After everybody was washed and fed in the morning, the companions got to work. A few hours later, they were ready.
Getting into a Hummer, Ryan turned the engine on and revved it a few times until it was running smoothly. Shifting into gear, he started driving along the zigzag tunnel that led to the exit. The rest of the companions walked closely behind the wag, their arms loaded with supplies. The rear of the Hummer was packed solid and there wasn’t room for a spare brass cartridge.
Reaching the end of the tunnel, Ryan got out and helped J.B. tie a heavy rope to the rear of the wag.
“Sure hope that holds,” Doc rumbled, lighting the oily rag tied around the neck of a glass bottle filled with fuel and soap flakes.
“It’ll hold,” Ryan stated, leaning into the Hummer. As he wedged a short stick between the front seat and the gas pedal, the engine roared into overdrive, the needle on the dashboard almost going into the red. Once the engine settled down a bit, Ryan pressed down hard on the brake with a gloved hand and shifted it into gear. The wag trembled but didn’t move.
“Everybody ready?” Ryan asked, trying not to let the pain from his hand show in his voice.
“Let her rip,” Krysty said, standing near the keypad.
Gratefully, Ryan let go of the brake and the wag lurched forward only to stop again as the thick rope attached from the rear stanchion became tight. The other end was anchored to the front of the LAV, but going around so many sharp corners, the companions had been worried the old rope might not be able to stand up to the job. Stretched as tight as a guitar string, the thick rope quivered from the jerking urges of the trapped Hummer, but showed no sign of fraying or giving way.
“Hit it, lover,” Ryan growled, pulling the SIG-Sauer from his belt.
Moving quickly, Krysty punched in the code, pressed the lever and the blast door started to slide aside.
“Now!” Ryan shouted, and the others hurtled a barrage of Molotov cocktails at the black metal portal. The bottles crashed on the floor to form a crackling pool of flames that stretched from side to side.
As the tunnel came into view, at first Ryan thought it was empty. Then something black peeled away from the ceiling to drop into the water and rise horribly, the twinkling skeleton inside the translucent creature flexing and shifting position as it began to move toward the redoubt. Then it paused, finally sensing the presence of the flames.
Just then, the blast door boomed as it opened completely, and the black guardian came closer, rising tall as if to attack the group of people standing behind the small puddle of burning fuel. But even as the portal stopped moving, Krysty hurriedly punched in the code and the door started to close once more.
“Do it!” Ryan said.
With a slash of a knife, Jak cut the rope and the straining Hummer lurched forward. Unfortunately the timing was off by a hair and the blast door hit the Hummer just as it charged through the fire. The wag rebounded from the impact and slammed against the jamb, the pool of flames licking upward directly beneath the armored chassis.
On impulse, Ryan took a half step toward the Hummer, unable to take his eyes off its stacked fuel cans and satchel charges filling the rear cargo area. If those went off inside the tunnel, the companions would be obliterated.
Then in a squeal of rubber, the studded tires of the Hummer dug in and the wag shot outside. Instantly the guardian dropped on the Hummer, covering the windshield and reaching in through the sides with ropy pseudopods of gelatinous ooze. Then the moving blast door took it from their sight.
The opening was down to a mere crack, but J.B. still waited until the very last tick before flipping the detonator switch in his grip. In a titanic blast, the C-4 plas, M-2 blocks and condensed fuel ignited into a strident blast that merged with the hollow boom of the nukeproof door as it solidly closed.
Allowing themselves to breathe again, everybody strained to hear what was happening on the other side of the portal. But there was only silence, which was hardly surprising. Built to withstand a near-direct hit from a thermo nuke, there was nothing known to exist that could even scratch the material.
“Think that did it?” Krysty asked, hesitantly reaching out to touch the portal. The black metal was cool and smooth, giving no indication of what was happening on the other side.
“Fragging well hope so,” Ryan shot back sourly. “But we’ll have more Molotovs ready the next time we open that door.”
