Shadow Fortress - James Axler

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were an endangered species in my time.”

      “So?”

      The salty wind blowing her beaded hair, Mildred turned to face the featureless horizon of the east.

      “Now we are,” she finished somberly.

      HOBBLING TO the edge of the crumbling cliff, Mitch-um roared defiantly as he emptied his blaster at the departing airship.

      “No! Not again!” Mitchum raged, cocking the hammer and dry firing the spent weapon several times. As his fury ebbed, the man turned toward the line of Hummers parked nearby.

      “You there!” he shouted, pointing. “Launch another Bird!”

      “Belay that shit,” Glassman stated grumpily, stepping out from behind the rocket pod. His face and clothes were streaked with black from the multiple launches, and he angrily tossed aside the glowing piece of oakum he had used to light the fuses. Privately, the former healer wondered what the hell had the outlanders used to stop the Firebirds.

      “We failed, Colonel,” Glassman continued, pulling a rag from a pocket to wipe his face and hands. “They’re gone.”

      “The hell they are. We’re going back to Cascade,” Mitchum snapped. Limping to the wag, the sec man climbed behind the steering wheel and started the engine.

      “Get in!” he ordered brusquely. “We can race after them in the PT boats. Those are a lot faster than that floating soap bubble! If we use the coal-oil fuel instead of wood, we can easily get them back into range again and finish the bastard job once and forever!”

      Reluctantly, Glassman had to admire the sec man’s blind determination. It was either that or his lust for revenge had driven the man mad.

      “Sergeant Campbell,” Glassman said, going to the lead Hummer, “any more Firebirds on the boats?”

      “Yes, sir,” the sailor replied with a salute. “Sixteen more in the arms trunk of each petey.”

      “See?” Mitchum retorted, gunning the engine. “More than enough for another attack!”

      “Only if we don’t encounter any Deepers on the journey back home,” Glassman countered, taking a seat in the war wag.

      “Tomorrow’s problem,” the sec chief growled as he spun the steering wheel, driving the Hummer back and forth as he hurriedly turned on the narrow crag. A rear tire went over the cliff, but the wag didn’t tilt and he fought it back onto firm ground. Time was against them. Every minute put Ryan that much further out of his grasp.

      “We’ll need to leave the Hummers behind,” Mitchum said, leading the convoy of wags along the narrow trail of the peninsula to the island. There was a sheer drop into the sea on both sides, but the predark headlights gave enough illumination to keep him from driving into the abyss. “Dropping the weight will give us better speed.”

      Holding on to the door and windshield, Glassman scowled before answering. He was sick of this man’s private blood feud, and the baron’s threat against his family was lessening with every hour he was away from them.

      “Too risky,” he decided. “That leaves us on foot if they go inland somewhere.”

      “We’ll take that chance.”

      “No, you will,” Glassman stated coldly, bouncing in his seat as the racing wag bounded over the rippled surface of the lava flow. “Because if we lose the outlanders again, I’ll personally bring you alive to the lord baron as payment for costing him so many men and weps!”

      “Yeah?” Mitchum snarled, a hand going for his flintlock. Only the weapon wasn’t in its holster, and the cold barrel of a blaster was pressed to his neck from behind.

      “Do as the captain says,” Campbell growled hatefully. “Or I’ll be delighted to pull the trigger. Your call, lubber.”

      Furious at being trapped for the moment, Mitchum started driving faster. Suddenly, more than just mere revenge depended on his success in chilling the accursed outlanders.

      Chapter Five

      As the Pegasus floated away on the evening breeze, the companions shifted their backpacks to make some room and settled in for their flight. With no way to calculate airspeed, they didn’t have any idea how long the journey to Forbidden Island would take. Maybe only a few hours, but it could be much longer.

      Time passed slowly, the moon traveling across the starry sky while the companions took turns catching short naps. There was little room in the rope basket, but they had lived in cramped quarters before and knew how to make do.

      After the weapons had been cleaned and checked, the MRE envelopes were carefully ripped open, and the chow eaten cold. It was edible, but no more than that. Mildred tried to make coffee in a tin cup, and while the brown crystals dissolved satisfactorily, neither the sugar nor the powder cream would. She experimented with her butane lighter to no success and in the end poured the sodden mess overboard.

      Pulling out a plastic safety razor, Jak dry shaved while standing guard duty, the scrape of the twin blades becoming fainter as he successfully removed his snowy beard.

      Hoping nobody was watching, Dean rubbed a palm along his own chin but found only smooth skin. Nothing yet. Standing guard, Ryan caught the furtive motion and held back a grin. He remembered his first shave, and the bushy mustache he sported for a while as a teen.

      Just then, something in the darkness caught Ryan’s attention. He studied the open sky until he caught the reflection of moonlight off leathery wings. The soft flapping grew steadily louder, and when Ryan was sure the creature was coming their way, he waited until the clouds parted, catching it in plain sight, and snapped off a shot with the SIG-Sauer. The blaster coughed, and the flying creature gave a piercing squeal, promptly identifying it as a bat. Gushing blood, the mutie spiraled down out of control to splash into the smooth expanse of the shimmering sea.

      The discharge of the blaster made Dean stand and draw his own weapon. “What was that?” he demanded.

      “Just a bat,” Ryan said calmly, holstering his piece. “Already aced. Everything’s green.”

      A bat? Curiously, Dean looked over the rope sides of the makeshift basket and watched the dying creature flounder in the water, sharp fins already circling the bloody carcass. Then huge white figures rose from beneath the waves and began tearing the wiggling corpse apart.

      “Those sharks?” Dean asked as the balloon drifted over the struggling creatures.

      “Great whites, yes, indeed. But not those,” Doc said, gesturing with a waggling finger. “See the difference in the dorsal fins? Those are dolphins come for the kill.”

      “Dolphins eat sharks?” Dean asked, shocked. The dolphins were so much smaller than the great whites it was hard to believe.

      “No, they eat fish,” Mildred replied, looking at the moon. There had been too much death already today; she had no interest in watching the aquatic battle. “Dolphins kill sharks on sight. The two species hate each other.”

      “Ace, no eat?” Jak said with a frown, running a whetstone along the blade of a knife in slow strokes. “Triple stupe.”

      “Not if you’re in the water with sharks coming after your ass and a bunch of dolphins show up,” Ryan said, unwrapping a foil envelope to expose cherry-nut cake. Fireblast, was this the only dessert the Army ever fed its troops? He broke off a corner with his teeth and found it dissolved easily. Okay, not bad.

      “They’re one of the few good muties that are friendly to norms,” he finished with a full mouth.

      “Not a mutation, my dear Mr. Cawdor,” Doc rumbled. “Since time immemorial, dolphins have been the friends of humanity. Although God alone knows why. We have certainly treated them poorly enough.”

      “How chill?” Jak asked, mildly interested. The dangers

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