The noise faded away.
The metal plates set into the floor and ceiling of the chamber gradually ceased glowing and became cold to the touch. The vague mist that had flooded the red-walled arma-glass room dissipated.
In the control room, filters and thermostats kept the temperature even. The comp-wheels spun, powered by the eternally vigilant nuke-generators.
All things were as they should be.
The triple jump had gone bitterly hard for all of the companions, but one by one they began to claw their way back from the swamping nightmares that had enveloped them.
Ryan came out of it first. He blinked into consciousness, feeling as though he'd been fighting for hours, hundreds of feet deep in water. He was soaked with perspiration, and a jackhammer thumped ceaselessly behind his temples. His fingers crabbed across his face, and he felt the stickiness of drying blood over his chin. Wisely he made no effort to sit up. He sensed it would be impossible. The best he could hope for was to open his eye and see how things went with his four friends and the little dog.
"Fireblast," he whispered through dry, cracked lips. Ryan had seen enough of death to know that Zorro had booked himself a ticket up the chimney. It wouldn't help Doc Tanner's always tenuous hold on reality.
The others all looked as if death had been visiting with them.
Krysty was moving, hands folded between her thighs, head shaking as though she were refusing an unwanted invitation. Ryan had never seen her red hair so tightly and defensively coiled about her head. Her angular face was gray with the pain of the most recent jump.
Jak was curled into a ball, his hair tangled and stained with specks of vomit. Nothing could be seen of the boy's face, though Ryan thought he glimpsed the red coals of Jak's eyes behind the veil.
J.B. lay flat on his back, as stiff as an oaken plank, hands at his side. He, too, had been bleeding from nostrils and mouth.
Doc jerked awake as Ryan watched him. The old man looked appalling. His face and clothes were smeared with a mixture of blood and sickness, and his deep-set eyes didn't seem to focus. He stared wildly ahead of him with a frightening lack of comprehension.
"Doc," Ryan called, but there wasn't the least sign of recognition.
"I've felt worse," Krysty whispered, her voice cracking.
"Yeah?"
"Just can't recall when."
"Bad jump that. I really don't think I'd make it through another one."
She nodded, and cautiously pulled herself into a sitting position, against the dull red walls of the chamber. "I had some triple-bad dreams this time, lover. Real dark side."
"Same with me."
"What'd you see?" She closed her eyes and drew in a long shuddering breath. "I saw things I don't ever want to see again."
Ryan considered a long time before he answered her. "Old man showed me... showed me pictures of what he said was... No, I can't even tell you, lover. Sorry."
Krysty nodded slowly. "I understand."
There was a groan as J.B. struggled to reenter the land of the living. He rolled over on his side, boots scrabbling on the floor, while he fought himself into a huddled crouch. "That was about as bad as I want it, Ryan," he muttered.
"I won't argue with you. Least we made it to someplace else."
"The walls are a different color, and it feels a whole lot hotter than last time," Krysty remarked. "Hey, lover. I don't like the look of Doc."
"He's come around," J.B. commented as he rolled over so that he sat next to the unconscious Jak Lauren.
"His eyes are open, but he's not seeing anything. Give the kid a shake, J.B., and get him upright. He's puked a lot. Could choke."
The Armorer pushed at Jak's shoulder, making him stir. The albino tried to sit up and flopped sideways, coughing and spluttering. Blood and half-digested food spilled from his white lips over his camouflage jacket. J.B. held him firmly, patting him on the back. The boy's eyes eased open, unfocused, like a newborn rabbit's.
"Been sick, Pa. Sorry. Tell Ma... where the fuck are... What?"
"Bad jump for us all, Jak," J.B. said gently. "Looks like we mostly made it. But the dog died, and Doc's not flea-jumping well."
"No jumps, Ryan," the boy gasped. "Or make 'em on ownsome."
Ryan turned his attention back to Doc. The lined face seemed somehow younger, as if most of the worry lines had been smoothed away during the horrendous jump. The old man pulled himself to his knees, smoothing his frock coat with gnarled fingers. His breathing seemed surprisingly slow and steady.
"Doc?" Krysty asked.
His eyes stared straight ahead, and there was no visible sign that anyone was home inside the leonine skull.
"Doc? I know you can hear me. Tell us how you feel."
Ryan had a little more success. At least Doc turned slowly in his direction.
"He's in shock, lover," Krysty said quietly. "Mebbe best to leave him awhile."
"Tomorrow's so devilish dangerous," Doc said, his voice as rich and deep as ever. But the eyes still didn't budge from gazing at some invisible point in a limitless distance.
"Want sick," Jak muttered, easing himself away from J.B. He retched again, managing only to bring up a few threads of scarlet blood.
"Shall we open the door?" J.B. suggested. But Ryan shook his head.
"Give it awhile. I reckon all of us can do with a rest for a few minutes."
Ryan touched the red walls, feeling the warmth that seeped through the heavy arma-glass. He wondered where in Deathlands they'd ended their jump, or if, in fact, they were in Deathlands at all.
After their last adventure there was no longer the certainty that all of the gateways were within what had once been the continental United States. Perhaps the one in Russia had been unique. But they'd already seen some evidence, admittedly circumstantial, that there might even have been a gateway on one of the space stations that had circled the Earth before dark-day and the end of civilization.
It was a thought that nagged at Ryan Cawdor, intriguing him with the possibilities, as did the thought of finding other cryonic centers and maybe, just maybe, managing to thaw out more freezies.
"Guess it's time we made a move," he announced. "Everyone ready?"
They all nodded or muttered their agreement. All except Doc Tanner.
"C'mon, Doc."
The old man sat still, as though he hadn't heard Ryan's voice. Krysty knelt at his side and touched his arm. "Doc?"
He looked up then, squinting as if he couldn't quite focus on her face. "What is it? Who are... Is that you, Emily, my dear?"
"No, it's Krysty, Doc. It's time we were moving on out of here."
"Why?"
"Get some food and drink." She winced as she stood up straight. "And a wash if we're lucky. Time's wasting, Doc."
"And let it waste, we are no longer... You know that our yesterdays are ever present. Tomorrow is another now. We cannot say when life will end, and no man can say how." He smiled and nodded to himself.
"Nice verse, Doc," J.B. said. "Won't load no mags for us."
"Nor butter any parsnips, will it, my dear brother Cyril?"
"Cyril! Who the..."
"His mind's gotten locked way back," Ryan said. "He was like this when we first met him. Back in Mocsin. Best we can hope is that it was the third jump. Pushed him too hard. Should recover."
"But we have to go," J.B. pressed, the edge to his voice showing his growing irritation. J.B.'s philosophy of life was that a man didn't show weakness, nor let down friends.
In the Deathlands that often came down to the same thing.
"Get up, Doc," Krysty said, helping him as he got unwillingly to his feet.
"Very well, Emily. I shall be guided by you in this. Are we to take a promenade?"
"Sure. All of us together." She nodded to Ryan. "I think we're ready as we'll ever be, lover."
Ryan glanced around, motioning for Jak to move over and help Doc on the other side. Then he reached for the handle on the chamber door and turned it.