“Tunnel could collapse,” Jak said, hunching his shoulders. For the briefest moment, the razor blades hidden among the feathers and other camou on his jacket twinkled in the overhead halogen lights. “Might be trapped worse than before.”
“I know explosives,” J.B. said firmly, straightening his fedora. “The tunnel will hold. Trust me.”
“John?” Mildred said, putting a wealth of questions to the single word.
“It’ll hold, Millie,” he answered confidently.
“Let’s find out,” Ryan growled, holstering the blaster and starting back down the tunnel.
Returning to the garage, Ryan studied their chosen war wag with satisfaction. Even in the predark days, the LAV-25 had been a mighty machine. These days, it was all but unstoppable. The Light Armored Vehicle was a rolling powerhouse of steel and mil tech. Eight great wheels supported a multiton chassis, the tires bulletproof even at point-blank range. The independent suspension allowed the juggernaut to cross the most rugged terrain imaginable with little or no reduction in speed. The hull was waterproof up to depths of five feet, and would float after that depth. Two small propellers in the rear could propel it through water at a speed of nearly 30 mph under ideal conditions, but it generally moved a lot slower than that. The belly was armored against landmines, the front window was made of bullet-resistant Armorlite plastic, and the louvered gunports could be closed tight enough for the LAV to be gas-bomb proof. There was even a heavy-duty winch on the front to assist the wag to traverse steep hills or to pull itself out of a swamp. The companions would have used that to rein in the Hummer, but the cable couldn’t be cut quickly and timing had been of the essence.
Designed for a crew of six, plus two officers and a driver, the LAV had more than enough room for the six companions, plus numerous boxes of supplies from the Deep Storage Locker. Blasters, ammo, grens, food, bed rolls, medical supplies; the wealth of the ancient world filled the deck, secured under camou netting or strapped down into empty jumpseats set along the metal walls.
Watching Jak pour yet another canister of condensed fuel into the machine, Ryan had to privately admit that although the LAV was impressive, it was far from being perfect. All of the fancy electronic gear was useless, zapped by the EMP of the nuke storms or chilled by the long decades. The smoke generators were clogged solid with grease, and the control circuits for the 25 mm minigun were fried, the deadly rapidfire was chilled.
But those were minor considerations in comparison to the incredible rate that colossal Detroit engines consumed fuel. Even after the earlier fight with the guardian, the tanks of the redoubt registered half full, which meant there was enough condensed fuel for a hundred trucks working for ten years. Juice enough for an army on the move. However, the huge tanks of the LAV could only hold so much, and Ryan had grudgingly allowed spare canisters of juice to be attached to the wag’s armored back end. Those would be a prime target for any coldhearts they encountered. A single round into one of the gas cans and the LAV would be covered with flames. The wag was supposed to be fireproof, but a single crack in the armored hull, or in the louvered gunports, and the companions would burn alive. If the jelly was still alive outside, Ryan had decided that running away would be the best plan. How fast could the damn thing roll, anyway? Faster than a running person; that only made sense. What good was a guard that coldhearts could outrace? But faster than a wag? No nuking way.
“Tank full,” Jak announced, screwing the cap back on to the ten-gallon container. “What do?”
“Set it aside. We’re carrying enough as it is,” Ryan stated truthfully.
Nodding in agreement, the teenager carried the sloshing container to the fuel pumps and put it out of the way. When Jak had first joined the companions and learned about the incredible redoubts, he could barely believe the tales of condensed fuel. The stuff looked and worked like regular juice, what Mildred called gasoline. Yet the fuel refused to evaporate, and an open cup of the stuff would still be there a month later, while gas would evaporate and be gone in less than a day. The mat-trans were useful, but it was the condensed fuel that truly impressed the teen. It was perfect for regular engines, or diesel engines, which even Mildred couldn’t explain, and nothing was better in a Molotov cocktail. Just amazing stuff. Condensed fuel was even better than the nuke batteries, in his opinion.
