’re going, so turn off that big, white target and let’s move out.” He spun on his heel and headed down the passage he’d come out of at a fast clip.

Grabbing the AK-47 and slinging it, Ryan looked at J.B. and shrugged. “With him in front, at least I’ll be able to chill him if necessary.” He followed Caddeus down the black tunnel, with J.B. right behind him.

They traveled another couple hundred feet, passing several side tunnels that Ryan marked with slashes from his panga so they could find their way back. Caddeus slowed, then came to a stop, motioning the other two to come closer. Ryan and J.B. did, their eyes widening as they saw what lay ahead.

“How far below the surface are we?” J.B. asked, adjusting his glasses to better view what they had found.

The tunnel led to a huge room, easily a hundred feet across and several stories high. Every surface was smooth here, as if many hands had created walls and the ceiling out of wet clay that had been allowed to bake in the constant dry heat. A large fire down in the middle of open space gave off enough light to see at the bottom, along with a haze of smoke that filled the upper third of the complex, drifting out of strategically placed holes and let in more light and also let smoke escape. The walls were covered with an intricate system of cave openings, with steps carved into the walls leading up and down.

“She’s in here? How in the hell do you expect us to find her? Or get past everyone here?”

“Relax, the warriors must have had a run of bad luck
lately. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of them left. Look closely.”

Now Ryan and J.B. saw that a lot of the caves seemed abandoned, with only a few lit from within. Perhaps two dozen people moved about, all in roughly the same area on the other side of the gigantic cavern.

Caddeus pointed at a cave opening near the bottom. “I saw them take her in there. All we have to do is sneak in, get her and sneak out.”

“That’s all, huh? And here I thought it might be difficult.” Ryan exchanged a dour glance with J.B. “Remember what the Trader said about planning?”

“Yeah—no battle plan survives contact with the enemy.”

Caddeus’s eyebrows raised at this. “Your Trader knew his military history. That was written in the nineteenth century by a guy named Helmuth von Moltke the Elder, a German army commander.”

Now it was Ryan’s turn to be impressed. “How’d you know that?”

“The Free City library has a pretty good collection of books, some on war. Carrington has all the men on active duty in the militia read and report on one a month, no exceptions.” He turned back to the strange ville ahead. “Anyway, it’s a good thing we’re not plannin’ on doin’ any fightin, ain’ it?”

Ryan frowned. “Yeah. Let’s hope they aren’t planning on doing any, either.”

Caddeus unslung his Colt Commando and carefully pulled the bolt back to chamber a round. “Even if they do, we should have the edge on firepower. Follow me, and remember, up is a threat direction here, as well.” He crept out, looking everywhere as he headed for the nearest stairway, a steep, narrow group of steps that
could easily be cut off at both ends, trapping anyone on it to be cut down at the attackers’ leisure.

J.B. let air leak from between his lips. “Don’t know about you, but I got a bad feeling about this.”

“Not much choice. We go back for reinforcements, and most likely we’ll find her dead. Come on.” Ryan made sure his newly acquired automatic longblaster was secure, then headed after the sergeant, trying to creep inconspicuously, if such a thing was possible. J.B. was right behind him, trying not to make a wrong step on the tight flight of stairs.

Caddeus snuck around on the hard-packed staircases as if he’d been doing it all his life. Ryan and J.B. were more cautious, but as they made it farther down with no one seeming to notice them, they started to think they might actually pull off what had seemed like a suicide mission at first but what Ryan had now downgraded to merely crazy.

They had only one bit of trouble on the descent. Caddeus was just about to start down the last staircase that would take them to the cave Rachel was being held in when two men appeared at the bottom and began to climb toward them. The sergeant signaled Ryan and J.B. to take cover in the nearest cave opening, which was pitch-black. The two men entered, hoping they wouldn’t stumble over a sleeping person and raise an alarm before they could chill him or her. Caddeus edged into the shadows right behind them just as the pair of men crested the top of the stairs, talking low between themselves in a language Ryan didn’t understand.

Caddeus drew his combat blade, but froze at a light touch from Ryan, who had his own panga out, as well. J.B. had melded into the deep shadows on the other side, and all three men waited for the pair to pass. The smell
of sweat, stale or uncooked food, and the general stench of too many bodies living too close together here was almost overwhelming.

The snort that erupted behind them was so close that Ryan was hard-pressed not to whirl and bury his blade into whoever had made the noise. His eyes had adjusted to the dimness enough to see a banked fire at the back of the room, making him wonder where all the smoke went from each cave. Ryan also saw huddled forms sleeping next to the fire, including a small one who had just gotten up and was stumbling toward them.

Caddeus tensed, readying himself to reach out and cover the boy’s mouth and nose while cutting his throat with one slash of his blade. Again, Ryan stopped him. While he wouldn’t hesitate to kill any one of these people if he had to, he wasn’t going to chill a child who, as of yet, hadn’t done anything to warrant death.

