the handle, polished by the years of tearing gales.
'Locked!' she cried.
Henn was there next, throwing his great strength to help her. But they failed to shift it. The man called Finnegan and J.B. were next, all heaving and straining at the door, trying to get it open. Hun and Krysty, her overalls sodden with Abe's blood, arrived to help, but there was not enough room for them to get a grip.
Ryan brought up the rear, supporting Doc, whose legs had gone so that he sagged like a strawman, the breath rasping in his chest. Twice he had panted for Ryan to leave him, but Ryan was grateful for Doc's tip regarding the fog and aimed to keep this source of good information as close to him as he could. Despite the madness, Doc knew things. Things buried deep, maybe, but things that might save them all.
'Here they come,' warned J.B., dropping to his knees and readying his favorite Steyr AUG 5.56 mm.
'Krysty,' Ryan called, 'you and Henn keep tryin' the door. Watch for Doc. The rest, let's chill the bastards.'
With the Redoubt at their backs, the door towering sheer above them, there was no longer anywhere to run. Ryan's lips peeled back from his teeth in a vulpine snarl of anger and hatred. He directed it at their enemy.
'Come on, you sons of hellsuckin' bitches,' he hissed. 'Dyin' time's arrived.'
The attackers had paused at the head of the trail, gathered in a group. His estimate had been about right. Looked like closer to fifty, all male. They had dark skins and their clothes were fringed and beaded in a way that recalled the mysterious stranger at the time the Trader had gone walking out into eternity. Some of them carried spears and some hatchets. Most had bows, either in their hands or slung across their shoulders.
'No blasters,' said Okie. 'We can take 'em all, easy as fartin'.'
'I figure them for Indians,' whispered J.B. 'Some old tribe trapped up here, safe from raiders.'
'What are Indians?'
Ryan stopped as one of the squat figures started to run toward them, waving a long stick decorated with a double row of white and brown feathers. His mouth was open and he was yelling an inarticulate cry of rage. None of his fellows had moved, but stood watching him as he charged at the small group.
'Gone crazy,' said Hun.
Doc had collapsed as they reached the door, but he now pulled himself upright, peering over Ryan's shoulder at the running figure.
'Upon my soul!' he exclaimed. 'A warrior of the Sioux nation, eager to count coup upon us. How very... very... something or other.'
The man was a hundred paces away, the wind tugging at his long braided hair, ruffling the thongs that fringed his jacket and trousers. Still nobody opened fire, unable to believe such lunatic courage. Or stupidity.
The Indian was less than forty running steps from them when Okie leveled her M-16 and put a round through the middle of his face. The high-velocity bullet hit smack through the center of his nose, exiting in a straight line through the back of his head, blowing away a chunk of skull the size of a woman's palm, blood and brains spraying out in the gale. He stopped as though he'd run into an invisible wall, legs flailing in front of him, his trunk flying through the air until he landed on his back. His arms kept twitching for several seconds.
'Stupe bastard,' said Okie, quietly, lowering the rifle.
The rest of the attackers gave a great roar of anger, but none of them tried to follow their dying comrade. As Ryan watched, they withdrew around the corner out of sight. 'Now what?'
'We get the door open.'
'Won't move,' said Henn. 'Krysty tried. She... Look at the handle.'
The metal had become twisted and warped. Krysty leaned against the door, face white as the snow, her breathing irregular. She was aware of them all staring at her and managed a thin smile. 'Can't do... I tried. Used all I knew.'
Ryan blinked at the sight. To distort the metal of the lock like that took unbelievable strength. Then he remembered the way she had suddenly freed herself of her bonds when Strasser had held them prisoner. And he wondered about that amazing red hair that had seemed to move of its own volition. For the first time he realized that the girl had to be some kind of mutie. And he had made love to her...
'Without blasters they can't get at us,' said Hunaker, squatting. 'If we can't get into this joint, then we'll go back down. In the war wag and off safe as armor.'
'Not that easy,' interjected J. B. Dix.
Ryan agreed. 'He's right, Hun. Think about it some. There's a lot of 'em. We seen maybe fifty. Could be a hundred more. They know the Darks.'
'We can blast them away.'
'Not if you can't see 'em, Hun. Where are they now? Waitin' for us? Up on the cliffs? Maybe they're movin' right now, right above us.'
'Night's still some way off, Ryan,' she argued, reluctant to let it go. 'We keep careful, we can get ready, then make a run for the war wag.'
It was possible. Perhaps the best plan they had. So they rested, snatching a quick meal and mouthful of water. Doc was in poor shape and he dropped asleep while they ate. Ryan and J.B. looked at the massive gate to the Stockpile, but there was no way in. Most of the other Stockpiles they had found were much smaller and the entrances yielded to small charges of dynamite. This was heavy-gauge metal that even high-explosive grenades were not going to dent.
About three-quarters of an hour had passed since they saw the last of the Indians.
Then two things happened at once.
Stones and boulders began to fall around them, rolled from much higher up, above the entrance door. And the Indians reappeared with what must have been the oldest piece of field artillery in all of Deathlands.
'What the!..' exclaimed Ryan.
'It's a cannon!' gasped Doc. 'The sort they used in the war between North and South, about two hundred and fifty years ago. Must have come from some museum.'
'Will it shoot?' asked Okie, taking a professional interest in it. 'And what does it shoot?'
'Probably shoots a metal ball that might be filled with explosive. If it works, then we're over the falls without a boat, folks.'
It worked. There was a vast plume of smoke from the bell-like mouth of the ancient piece, and they all ducked at the whistling sound as the shell came toward them. It struck the cliff about fifty paces to their left and twenty paces high, showering them with splinters of white rock.
'Let us get within,' yelled Doc.
'Sure. You open her up, Doc, and we'll hold 'em off with blasters.'
'Gettin' ready again, Ryan,' said J.B., calm as ever.
'Let 'em have it. Try and pick 'em off around that gun,' ordered Ryan.
'They got the cover. We got nukeshit nothin',' swore Okie as she fired her M-16 with rhythmic ease, the bullets skittering and ricocheting all around the heavy metal shield of the artillery piece. Two of the attackers threw up their arms and toppled over, but the rest withdrew around the bend in the trail to safety.
It was a standoff. But the odds were greatly against Ryan Cawdor and his friends. They had no cover at all. Nowhere to go. If the Indians could control the aim of their cannon they could blow them away. As he poured lead toward the big gun, it occurred to Ryan that their only hope was going to be a charge across the flat ground, under fire from the arrows. It was close to suicide, but it was all there was.
He felt a finger tap his shoulder. He spun around, nearly knocking Doc over with the barrel of his LAPA.
'Do you wish me to open the door?'
Grinning with his peculiarly perfect teeth, Doc stepped with a long, mincing stride to the side of the door and reached inside a small square panel set at shoulder height. 'Shall we go in?'
Ryan's reply was drowned by the boom of the field gun. This time the gunners had overcompensated and the massive ball, pitching low and bouncing, narrowly missed the far end of the great door.
'Next time they'll get it right, Ryan,' said J.B.
He stopped at the sonorous grating that came from the top and bottom of the huge gateway into the Redoubt. For a second of frozen time nothing happened, then a dark slit appeared at the right edge, near where