“One last check,” Krysty shouted to the others, cradling the MP-5 rapidfire in her arms. All the while they had been working, the companions kept a careful watch for any suspicious movements in the redoubt. They knew from experience that a Cerebus cloud could gain access to a redoubt, so if the black jelly was another guardian, then it could also get inside.
In an effort to counter that, Doc and Jak had stacked a dozen full cans of fuel near the mouth of the access tunnel and disabled the fire-suppressant system in the ceiling. If the blob appeared, a single gun shot in the cans would engulf the thing in flames. Unless they missed or there were two of them…
Meanwhile, J.B. had tried to attach the Vulcan minigun from the middle level of the redoubt to the top of the LAV, but Ryan had done too good a job of ripping out its control circuitry. Most of the normal mechanical controls were missing, and after several disastrous false starts, J.B. had finally admitted defeat. It was a rare occurrence when the Armorer couldn’t master a wep, and he took the news in ill humor.
Thankfully, the LAV wasn’t completely unarmed. Aside from the rapidfires and grens of the companions, Jak and Doc had skillfully wired several Claymore antipers mines to the angled sides of the wag. Anything coming within thirty feet of the LAV would be blown in two by the stainless-steel ball bearings and C-4 plas packed into each Claymore.
“That’s it for me,” Mildred announced, swinging a bag of trade goods into the rear of the transport.
The physician had carefully gone through the vault and chosen a selection of items that couldn’t be used against them in a battle, but that would be priceless at any ville: aluminum mess kits, plastic combs, pocket mirrors, seed corn, Swiss Army knives and such. Those were trinkets for the civilians. The nobles at a ville would get U.S. Army boots, live brass and revolvers. However, nobody got a rapidfire, or grens.
Already inside the LAV, Doc took the bag and stuffed it into a hammock rigged for carrying the more delicate of the cargo. The useless items such as the radar, radio and such had been removed to make extra space. And every little bit helped. A couple of years earlier in another armored wag they nicknamed Leviathan, the companions had filled a trailer and packed it full of supplies to drag along behind. They lost the trailer on the first day, and the resulting blast of the detonating spare ammo came perilously close to ending their lives. Since then, everything went inside a wag or was left behind. With the exception of those all-important gas cans, which would be disposed of quickly if necessary.
Taking a jumpseat set along the wall, Doc gave a grunt of discontentment. Oddly enough, a few months back, they had encountered Leviathan again, but this time it wasn’t under their control and the resulting firefight had been hellishly fierce. The companions had won, but only due to the direct assistance of Kate, a trader. Some people thought that the woman was the original Trader, the legendary master of the Deathlands, but the companions knew the truth.
There were so many wheels within wheels, Doc mused, wiping off his hands. The Deathlands was filled with more mysteries than there were ways to die.
“What do you think about calling this tin can Leviathan Two?” Mildred asked with a smile, climbing into the transport.
Stoically, Doc raised both bushy eyebrows. “Really now, madam!”
“Okay, okay! It was just a thought.”
Outside in the garage, Ryan did a last walk around the place, checking things over. There was no reason to think that once they departed the redoubt they couldn’t get right back inside. Even if there was another of the jelly muties hiding in the water. But he liked to be prepared. What was it the Trader had liked to say? To achieve a victory, plan for failure. Smart words.
“Looking for something?” J.B. asked, resting a nuke lamp on top of the hood of a civie station wagon.
“No, just doing a double check,” Ryan answered gruffly. Then he motioned at the nuke lamp. “How many did you make?”
“Three,” J.B. replied with pride, lifting the heavy device. “There were a lot more nuke batteries and headlights, but I couldn’t find enough of the right kind of wire to retard the voltage from blowing the bulbs. But three will be enough.”
