"In case of emergency, break glass."
Against the triumphant screeching of the insects, Doc Tanner's voice was barely audible. Though his head was still sunk on his chest, his eyes were glinting brightly in the gloom.
"Emergency override," Ryan shouted. "Fireblast! Of course."
He smashed the glass over the buttons of the comp-lock, ignoring the cuts to his fingers. Over the top of the numbers and letters was a single red switch. Dimly from behind the door they could all hear the sirens blasting out the warning that the manual override had been triggered.
Ryan flicked the switch, enduring the half second of agonized doubt as microcircuits that had been barren for a hundred years finally clicked into startled life. The bolts rattled back, and the door began to open.
Krysty slipped through the gap first, turning to help pull Doc into safety. Jak and J.B. followed immediately. Ryan was last through, throwing his weight with the others to close the door behind them. Doc was dropped to the floor as the other four all heaved to narrow the gap.
The humming was overwhelming.
"Throw the locking levers, Jak!" Ryan gritted as they fought against the heavy door.
The gap was down to twelve inches, to eight and then to four.
The first, fastest bees hit the gap when it was a shrinking two inches, but their attack was so ferocious that dozens of them squeezed through before the door crunched shut.
"Black dust!" J.B. cursed, taking off his beloved fedora and swatting at the bees.
The insects were longer and slimmer than the bumbling honeybees that Ryan knew well from various parts of Deathlands. These were more like aerial torpedoes, with scaled bodies of turquoise and silver, narrow wings that beat with dazzling speed and stings like hooked barbs, their tips glistening with a highly toxic venom.
Jak slammed the bolts on the door. Though Ryan knew it had to be imagination, he actually thought he could hear the millions of ferocious projectiles pounding on the other side of the arma-steel barrier.
A jagged burst of pain struck Ryan on the back of the neck, just above his collar. He slapped at it, feeling a fluttering body pulped under his hand. Another bee stung him on that same hand, making him curse and spin around. He waved his fists and tried to club them away.
Each of the companions was under attack by at least ten of the killer bees. Unlike some other insects, these bees didn't lose their lives when they used their stings.
Ryan didn't have time to take in his surroundings; he simply realized that they were in a bare entrance hall with other doors opening off it. The siren continued to blare, but seemed to be running down, the tone gradually growing deeper.
Krysty had a livid swelling just below her left eye and another at the corner of her mouth. J.B. was best off, his hat proving a lethal weapon against the mutie insects. Ryan had five separate stings before the bees were finally all killed and crushed to the floor. Doc sat against a wall, sunk once more into his catatonic state, stings disfiguring his hands. Jak had been stung only once, but it was on the inside of his nose, causing him excruciating pain.
"Found the door in time," Ryan said, touching one of the tender swellings on his neck. "I guess another fifteen seconds and half the swarm would have been in here with us."
"And 'Goodbye' would be all she wrote." J.B. sniffed.
Krysty nodded. "If just a few stings from these mutie bees hurts this much..."
There was no need for her to finish the sentence. Everyone knew what she meant.
One of the other doors led them into a section of what had once been a huge redoubt. Unlike in the gateway part of the complex, it looked as though the withdrawal here had been more leisurely and thorough. They found little evidence of private possessions that had been left behind. But they did find a residential section that had nuke-powered cooking facilities with stocks of all sorts of food and drink.
"Which should mean some ammo around the place," J.B. suggested hopefully.
Krysty pointed to a large sign with an arrow, pointing toward Ablutions. "That's for me," she said.
"Me too." Ryan grinned. "Mebbe take some of the shit out of these stings. And I get first go at the hot water, if there is any."
J.B. took off his spectacles and polished them on his sleeve. "Fair 'nough, Ryan. Me and Jak'll try and rustle up some eats. And get Doc to rest up. Dormitories are down that way."
Krysty laid a hand on Ryan's arm as they walked off together. "Could be what we all need, lover. A chance to rest and recreate some. Acclimate to this damp heat. Sleep, eat and wash."
He reached to pat her on the backside. "And this, Krysty. In a bed with clean sheets and blankets. If the place seems safe-sealed we can lie together without a blaster in our fists."
She stopped, lifted her face and kissed him gently on the lips. "Sounds good to me, lover, real good." In fact it was wonderful.
They passed through several hissing automatic doors, the pervasive green algae disappearing and the air becoming cooler and cleaner, until they reached a changing room, with rows of cubicles and piles of white towels. Most had rotted, and disintegrated when picked up, but Krysty and Ryan found a few near the bottom that seemed in better condition.
"Automatic wash and dry machines," Krysty called, "with fluff'n fold option."
"Hope they work. I recall putting a good pair of pants into one of them in a redoubt and getting back a handful of wet khaki ribbons."
The showers were immaculately white tiled, with drain plugs of polished chrome and gleaming taps that offered controlled temperatures from Icy to Scalding. Ryan was undressed first and chose plain Hot. He turned the handle and waited, not really believing that anything would happen.
He finally heard a faint sound, like the whisperings of the long-dead. Cautiously he moved out of the way of the glittering nozzles, not knowing what to expect. The hissing grew louder, and Krysty joined him, looking up at the shower head.
