Perception Fault - James Axler

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one, am looking forward to seeing more of this ‘Wild West’ as they refer to it in the newspapers back east.”

      “Doc?” Krysty approached him warily, aware of how fragile he could be when he regressed to this past state. “You’re not back in the nineteenth century anymore, you’re here, with us, remember?”

      For a moment, the old man stared at Krysty as if she was the one who had lost all reason, not him. Then his mouth split into a wide grin, revealing his peculiar set of teeth, and he laughed, long and loud, the joyous sound echoing off the deserted ruins of the buildings around them.

      Along with everyone else, Ryan was surprised by Doc’s reaction. Normally he responded to being wrenched back into the present with depression, and usually denial, rambling and tears. This sort of reaction made him fear the white-haired old man had finally slipped over the edge of sanity once and for all. He caught J.B.’s eye, who nodded and casually took three steps to the left to stand on Doc’s flank, ready to tackle him if needed.

      And indeed, Doc was trying to speak, but wheezing and gasping as he was, he couldn’t get any words out. He held up one hand while resting the other on his knee as he whooped and coughed. “Just a…just a minute…dear friends…oh, the looks on your faces…” At that he broke into a fresh gale of hilarity, nearly falling over in his mirth.

      Ryan gave J.B. a hand signal to stand down. Crossing his arms over his chest, he waited for the latest jocularity to subside.

      “Upon my soul…that is as good a jape as I have had in many a long year…”

      Mildred caught it first. “Jape? That was a joke, old man?”

      “Indeed it was, my ebony-skinned companion. I am aware that I trip the time fantastic now and again, and I thought it might be good for a chuckle if I only pretended to have gamboled down memory lane once more.” The stony looks on the faces of his companions made him sober up quickly. “Er, perhaps it was not quite as amusing to you all as it was to me.”

      “Oh, yeah, it was amusing all right—about as funny as a dead baby on a pitchfork.” Brushing roughly by the old man, Mildred stomped down the stairs to the floor of their camp.

      Krysty simply sighed and followed the other woman down, while Jak muttered something about, “fuckin’ senile white-haired bastards,” and followed. J.B., phlegmatic as usual, patted the scholar on the shoulder. “Good one, Doc.”

      That left him and Ryan alone on the rooftop. Ryan stared at Doc, nonplussed. He thought he’d seen every kind of quirk from the old man in their travels together, but once again, Doc had pulled the rug out from under him. He didn’t know whether to be angry, disappointed, stoic or what, so he settled for asking the obvious question. “What the fuck was that all about, Doc?”

      And the old man’s lined countenance, which had maintained its composure in the face of the mixed emotions of the other group, finally broke, collapsing into an expression of profound sadness. He walked over to Ryan, his hand reaching out to the other man’s shoulder, his fingers curved to grip his flesh like the talons of a hawk. But when his rheumy-eyed gaze bored into Ryan’s lone good eye, it had the unsettling clarity of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

      “Don’t you see, my dear Ryan? Do you truly not see the irony of it all? It is either make jokes when I can, even when the subjects are my trusted friends, or one day I shall truly go insane in this place.”

      He relaxed his hand and headed to the stairs, singing some sort of ballad under his breath in a language Ryan didn’t understand, and leaving the even more confused man alone on the rooftop. With a shrug, he took one last look at the pillars of smoke to the north before heading down to help pack up.

      Chapter Six

      Between the various weapons they’d found, everyone had gotten the chance to top off their ammo. They decided to cache the weapons in the ductwork of the building, figuring they’d come back for them later.

      Ryan also suggested they each take one of the shirts—not to wear right away, but to use as camouflage in case they ran into more of the green militia first. Everyone had one hidden on their person, ready to pull on if necessary.

      The one-eyed man took the lead as they headed out, holding J.B.’s M-4000, the Steyr slung. If he surprised anyone, he wanted the shotgun’s overwhelming firepower to be available at a moment’s notice. Krysty followed, her crimson hair tucked away, then Doc, then Mildred, with J.B. and Jak bringing up the rear.

      His plan was simple—head north until they reached the top of the hills, which should give them a better view of what was going on below. Once they had accomplished that, then what came next all depended on who was doing what to whom.

      Ryan took a moment to lay down the ground rules. “Everyone keep your eyes wide-open, and remember, it’s not just coldhearts we’re watching out for. Those stickies may be running around, too, so anyone sees anything out of the ordinary, pass the word triple-quick. If we encounter overwhelming force or get split up, circle around to the cache building to regroup. Give any stragglers twelve hours, then head for the redoubt.”

      He saw the dark looks that came his way upon hearing the last words, but pretended not to. What they were heading into was too dangerous for a divided group to try to take on. It was better to run away and live to fight another day. Besides, even as he gave the orders, he was pretty sure none of the others would follow them if anyone did get caught.

      The first hour was slow going. Ryan had removed the scope from the Remington and used it to scout the terrain ahead—block after block of dilapidated suburbs consisting of crumbling, falling-down houses that could hide a veritable army of coldhearts. He made sure to scan each building along the path they took, watching for any sign of movement. Only when he was sure it was safe did he give the signal to move out, and even then they took it one house at a time, leapfrogging in rotation and covering one another.

      The sounds of fighting grew louder as the morning sun ascended into the light purple sky. By the time it was overhead, they’d left the housing neighborhood behind and were climbing up their target hill, which was larger than it had first looked, when they heard the rough roar of ill-maintained engines coming their way. Ryan gave the signal to seek cover wherever they could, but the group was caught in the worst position possible, on an upslope, with the nearest cover at least one hundred yards away. Everyone scattered, hitting the ground and trying to camouflage themselves as best as they could in the knee-high grass covering the hill. Ryan dived to the dirt and rolled left, shotgun out and aimed at where he thought the wag might come over the hill.

      But instead of a wag cresting the top, the first thing they saw was a running human, sobbing with fear and exhaustion as he fairly flew over the top and began leaping down the other side of the hill—right toward Ryan. The approaching person wasn’t wearing the green shirt of the force that had ambushed them the previous night, which meant they were probably part of the opposing side.

      Only one way to find out, Ryan thought. The runner was now only a few steps away and moving so fast he was one misstep from tripping and falling the rest of the way down the hill. Ryan let him take two more huge leaps, then rose and put out his arm to clothesline the fleeing man, careful to catch him across the chest instead of the neck.

      Although he was at least six inches taller and probably fifty pounds heavier, the runner hit Ryan with enough force to nearly bowl him over. They collapsed in a pile, with the one-eyed man scrambling on top of his captive and clamping a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

      “Stop fighting! We’re not your enemy!” He grunted as the person writhed and bucked underneath him. Sky-blue eyes glared at him from under a mottled green-and-brown cap that fell off as they struggled, revealing long blond hair framing what was undeniably a woman’s face.

      “Wait—” was all Ryan got out before feeling her leg tense, and turned his thigh just in time to block a shot to his groin from her knee. “Stop it. We’re not with the green shirts!”

      “Then who the fuck are you?”

      Ryan

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