In spite of the fact that the companions had been traveling through the mat-trans system for years, it was only a few months ago that J.B. came up with the brilliant invention of the nuke lamp. Candles were cheap, but blew out easily and never gave off much light. Road flares smoked and smelled awful, and also burned out quickly. Most flashlights required batteries that hadn’t been manufactured in a hundred years, and survivalist flashlights like Mildred’s were incredibly rare. Then it occurred to the Armorer that all of the mil wags in a redoubt used a nuke battery to start the engines. The sealed powerpacks seemed to last forever and put out enough voltage to crank over even a tank engine. So taking some wiring from a civie car, and doing some fancy soldering, J.B. soon built a nuke lamp, a nuke battery with a predark headlight hardwired into place. The device gave off a blinding beam of white light, especially if a halogen lamp was used, and never ran out of power. Of course, the nuke lamps were much too heavy to carry in a backpack, occasionally short-circuited and always died if they fell into water, but they were still better than anything else known.
“Whatever else, at least we won’t be in darkness anymore,” Krysty said, coming closer. She lifted one of the nuke lamps in her free hand and thumbed the switch on top. The headlight gave an audible click, and from the headlight a blue-white light beam shot out that cut across the garage like a laser.
“Gaia, we certainly could have used these when we were underground in Tennessee,” she commented, moving the beam along the far wall.
“Could have used a nuke in Tennie,” Ryan corrected, picking up the third nuke lamp. “All right, looks like we’re ready as we’ll ever be. Let’s get moving.”
As the three companions went to the rear door of the LAV, Mildred and Doc helped them in by taking the nuke lamps and tucking the devices under the jump-seats. Jak stayed outside the wag, his MP-5 rapidfire resting on a shoulder. The teen had decided to be the door man for this run. Where there was one guardian, there could be more. Hopefully, the exploding Hummer had killed the jelly. But if half of it could still fight, then mebbe small pieces could, too. He had seen a lot of strange things over the years, and most of them had tried to ace him. When in doubt, always assume the worst.
Maneuvering through the jumble of supplies to reach the front of the wag, Ryan checked to make sure both gren bins on the walls were full, then eased himself into the driver’s seat. Taking the navigator seat on the opposite side, Krysty flipped a few switches and started the electrical system. The internal lights pulsed a few times, then came on in a subdued glow, and ventilation fans began to softly whir.
Checking a rearview mirror, Ryan waited for J.B. to close and latch the rear doors before starting the engine. The entire vehicle shook slightly as the four nuke batteries under the corrugated floor surged with power and turned over the massive 275-horsepower Detroit diesel. Instantly the indicators on the dashboard came to life, the meters swinging promptly into the green zones for electrical power, fuel, oil, hydraulics and engine temp.
Turning a few dials, Krysty killed the flashing red indicators showing that there was trouble with the missing radar and radio equipment. They dimmed to a dull glow, but the strobing was still noticeable, so she placed a strip of duct tape over the lights to mask them from sight. Busting the bulbs would have been easier, but the woman hated to smash anything so incredibly old. Besides, the spare bulbs might come in handy someday.
Shifting the transmission into low gear, Ryan started to roll forward and entered the tunnel, with Jak walking close behind. Reaching the blast door, Ryan eased to a halt, the brakes sighing in response.
Standing at the keypad, Jak exchanged a glance with the big warrior behind the bulletproof windshield, then tapped in the exit code and pressed the lever. As the blast door started to ponderously move aside, Jak walked quickly to the rear of the LAV where J.B. already had one of the armored hatches open and waiting. The teen quickly climbed inside and shut the hatch tight, making sure the lock was engaged.
As the huge black exit door slowly began to open, the companions waited with baited breath for any sign of the guardian or its spawn. But the watery tunnel appeared to be devoid of life. The charred wreckage of the Hummer stood off to the left, the nearby array of bricks cracked and discolored.
“Roof looks solid,” Ryan noted, turning on the headlights.
Rolling to the very edge of the floor of the redoubt, Ryan studied the interior of the tunnel as the blast door completed its ponderous journey and boomed into the wall.
