Lost Gates. James Axler

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ of his shovel, he tilted and watched as the mud slid off with a squelch, revealing the paltry growth of root crop that lay beneath the discolored greenery that topped it.

      The soil was a sea of mud, barely able to sustain any growth without rotting it. The root crops and wheat were ill-nourished and dying before they were even harvested. J.B. wouldn’t be at all surprised if it transpired that the majority of what they used for food came from traded supplies.

      In which case, why the hell did they put them themselves through this? Was it really because they had an almost preternatural belief in the value of their work to gain their prize?

      He looked at Hardy, who had returned to attacking the unyielding, sludgy earth that just sucked at the shovel blade. There was a determination in the man’s face that was unnerving. Given the right circumstances, there was little doubt that the people of Hawknose could be dangerous. Was there anything they wouldn’t do for the good of their ville?

      Meantime, J.B. felt that he should get back to work. Hardy had said nothing, but his silent return to his task had spoken volumes. As long as J.B. and the rest of the companions were in the ville, they would have to abide by the code of the ville, or risk the consequences.

      The next convoy couldn’t come along quickly enough for the Armorer.

      As he continued to toil, he noticed the regular sec patrols came nearer and nearer to the spot where he was digging. There had to be some kind of pattern to how they worked. For nothing more than to relieve the boredom that threatened to crush his spirit, he tried to work out this route based on what he had observed on the previous few days.

      Something nagged at J.B. as he continued to dig. Thinking back, it seemed that the sec patrols were sent out to scare off any kind of wildlife that may stray too close during the hours of daylight, and to scout for any approaching wags or travelers on foot. To do this, they sped through the areas that were used for farming, and were several miles from the ville before beginning their proscribed circuit.

      But this day was different. For a while it was hard for him to pin down exactly why this was bugging him. Then as he tugged at the handle of his shovel, trying to free it from sludge that was almost like quicksand, it came to him. The sound was different. Sure, he’d seen them occasionally, out of the corner of his eye, but mostly his head had been turned down, facing his task. And the noise he had heard had been distant, a buzzing in and out of focus, as the wags came and went on their circuit, farther out and then closer in.

      But this day they were much closer, and the sound was louder. They were coming into the area where farming was carried out, and from the revs of the engines as they passed it was as if they were slowing at various points.

      So why were they coming in so much? And why were they slowing at certain points?

      A tingling of apprehension prickled at the Armorer’s scalp. There was something that worried him about this, something he’d have to mention to Ryan and Jak, if only to see if they had noticed anything similar.

      J.B. ANGLED HIS HEAD BACK so that he could see from beneath the brim of his fedora. The guards were still unaware that he was conscious. Having Ryan’s signal, and seeing Jak’s response, he knew that he wasn’t the only one conscious. He hurt like hell, but that wouldn’t matter when the adrenaline started to pump. He was angry at himself for not realizing what was happening earlier. He should have known. It was all there in the attitude of men like Hardy.

      The people of Hawknose would stop at nothing to further the cause of their ville.

      Nothing.

      Chapter Two

      “This sucks. The sooner we can get out of this place, the better,” Mildred grumbled as she and Krysty added another sack of meal to the pile that was growing in the dark shed used as a warehouse. They were at the back, unloading a cart so heavily laden that it had taken the two of them a great deal of time to pull it over the rutted planks of the floor.

      Concrete lay beneath the wooden base. They could see the gray through the slats of the floor, and in places the planks had broken to show patches of the hard surface beneath. They had managed to avoid the worst of them, but in so doing had always seemed to run into a groove formed by two worn pieces of wood, causing the trolley to buck and stick, wrenching their arms and backs as it did.

      They had spent the past two days on this task, gradually moving the supplies traded from their convoy. It was dull, monotonous and backbreaking work. It was easy to see why they—the newly arrived outlanders—had been allocated this task.

      Krysty straightened as the sack hit the others with a dull thud, raising a cloud of dust that caught in her throat. She was too exhausted to even sneeze or cough with any alacrity. Every spasm made her back twinge.

      “These guys are tough, I’ll give them that,” she said with a wince as the spasms passed, and she stretched to allow her aching muscles to uncramp. “I have no idea what they’d be like as fighters, but if they were well organized, they’d be tough to take down.”

      “They’re not that type, though,” Mildred reflected, leaning against the bar by which they alternately dragged or pulled the cart. “They believe in hard work, living simply and keeping to themselves. Lord knows that’s a rare enough commodity in this pesthole land.”

      “Yeah, but what if someone comes looking for them?” Krysty countered. “There’s a whole lot of people here who don’t…ahh—” she winced as she stretched to one side “—who don’t believe in live and let live. What would they do then, and where would their work ethic be then?”

      Mildred pondered that between feeling the disks in her spine contract as the muscles tightened. “You know, there were people like that back before I got frozen. Religious sects. They were pretty much left alone. The only difference between these guys and the ones from predark is that the old ones believed in God rather than a sense of destiny.”

      She stopped speaking as she noticed movement in the shadows. Krysty caught the change in her companion’s demeanor and immediately snapped out of her relaxed state. She turned so that she was facing the same way as her companion.

      A woman came out of the shadows. Sharp-faced, tall and angular, she looked like so many other people in the ville. Her lean, long face was lined, although she probably was younger than either Mildred or Krysty. Her clothes hung off her, not because she was thin but rather because they were recycled castoffs.

      There was something about the way she moved that made Krysty’s nerves tingle. It seemed as though she had emerged from the shadows, where she had been still, observing.

      But why?

      “Going well with that load,” the woman noted, her voice flat and neutral. “Soon be done. You’ll be glad of that.” It was a statement rather than a question.

      “Damn right,” Mildred murmured. “Anything you wanted?” Like Krysty, she, too, was suspicious of the woman, although equally she would have been hard-pushed to say why. Instinct.

      “Just came to tell you that the next shift won’t be yours. Baron wants to see you all later. That’s a real privilege. Means you get some time out.”

      “Like a reward?” Mildred asked with heavy irony.

      “Yeah. Anyone with a private audience with Valiant has time out before they go. Need to be sharp, not tired or hung over. So you have time to rest.”

СКАЧАТЬ