“Dr. Hammersmith!” Exo shouted. “Provide the benediction for these brave men and women as they depart on their holy mission!”
Doc Tanner, who stood beside Exo on the makeshift reviewing stand in the middle of the town of Struggle, cleared his throat. Gazing at the army of shifters arrayed in the street before him, he found it hard to think of a blessing he wanted to give them.
After all, they were setting out to kill Doc’s only true friends in the world. And they were legion; he counted hundreds in their ranks. He hadn’t imagined there were so many people in the little wrecked town, nor that so many of them were soldiers.
As formidable as Ryan and the others were, could even they withstand such numbers? Could they survive the big artillery cannon parked at the edge of town, which the shifters would take with them into the fight? And once the terrain started shifting—as it seemed it inevitably would—how could normal humans hope to triumph over muties who could read and ride the transformations?
“Go ahead, William.” Exo reached over and pinched Doc’s leg so hard, he almost cried out. “They await your inspirational message.”
“Yes, yes.” Doc cleared his throat again and smiled. “My friends!” He raised his voice and spread his arms. “May the blessings of your creator keep you safe on your journey!”
The crowd cheered, but their hearts weren’t really in it.
Exo kept grinning around his latest peppermint stick as he pinched Doc’s leg even harder. “Step it up!” he whispered. “You can do better than that!”
Doc winced from the pain of the pinch, then spoke to the crowd again. “May you comport yourselves well on the field of battle, meeting all challengers with staunch reserve and unyielding…”
This time, Exo jabbed him in the kidney with the head of his own swordstick. Doc actually jerked forward and let out a gasp against the pain.
“Kill them all!” Doc shouted. “Murder the bums!”
And that, finally, was what the crowd—and Exo—wanted to hear. Everyone howled and hooted with savage delight, rhythmically pumping their longblasters and swords in the air as if in a choreographed production number.
“Yeah!” Exo wailed. “Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!”
The army sang along and stomped its feet. Watching them, Doc felt sick to his stomach. Hundreds of shifters were getting ready to hunt down and slaughter his friends, and he had helped them get in the spirit.
“Go get ’em!” Exo swung the swordstick overhead with joyous abandon. “Bring back buckets of their blood for your children to bathe in!”
The crowd cheered louder than ever, chanting, “Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood!”
“Now go!” Exo shrieked, pointing the swordstick at the far edge of town. “Carry out your sacred mission and make us all proud!”
Still chanting, the army marched off down the street, their heavy footsteps carrying them into the hilly wasteland beyond.
Meanwhile, behind them, their children watched from ruined hovels, quake-damaged shanties that looked ready to collapse at any moment.
“What about the children?” Doc asked as the troops flowed off into the distance.
Exo shrugged. “Not my kids.” With that, he turned and jogged down the reviewing stand steps—a precarious stack of mismatched wooden crates. “Now pack up your shit! We leave in one hour!”
Doc sighed. He had no shit to pack up, not these days, and he wasn’t looking forward to another forced march through the Sandhills.
But then, as he considered the best way down those rickety crates, his mood improved considerably. Looking in all directions, he realized something had changed…changed for the better.
For the first time since his abduction, the first time in days, he was on his own. No one was watching him.
* * *
HEART POUNDING, DOC crouched in the shadow of a toppled building. He knew it wouldn’t be long until one of the shifters came looking for him. What could he possibly accomplish in that limited amount of time?
Escape was impossible. No matter which way he went, there was nothing outside the ville but open ground and low, sandy hills.
Hiding in the ruins of the ville wouldn’t make any sense, either. The shifters seemed to know the place inside out, even after the earthquake had shaken it to pieces.
That left him with very few options to take advantage of a rapidly closing window of time.
What would Ryan Cawdor do? As soon as the question fluttered into his mind, he shooed it out again. What Ryan would do involved the methodical murder of shifters, the seizure of their weapons and a blazing shootout that ended with every last one of the enemy bleeding to death on the sand.
Asking himself what his other companions would do produced similar results. Yet again, he wished he were more adept at lethal action, better suited to survival in the perpetual blood-soaked melee of the Deathlands.
Kicking at scattered debris, he cast about for something that could aid his quest for freedom. The whole time, his heart hammered with increasing speed; he knew his time alone was running out. He could practically sense Ankh sniffing the air, picking up his scent.
Suddenly, something in the rubble caught Doc’s eye. Bending, he fished it from the dirt and held it up for closer inspection.
It was thin and rectangular, a metal strip about an inch long by a half inch wide, with a slit down the middle. When he wiped off the dust on the sleeve of his coat, he could see polished sharp edges on the long sides of the strip.
A razor blade.
Doc frowned. He had no doubt that Ryan or Jak could have used it to kill their way out of captivity, but to him, it wasn’t much. Though he acquitted himself well with his sword or revolver in hand, he lacked his comrades’ stealth and skill in close-quarters combat. He couldn’t imagine the razor blade would be much good to him.
Still, it was better than nothing. He slipped it into a hidden pouch in the lining of his coat, already thinking of how he might put it to use.
No sooner had he done that than Ankh came around the corner. “There you are!”
Doc had his back to him, and an idea presented itself. He pretended to fumble with the buttons of his trousers, then slowly turned. “My apologies,” Doc said. “I needed a moment of privacy.”
Ankh chuckled. “Not the preferred protocol for relieving oneself in the ville, but no one seems to have witnessed your breach.”
“Thank you.” Doc nodded. “I will endeavor to be more discreet in future.”
“It’s just as well you got it over with.” Ankh started walking and waved for him to follow. “We’re getting ready to leave now.”
“Heading for the core again?” Doc asked as he fell in step behind Ankh.
“That’s where it’s all going down. That’s where you’re going to work your magic.” He swirled his hands in the air with a flourish.
“Then, by all means, let us away,” Doc said. “I, for one, cannot wait to see how exactly I am going to work that magic.”
“You’ll find out.” Ankh laughed. “But not until we get there.”
“Surely a little clue would not be out of order at this juncture. I think I’ve more than proved my loyalty and trustworthiness by now.”
“Relax.” Ankh reached back and patted Doc’s arm. “You’ll thank me when this is all over. Trust me.”
“Oh, of course.” Doc smiled and patted his coat over the hidden pouch where he’d stowed the razor blade. “That goes without saying.”