The boy headed out of the cave, rubbing his eyes as he went. Caddeus put his lips to Ryan’s ear. “Why the hell did you stop me?”

“Kill the boy, mebbe he’s discovered before we’re gone. Only if he sees us do we chill him, got it?”

“Long as you’re willin’ to take that chance.”

“I am. Shh. Listen.” Ryan nodded toward the entrance, where the sound of splashing liquid could be heard. Caddeus’s smile was quick, but he nodded, and moved back against the wall again.

Having finished relieving himself, the boy trudged back into the stifling sleeping room, again not looking left or right, but heading with single-minded determination to his sleeping area, collapsing on it and curling into a tight ball, where he immediately fell asleep.

Caddeus nodded. “Let’s go.” He checked the small landing, then crept out to the stairway. At the top,
he motioned the other two to follow as he began his descent.

Ryan and J.B. quickly came up behind him, the three men creeping down to where they thought Rachel was being held. Unlike the rest, this cave opening was covered by a rough-cured hide from some unrecognizable animal. As they drew closer, Ryan heard noises, movement of some kind. They better not be doing anything to her, he thought, not because it wasn’t a possibility, but because he thought Caddeus might go crazy and want to kill everyone in the place if he found Carrington’s daughter being raped or tortured.

The sergeant was at the hide now, and was easing it aside with the blade of his knife just enough to see inside. Ryan signaled to J.B. to watch the far half of the ville caves while he kept his eye on the near ones.

Caddeus pulled back far enough to catch Ryan’s eye and held up three fingers, then made a
C
with his hand, indicating Rachel, Ryan guessed, then stuck two fingers above his head to mimic feathers, indicating two men with her. Ryan pointed at him, held up the two fingers, then drew his finger across his throat in the universal gesture. Caddeus’s answering smile was as ice-cold as Ryan had ever seen on a man. He nodded and disappeared into the cave before the one-eyed man could say anything else. There was a loud crack, followed by a strangled gurgle, then silence. Caddeus stuck his head back out. “Inside. Now!”

Ryan and J.B. wasted no time. In the small room, they found Rachel, gagged and bound hand and foot, and sporting a nasty welt under one eye, but otherwise apparently unharmed. The bodies of two long-haired, lifeless warriors were sprawled on the floor, one with his head twisted at an odd angle, the other leaking
blood from a slit throat. Caddeus had gone to Rachel and was untying her, rubbing her ankles and wrists to restore circulation.

As soon as her hands were free, Rachel tore off the filthy hunk of hide that had bound her mouth. “Give me a blaster.”

Ryan wasn’t about to surrender one to her, but Caddeus drew his Beretta M9 blaster, chambered a round and handed it to her butt first. “Can you walk?”

“Hell, yes! I can run right the fuck out of here. Let’s go before those other two come back. It sounded like they were bringing the chief, or whoever runs the show around here.”

“That’s just great. J.B., keep an eye on the door.” Ryan rifled through the rest of the room, finding nothing but threadbare blankets and broken tools. “Just the ammo we have on us. Time to go.”

J.B. was peeking out under the hide, and pulled back quickly. “Company’s coming. The two warriors and an old guy, all at the top of the stairs.”

“Fireblast!” Ryan looked at the small space, realizing that the other three men wouldn’t be able to pack into the small room.

“Rachel, stay where you are and put your hands behind your back again. Caddeus, on my side again. J.B., right there. Try to let all of them get inside before we start chilling. Knives only. A ricochet in here could kill any one of us.”

“They’re here!” J.B. whispered.

Everyone fell silent as they waited for the men to walk into the trap. Ryan was counting on the moment of surprise when they walked in to find their guards dead. During that valuable one or two seconds, the three men would join their deceased brethren.

The footsteps came closer to the hide covering, murmuring voices carrying to the group inside. There was a pause, as if someone was arguing their point to the others, then another voice raised in what sounded like disagreement.

Ryan took a moment to assess the other three. J.B. was his calm, phlegmatic self, ready to chill at a moment’s notice. Caddeus seemed a bit distracted by his concern for Rachel, but looked ready to go, as well. He was a bit unsure about Rachel. Her face was flushed, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her head moved in quick jerks, like a bird’s, and Ryan could have sworn her pupils had contracted when he’d seen her up close. He wasn’t sure, but from conversations with Mildred, she looked like she was in mild shock. Nothing to be done about it now but get her out of here as quickly as possible.

Ryan turned back to the opening just as the hide was swept aside, and one of the men stooped to enter the hut. He walked in, his eyes alighting on Rachel first, then falling on his bodies of the dead guards. He stopped, causing the second man to bump into him, and opened his mouth to shout a warning when Rachel brought her Beretta out from behind her back and shot him three times.