By James Axler
Ryan Cawdor and his band of warrior survivalists chart a perilous trip around the desolate Rocky Mountains to bring the employed killers of a small boy to the boy's father.
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Ryan glanced up, seeing that the bare rock above it was cracked and rippled. "I'll go first," Ryan said. B. brings up the rear. Rest of you pick your own places. " SINCE THEY'D FIRST discovered the highly secret matter transmitters hidden in buried military redoubts, the group of friends had made a number of successful jumps, finding themselves in a variety of unexpected places. Some of the high-tech complexes had been partly destroyed, and most had been stripped in the last days before skydark.
She and Ryan had both noticed that Dean was becoming more self-conscious about his body. The first hesitant tendrils of pubic hair were already blossoming at his groin as he began the cautious ascent toward manhood. Ryan and Krysty walked a little farther along the winding passage, into the teeth of what was now a strong, cold wind. "Getting less gloomy ahead," Krysty said. " Ryan nodded. Several of the light strips in the roof had gone out, but most of the red-eyed sec cameras still swiveled to follow their progress.
Ryan gripped the boy by the shoulders and grinned into his face, wondering whether he resembled the rictus of a death's head that he felt like. "Listen, the number of people with real medical skill in Deathlands can be counted on the fingers of one hand, and Mildred is one of them. " Slowly, reluctantly, Dean moved his hand from the seeping wound. Mildred nodded. "Doesn't look too bad. I'll tear up a bit of cloth and tie it around it. " He cleared his throat, nervously. " The boy beckoned her lower, whispering, so that only the black woman and his father could catch what he said.