Freedom Lost Terry Collins

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sunk his teeth into his enemy's right wrist, breaking the skin and causing streamers
of coppery-tasting blood to spurt out. However, fear of being blinded outweighed
his ability to throw away the pain and caused him to release his grip on Ryan and
go reeling backward.
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Krysty's blaster fired four times, each bullet finding a secure home in Lester's
chest cavity. The self-styled leader of the Winston stickies tumbled backward and
moved no more.
"Nice shooting," Morgan remarked.
The other stickies, seeing their leader fall, eased up on their attack, choosing
instead to follow their own whims.
"They're easing off," Morgan stated. "Time for us to ease off, too, I think."
"Where the hell are you going?" Ryan asked.
Morgan shook his head in disbelief. "Freedom's lost, Cawdor, but I'm still in debt
for your assist in saving my hide. Lay down some covering fire and tell your
group to follow me. There's a way out that should lead you away from any stickies
until you're safe on the other end of the back parking lot."
Ryan didn't argue. "Dean, follow Morgan! Rest of you pick up after Dean, one by
one. Me and J.B. will lay down covering fire and bring up the rear."
Most of the remaining stickies weren't interested in fighting against Ryan and
J.B.'s marksmanship, and chose either to stagger back outside or turn and go down
the main aisle of the devastated mall interior.
"Come on," Ryan said to his friend as the two men raced hurriedly away. "I think
we've done enough shopping on this trip."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Morgan had taken the group back into the catacombs that lined the far interiors of
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Freedom Mall, bringing them past unfinished walls and ancient pipes kept behind
heavy wire fencing. The padlock holding a chain around the front of a solid sec
door was unlocked with a key on a ring hanging from the former mall leader's
waist. He led the way down a flight of flimsy metal stairs, which vibrated from all
of their combined weight.
At the bottom was a bank of equipment lockers with a padlock and chain identical
to the one that had kept the door to the small chamber closed, a folding card table
weighed down with a toolbox and some scattered papers and files, a relatively
clean portable gasoline generator and a half-bubble-shaped hatch sticking up like
a boil in the center of the floor.
"Open the floor hatch," Morgan said as he pulled on the cord and caused the gen
to chug into a steady heartbeat of sounds. "Probably take two of you. Damn thing
sticks."
Ryan and Jak turned the floor-level locking wheel, straining until it broke free
with a wrenching of metal and allowed them to lift up the half-egg-shaped hatch.
The second the seal between floor and hatch had been pried loose with a soft
sucking sound, Jak went skittering back with a crazed look on his pale face.
"Gaia!" Krysty gasped, her green eyes popping open in shock.
"By the Three Kennedys!" Doc wheezed as he turned and staggered away from
his earlier position of wanting to see what the opening of the hatch might unveil.
Mildred, who had autopsied the dead and cut into the living, involuntarily gagged.
Dean's chest heaved as he struggled not to vomit. The boy was afraid to even try
to speak until he regained control of his senses.
Only J.B. appeared not to have been struck totally by surprise over the odor that
had been unleashed, and that was because of his long-practiced poker face. Behind
the lenses of his glasses however, even his pale eyes were involuntarily watering.
"Fireblast, Morgan, what the hell is that smell?" Ryan asked, his own eye tearing
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as the ghastly odor wafted up.
"Human waste, I imagine," the former leader of Freedom Mall said succinctly as
he searched his ring for yet another key to unlock the equipment lockers. "Stinks,
doesn't it?"
"'Stink' is entirely too polite a word," Doc quipped.
"You mean the way out of here is through the bastard sewer?" Ryan demanded.
Morgan shrugged. "What better place to have a secret tunnel?"
"Only secret is how something can stink so bad."
Dean said, his voice pitched deeper since he was using a hand to pinch his nostrils
closed.
"Waste has to go somewhere. We modified the original plumbing as best we
could, but despite its immense size, Freedom was never designed for twenty-four-
hour inhabitation," Morgan explained as he inserted yet another key in hopes it
would be the right one for the lockers' padlock. "Bringing in fresh water and
disposing of waste was starting to be a logistical nightmare for which I had no real
solution. Guess I can thank the stickies for ridding me of the problem of having to
deal with yet another crisis."
"Smells like shit," Jak said bluntly.
"That's because it is shit," Morgan said in reply as he finally found the right key,
and the chain around the bank of lockers fell with a clank to the hard ground.
"And piss. And gallons upon gallons of shower water, sink water, tub water, any
liquid that goes down a drain. Been a while since I made the trip. All I can say is
hold your nose and walk fast. You'll get used to it."
"How are we going to see?" Krysty asked as she bent and tried to see down the
odorous crawlway.
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Axler,_James_-_Deathlands_41_-_Freedom_Lost [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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