sang. Several people were weeping at the beauty and power of the film, well over a century from the past.
Ryan felt a prickling behind his own eyes.
'Son of a fucking bitch, ain't it,' said a grizzled man behind him. 'Always kind of lifts me. Makes me want to get out and ice the baron on my fucking ownsome.'
The lights returned, making everyone blink. Ryan glanced around him, seeing the ragged army he was about to help. And he saw why the short piece of film was so important to Jak Lauren's people.
The battle appeared hopeless, against overwhelming odds. Yet the faded images, with the crackling sound track, typified the desperate lonely, struggles that were taking place all over Deathlands. Ryan was understanding it more and more. It was a natural process. Groups arose, some promoting only themselves, others trying to clean up the world. As he saw it, it wasn't enough just to worry about your own survival. Sometimes you had to stand up and fight for things you believed in.
It was that courage that Ryan saw in the ratlike teenager and his raggled army. 'Time we talked.'
'Sure. You four, and me and my five top chillers. That set with you?'
'Yeah. Want to know all 'bout the Baron Tourment. His ville. Where he lives. Where he'll keep prisoners. Sec men. Blasters. All that.'
'And more,' said J.B. 'We know all that, we can get the plans made.'
Ryan stood up, stretching. 'Some food and drink. Need to be ready by dark.'
Jak Lauren peeled back his lips in an icy grin. 'Be dark in around five hours. Time for real good plan. We were lost, now we're found.'
'Mebbe,' said Ryan.
Chapter Twenty
The cellar door of the Best Western Snowy Egret inched open, then stopped. It opened a finger's-breadth more, then stopped again. The two women heard the deep resonant voice of Baron Tourment laughing quietly.
'Very good. Oh, very good.'
Krysty wondered for an insane moment whether she could possibly take out the chieftain of Lafayette, realizing immediately that the butchering of the two guards had left her too drained even to wrestle a kitten.
'I am impressed, ladies. Fucking impressed. Oh, yes, I am.'
Inside the room, it was almost silent. Just the hypnotic buzzing of a blowfly, conjured from nowhere to feast on the banquet of blood that poured from the mouth of the one sec man, the groin of the other. The baron's voice resonated from outside the room.
'Alain and Neal. Two of the best, if that roguish Mephisto is to be believed. Are you to be believed, Mephisto? Eh?'
'They were good. You sure they're chilled?'
'Can't you taste their souls fleeing from their useless carcasses? Such a sour, yet sweet flavor. No, they are dead, are they not, sluts?'
'Come and find out, cripple,' taunted Krysty.
'Good.' Baron Tourment sounded as if he were genuinely amused. 'Two more on the account.'
At last he appeared, his head bent to avoid the low ceiling, the white-suited sec boss at his elbow. Both men were holding M-16s. The baron's weapon was plated with gold, its stock studded with semiprecious stones. Mephisto's rifle was comparatively plain and uncluttered, except for the head of a red-eyed cockerel, done in opals and rubies.
Krysty and Lori, licking their dry lips, stood beside the tables.
'How did they chill 'em?' asked Mephisto.
Tourment shook his head. 'Don't matter. It's the redhead. She's got some real power. They got careless. They got dead. End of that story.'
He lifted the barrel of his blaster, covering both women. His eyes searched Krysty's, until she felt he was somehow trying to suck her soul from her body.
'Go fuck a dead shark,' she said, trying to provoke him again.
'Perhaps I shall allow you that pleasure, girl,' he replied. 'Or, perhaps a live gator. See how your power works on that. But I feel your power is exhausted.'
Krysty knew she was right: the massive baron was a doomie. But he wasn't able to see what she was thinking. Her mind was locked too tight for him to penetrate. She said nothing, staring him out.
'We should find out where they are,' interrupted Mephisto. 'Get after 'em 'fore dark. IfТn we wait, they could be anywhere.'
Tourment sighed. 'Such haste, my dear sec boss. If they are in league with the snow wolf, they will have gone to his skulking place in the vid-palace.'
'Said we should have blown that apart.'
'Only last week one of our swampwags was taken by the little bastard. The time is not ready yet.' There was a snap in his voice that made Mephisto hastily step back.
Krysty could feel herself strengthening. She'd expended much more energy in destroying enemies far more powerful than the two sec men in the past, and hence her recovery would be quicker. Lori, at her side, stood straight and tall. Only the faintest trembling told Krysty how tense the young girl was.
'Enough of this. Come with us, and I'll show you what happens to anyone standing against the anger of Baron Tourment, high priest of Lafayette, lord of Mardy, night-stalker and spirit-raiser.'
'And all round shit,' completed Krysty, relishing his hesitant stumbling toward her on the creaking frames. She saw the finger whiten on the trigger of the pretty M-16. 'Come,' he said, gesturing with the gun. 'See how the kin of the snow wolf, your friend, is treated.'
Outside, there were a dozen armed sec men waiting to escort them through the echoing basement corridors of the large motel.
His head bent to avoid some of the painted metal pipes that festooned the ceilings, the baron led the way toward steep iron stairs. He negotiated them slowly and with obvious difficulty, leaning, on Mephisto to steady himself. Krysty whistled, tunelessly between her teeth at the delay.
Jak Lauren stalked around the auditorium, the tiny pieces of metal sewn into his clothes glinting in the overhead lamp so that at times he seemed to be wearing a suit of dancing lights. They'd been talking for an hour, not even stopping when bowls of hot stew were brought in from the kitchen of a nearby house.
The meat was a light pinkish-gray, tough and salty, in a broth with fresh vegetables. Finn devoured his and asked for more. Only when he'd nearly finished the second helping did he ask what it was.
The woman with the scar across her neck grinned, but no smile could ever light up her stony eyes. 'What's your guess, Finnegan?'
'Some kind of bird. Or mebbe horse.'
'Nope. It's gator meat. Killed this morning, so it's real fresh.'
If she'd expected disgust from the fat gunman, she was disappointed. Finn laughed and held out the chipped dish for a third helping. 'Day or so back one of them fuckers tried to fucking eat me, lady. Nice to know I'm getting my own back.'
The albino joined in the laughter, clapping his approval of Finn's response. 'Same way chill baron and all,' he said.
'Not unless we get the details of this plan worked out,' called Ryan. 'We got a lot of pieces, and none of them stick together. You showed us the plan of the Best Western and told us how many men and what kind of weapons they got.'
'And you showed us what you got,' added J.B. 'You sure you told us all?'
Jak stopped pacing and turned toward the slight figure of the Armorer. 'Sure. Blasters. Ammo. Grens. Some high-ex but not much. Two flamers we captured when we got the swamp wag last week.'
'There's that gas-jelly, Jak,' called a balding man with a drooping mustache.
'What?' snapped J.B. 'How's that?'