“Hold on tight,” Ryan advised his friends, shifting into gear.
Everybody grabbed for the straps hanging off the walls, as the one-eyed man switched on the eight-wheel drive and the big wag nosed into the tunnel. As the front tires cleared the floor, the prow of the LAV dipped downward and then the front of the transport sharply dropped into the water with a tremendous splash. Thrown forward, the companions almost lost their seats. The rear of the LAV moved off the floor and also dropped into the flooded tunnel. Loose items went flying, and a couple of grens bounced out of open bins on the walls to roll freely on the floor.
As the companions unbuckled their seat belts and scrambled to reclaim the explos charges, Ryan checked to make sure the internal seals were holding and no moisture was seeping into the wag. The dark waters rose to just below the window level. If the LAV flooded, they would probably have to use the top hatch to get out. But the seals registered tight and there was no sign of leakage.
“So far, so good,” Krysty muttered, switching on the wiper blades to clear the dripping windows. The slightly blurry headlights of the vehicle extended far along the tunnel until the sheer distance rendered them useless. Big tunnel! Checking out the side window, Krysty saw that the nearby brick walls were dripping from the spray, and a choppy surface was still rippling with waves from their sudden immersion.
Glancing over a shoulder, Ryan saw the others return the grens to the wall bins. J.B. used some of the duct tape to cover the open tops. Smart move.
“All clear,” J.B. reported, sitting again and buckling on his seat belt. “But it’s a good thing we taped the handles on the grens. One of the arming pins came free and if I hadn’t shoved it back in less than eight seconds…” He spread his hands wide in the imitation of a detonation.
Brushing back one of her beaded plaits, Mildred shivered at the thought of the charge going off inside the metal vehicle. There wouldn’t have been enough of them remaining to mop up with a sponge from the explosive compression, and then the halo of shrapnel would have ricocheted off the armored walls for minutes. Which was a lot longer than it would have been necessary to reduce whatever was left of them into mincemeat.
“Spam in a can,” Mildred stated, remembering a phrase she had heard once in a old B&W war movie. It was a hell of a grisly image.
Closing her eyes, Krysty whispered a little prayer to Gaia in thanks, Doc looked queasy from the implied results and Jak popped a stick of chewing gum into his mouth and began contently chewing.
“Just hope it doesn’t happen again,” Ryan growled, shifting into gear once more.
“Better not.” Mildred sighed, leaning back in her seat. Five minutes out of the redoubt and they almost blew themselves up. Why didn’t she have gray hair yet?
Tapping the sonar screen, Krysty got no response. But even if the belly unit had still been working, that drop could have broken it. The LAV was tough, but not indestructible.
Bobbing slightly in the dark water, the wag started forward, the eight huge wheels sending out a spray behind them. Switching on the propellers, Ryan felt the transport lurch and then begin to move faster and smoother, the rpm of the engine steady rising as the temperature started increasing. Nuking hell, something was wrong with one of the air intakes. Damn engine was overheating already! Cutting off the propellers, Ryan saw the temperature start to go back down, and settled in for a bumpy ride using just the eight tires.
“What do you think we’ll find at the end, lover?” Krysty asked, rigging the rapidfire to hang around her neck.
“Hopefully a way out,” Ryan answered as the wag splashed along the tunnel.
“And if not?”
“Then we make one. We got enough plas to crack the moon.”
“True enough,” the woman agreed, and settled in to watch the surface of the water for any suspicious movements.
For almost an hour the LAV rolled and floated along the flooded tunnel, the headlights never revealing anything but the endless brick walls. Once, the water surface rose to a dangerous level as the machine dipped into a depression of some kind. Braking to a halt, Ryan waited for the waves to calm until the submerged headlights revealed they were in what resembled a blast crater, or a pothole, about ten yards wide.