"Think it's working, lover?"
Ryan waited. With a splutter of trapped air, water suddenly came gushing out, hot and clear, steaming as it splashed on the white tiles.
"Yeah."
"Better'n self-heats," J.B. said, stirring a huge copper caldron of tinned soup and stew and sniffing it proudly. His hat was pushed to the back of his head, and his glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose.
"What's in it?" Krysty asked.
"Beef, kidney and more beef, tomatoes and sweet corn, peas and beans. Okra and some grits to thicken it up some."
"Doc's sleep," Jak said. "Think head'll ever come back, Ryan?"
"Can't tell. Losing Lori was a mind toppler for him. Then the triple jump and the dog getting chilled pushed him over the edge. Old bastard's come back before. Hope he will again."
Doc appeared in the doorway of the big dining room, bleary-eyed.
"Come back, did I hear you say? Back. Back is safe, but forward is most perilous. A dark tower to ride against."
"Want to eat, Doc?" J.B. asked. "It's about ready."
"Most kind, my dear chap. I trust you've received the table reservation for my wife and myself."
"How's that?" J.B. caught Ryan's glance. "Oh, yeah, sure."
Doc walked stiffly across the room and sat down with a sigh of heartfelt weariness. "I don't suppose any of you good people have seen my brain anywhere around, perchance? I know it was a small and poor thing, but it was my own. If anyone should happen to stumble across it..."
Ryan, Krysty and Jak sat down around the table. J.B. ladled out the soup, which was almost thick enough to slice with a knife. He'd also found some deep-freeze rolls and revived them in one of the long banks of microwave ovens. There was steaming coffee to drink, and a variety of ice cream for dessert.
"My compliments to your chef," Doc said, barely stifling a belch. He'd pushed away his dish after a third helping of peach-and-pecan ice cream. "Good a meal as I ever enjoyed. Yes, Theophilus Tanner is himself again, gentlemen."
"Glad to hear it, Doc," Ryan replied as he finished off a second portion of strawberry and quince dessert.
But the old man completely ignored him, wiping his mouth with his kerchief, eyes drilling past them into a different world.
J.B. broke the silence. "Found some jolt, tucked away behind the cans. Guess one of the cooks must've left it when they pulled out."
The Armorer unfolded the frail paper bundle, revealing the powdery white crystals, a lethal mix of smack, coke and mescal that had been popular before the long chill came. Jolt was now enjoying a rebirth in the Deathlands.
"Not for me," Ryan said. "Dump it in the cans, J.B."
Jak put down his spoon and looked as if he were going to say something about the drug, but he caught Ryan staring at him and snapped his mouth shut.
"The fountain of youth flows with poisoned water," Doc rambled, but nobody took any notice of him.
"Krysty and me'll clean up here. You and Jak take Doc along and try to wash him up some. If he objects, let it lay. Not worth the sweat to upset him any more. Then I reckon the dormitory sounds like a real good idea."
Ryan woke early. He glanced at his chron and saw that it was just after five. Something had tugged him from sleep, and he reached automatically for his pistol. Without disturbing Krysty he slipped from their tousled bed, pulled on his pants and quietly padded into the main section of the dormitory. Jak and J.B. were sleeping in one of the side rooms, and Doc was next door to them.
Ryan pushed open the green-painted door with the muzzle of his pistol and glanced around. Doc's bed had been slept in, but now it was empty.
He could hear a noise, and he followed it through the dining room and down a short corridor, which came quickly to a sort of crossroads.
Doc Tanner was there, walking in stuttering, jerky steps. He advanced a few paces down one passage, then went back. The old man tried another, then retreated again. Ryan moved closer, recognizing the sound that had pulled him out of sleep.
Doc was crying quietly to himself, gobbets of tears furrowing his cheeks. His eyes were red and swollen, and Ryan wondered how long the old man had been out there, alone.
"Hey!" he called. "Doc?"
He turned around, and Ryan was concerned at the madness he saw in the face, a shapeless, loose quality, as if the features had been pushed out of focus.
"Doc?" Ryan almost whispered the syllable. "Want to go back to bed, Doc?"
There was no recognition in the staring eyes, and the mouth was slack and drooling. At that moment it came to Ryan that Doc Tanner might have finally taken one jump too many and wouldn't be rejoining the rest of them.
"Who's there?"
"Me, Doc. Ryan Cawdor, your old friend. Can I help?"
"I fear I have not..." the voice faltered, "...had the pleasure of your acquaintance. But I would be grateful for your assistance."
"Sure. How can I help you, Doctor?"
Ryan moved a few steps closer. Behind him, he heard footsteps and recognized the sound of Krysty. But he didn't turn around, not wanting to risk losing this tenuous contact.
"Help me," Doc pleaded with a desperate urgency. "Tell me where I am, Mr. Cawdor. Where am I? Why am I here? How may I be free? And where, oh, where in the name of mercy, are my wife and children?"
Ryan was just in time to catch the old man as he fell to the concrete floor in a dead faint.