Some seventy miles away, Nul lay still, eyes closed, locked into the mystery of his own passing.
Chapter Seven
Ryan and J.B. Dix were poring over a hand-drawn map of the redoubt and stockpile done on six separate sheets of paper, each one showing two different levels. The complexity of the place was staggering. It had more than seventy miles of interconnecting corridors and passages, with stairs and elevators between levels. The gateway was down on the fourth level, with the only viable exit to the bleak outside six levels below that.
Though the group had done a great deal of exploring, there were still considerable areas left where no one had been able to go.
'There be dragons,' said Doc Tanner, coming up behind Ryan and J.B. and pointing with a scrawny finger at a blank area on the map.
'Dragons. What the fuck are they?' asked Ryan, straightening up from the table.
'Fire-breathing mutie lizards is the best explanation that I can offer, sir.'
Behind the old man, J.B. raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. Since they'd been in the redoubt, Ryan had suspected more than once that Doc's sanity was returning. But often his behavior wasn't very encouraging.
'You never been up here before, Doc?'
'Never that I recall. But I fear that some of my brain cells have somehow become displaced. I can no longer remember all I might.'
'Got to go, Ryan,' said J.B., walking briskly to the door. 'See you, Doc.'
The door hissed shut. Ryan folded the maps and tucked them into an inside pocket of his coat. 'Fireblast! We've been here six days. Could stay here the rest of our lives if we wanted.'
'But do you want?'
'Don't know. Good place.'
'Is it really, my dear Mr. Cawdor? If I may be frank with you, I confess that I have my doubts.'
'Why?'
Doc moved closer to Ryan, his boots creaking. He half smiled, showing his oddly perfect set of gleaming teeth. His voice was its usual deep, rich tone.
'This redoubt raises so many questions in my poor, fuddled mind. Why only three survivors after a hundred years? And such an odd trio. Quint, Rachel and the dumb child, Lori. He is the Keeper. That's a hereditary position, and such positions bestow power without responsibility.'
'You know he doesn't read, Doc?'
'Yes.' The stovepipe hat dipped forward as Doc stared down at the floor. 'Where are the others? He knows how to keep this place functioning by ritual and by rote. That is all.'
'That's nothin'. Most of the Trader's men couldn't read or write. But if you showed them somethin', they could do it. It's the way War Wag One was run.'
Doc nodded. 'And yet... so many closed doors, are there not, my dear young friend.'
'Yes. We've tried to spring 'em but they've got good sec locks on 'em. If we blow 'em, then Quint would hear it. What do you reckon's behind 'em?'
'More of the past? More of the future? Surely, precious little of the present. I do not know, Mr. Cawdor.'
'Mebbe we should find out. But I tell you, Doc... I'm blocked to the back teeth with this place. This afternoon I'm goin' to get out and see some sky.'
'There are muties aplenty.'
'I know, but I've got security,' he said, patting his guns.
'Cawdor,' mused Doc, laying a forefinger alongside his thin nose. 'Why does that name produce a distant and tiny murmur of a muffled bell?'
Ryan stared at him with his good eye. Unconsciously his hand strayed up to the livid scar that ran down his chillingly pale blue right eye, then moved down to tug at his lip on the same side.
'What... some legend of a great and powerful baron out East, beyond the Blue Ridges. Twin sons and a dreadful feud that ended... How did it end, Mr. Cawdor?' Showing a sudden ferocious glint of intelligence, Doc's eyes were bright and piercing as a mewed hawk's. For the first time since he'd known Doc Tanner, Ryan realized that the old man had once been a grim force to reckon with.
'I don't know what the fuck you're talkin' about, Doc. Your legend doesn't mean a thing to me.'
'If it doesn't have... doesn't have?.. Upon my soul, but it's gone
'The gateways, whether you'd found any clue how to work the bastard things.'
Doc shook his head. 'I fear not. I have discussed the matter with Mr. Quint, who tells me that the Keeper never knew about the gateway. Said that Special Ops MT ran them. I asked him what that meant and he didn't have any idea at all. The man is simply a gibbering parrot with no brain of his own.'
'So we have a choice — stay here in Alaska, try and find transport back to Deathlands or risk the gateway again.'
'Man gives birth astride a grave, Mr. Cawdor. What choice is that?'
Doc turned on his heel and quickly walked out, heading back toward their quarters. Ryan watched him, then decided that some food might be a good idea. He knew that eventually he had to get outside, away from the concrete walls and strip lights or risk losing part of his own sanity.
'Yummy, yummy, it's the best for your tummy.'
Finnegan threw the empty package on the table. The pizza it had contained was already cooking in one of the gray microwaves along the kitchen wall.
'Momma Maria says it's the best America makes,' he continued, examining the bright wrapping, on which a stout, beaming, garishly made-up elderly woman held a skillet with a huge pizza on it while a brace of wide-eyed bambinos looked on hungrily.
Hunaker was waiting for her double beanburger to finish. 'Free for fiber-fighters — Double discount vouchers at your local grocery,' it said on the package, and in much smaller print, 'Subject to availability. Offer closes June 1, 2001.'
'By the time their offer closed, the whole world had closed as well,' Hunaker observed.
All of them had taken advantage of the unbelievable range of clothes and supplies to dress and equip themselves better. But most of them had also kept some of their old gear. Doc kept his hat, frock coat and battered boots, but gave up his faded cream shirt for a new one in faded denim. Ryan kept his long coat, but took some new thermals, dark gray breeches, a brown shirt and a new pair of combat boots with high lacings to replace the old pair with a bite from a rabid mongrel on the right toe.
Finnegan and Hennings each picked similar outfits: high-necked jumpers in dark blue, with matching pants and black combat boots with steel toe caps. Okie kept her coveralls, choosing a sweater in light green for over the top. She also took a pair of low-heeled tan leather riding boots with the name Tony Lama inside.
Hunaker picked an exotic blouse in black satin with a pattern of leaves in green that matched her hair, gray cord trousers and gray ankle boots.
J.B. changed only his pants, which had been torn in a fight in the Darks. He searched the echoing hangar of the clothes store until he found a pair as nearly identical as possible.
Krysty found a new pair of coveralls, in her usual khaki. One problem they had was that clothes in unsealed or inadequately sealed boxes tended to fray and fall apart within hours of being worn. A pair of black leather trousers that Hennings had donned began to disintegrate almost instantly, resembling midnight lace within minutes after the air attacked them.
Krysty's one indulgence was in footwear. Lori went with her, tottering on her absurd high-heeled, thigh- length boots, the silver spurs jingling behind her. She took Krysty by the arm and led her to a section labeled Fashion & Working Boots — Top Names.