Then the LAV floated slowly to the surface once more, and they kept going. Advancing cautiously, Ryan held his breath, waiting for the water to rush in through the gunports, when the front tires grabbed on to the floor of the tunnel and the LAV lifted out of the hollow back to a safe position. Lowering their speed, Ryan breathed a sigh of relief, then the LAV tilted slightly to the left.
“We aren’t rolling,” Krysty said in shock, looking at the dashboard controls. The blinking indicators threw a rainbow across her worried features. “So how can we—”
There came the sound of a muffled crack from under the heavy machine, and the right side of the LAV listed, the choppy water rising to slosh against the windows.
“The floor is crumbling!” Ryan cursed, stomping on the gas pedal. “Fireblast, we’re too heavy! Gotta get clear of this crater! Hold on!”
The Detroit power plant roared with power and the LAV violently lurched forward to miraculously right itself. But then from behind came a great bellow as a huge air bubble broke the surface, closely followed by a splintering sound that rapidly rose in volume.
Clenching the steering yoke tightly, Ryan revved the engine to the max. Whether or not the blast from the Hummer had weakened the floor of the tunnel, or if was merely the weight of the LAV, it seemed clear that the predark tunnel was crumbling apart, and triple fast. Ryan knew that their one hope was to get clear of the weakened area before the sheer tonnage of the war wag started a chain reaction of destruction. The LAV could float, but not fly, and with the water gone, they would drop along with the rest of the debris into whatever lay below.
Suddenly the speedometer shook and Ryan saw that the wag was slowing. But the engine was at full power!
“Keep moving!” Krysty cried, staring in horror out the side window. “Don’t stop for anything!”
That’s when Ryan saw that the water level outside was dropping fast, moving toward the struggling machine, the current battering them to a virtual standstill. Shitfire, the blast crater had to have weakened the concrete bed and their weight had finished the job. The entire tunnel was collapsing!
A falling brick bounced off the hood and then something crashed onto the roof. A building wave of water swamped the machine, shoving it backward in spite of the eight desperately spinning tires. More bricks fell in a sledgehammer cacophony, and Ryan fought to keep the wag traveling straight. If the LAV turned sideways, they would be helpless.
Reaching over to the controls, Krysty turned on the propellers, and the LAV surged forward again, gaining precious yards.
If we can just outlast the flood, we’ll be fine, Ryan grimly thought, battling to get more speed from the lumbering diesel. Come on, you nuking piece of tin shit. Move!
But the backwash kept increasing in volume and force until it was more than the war wag could handle. Slowly, the LAV was forced into the crater until the rear dipped as the back wheels went over the rim. Then the next pair of tires followed, and the next. The sound of the water was rising until it sounded like an ocean whirlpool, or a waterfall, the noise echoing along the brick tunnel until reaching deafening levels.
“Fire the rear Claymores!” J.B. shouted over the roar of the rushing torrent. “All of ’em! Mebbe that’ll shove us forward!”
The idea was crazy, but with no other choice Ryan decided to take the gamble and reached for the arming switch. But before he could, there came a crash of masonry and the LAV flipped over sideways as a section of the weakening brickwork dropped way completely. Everybody was shoved hard against their safety belts, and loose items went tumbling.
Now at the mercy of the rampaging flood, the wag slid directly into the hole and turned over again, leaving the companions upside down.
As the companions desperately grabbed their seat belts tightly, they were brutally pelted by grens and food packs from every direction. Throwing back his head, Jak cried out and went limp in his seat, blood on his face. Something slammed into the side of the LAV, and a tire loudly exploded. There came another strident collision, and the bulletproof front window shattered, the explosion of shards cutting both Ryan and Krysty. Moss-covered bricks and muddy water poured into the wag, smothering the companions, sloshing to the rear. A headlight smashed, casting the interior into darkness. Somebody screamed. Another person cursed. Then the world seemed to completely drop away, and the armored wag began to wildly bounce down a series of widening cracks, plummeting into a rocky darkness that seemed to have no end.