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"Before your time, John," she replied, pausing to breathe deeply of the mountain
air. "Way before your time. Came from an old television show. So old, it was in
black and white not color. The show always started the same. The opening
credits would show a father and his barefoot son walk down an old back road to a
lake, fishing poles over their shoulders."
"Kind of like you and me, Dad," Dean interjected. "Except we haven't gone
fishing in a triple-long time."
"Don't interrupt," Ryan replied to his son. "Mildred's talking."
"Show took place in North Carolina, and that's what I always think of when I
think about this area. Back roads and fishing," Mildred continued. "Damned if this
place doesn't look just like what I remember from the series, even if it is part of
Deathlands."
"Television," Doc snorted disdainfully. "Mind rot. I regret the loss of the films of
the world, but I cannot say the same about what was dubbed 'the idiot box.' Too
many hours of potential achievement were wasted staring at the daily parade of
misfits and dysfunctional families on a never ending barrage of so-called talk
shows, programs where the talking consisted of nothing but screaming and
accusations over intentional betrayals between men and women of ill repute and
worse behavior."
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"I'll take a little mind rot over senility any day, you old fool," Mildred said with a
chuckle. "Besides, from the sounds of it, you wasted more than a few hours of
your own life watching the daily parade of the misfits."
"At times, dear Doctor, that was all I was allowed to do to pass the time during my
incarceration. And I can assure you, my jailers gave no choice of channels."
Mildred fell silent after that.
THE PARTY OF EIGHT continued to follow the broken pavement of the old
Hawthorne Road. Extra care had to be given to watching where they stepped, as
the road was pitted with small holes that could easily twist an ankle or cause a fall.
At times, the blacktop disappeared entirely to be replaced with a mix of lush,
ankle-high green grass and the hardy, small white daisies that seemed to bloom
throughout Deathlands. After Mildred had stopped reminiscing, a slight pall
seemed to hang over the group. About a mile into their trip, the silence had
become almost tangible.
Ryan took notice of the lack of sounds in the air. Before there had been faint
reminders that life was still here among the ruins the hum of insects, the
discussions between the arguing friends, the sound of footsteps rising and falling
on the road. Now it was almost as if each of them had subconsciously started
trying to move more silently, a hidden command to breathe easy and keep noise to
a minimum.
The absence of bird calls was especially noticeable. Once, Krysty had wordlessly
tugged at Ryan's long coat. When he glanced back, he couldn't help but see she
was troubled, as well. Her sentient red hair was coiling and uncoiling in a manner
that indicated that she, too, subconsciously knew something was wrong.
Still, the tree-lined roadway gave all indications of being safe, and their guide had
no problems with striding ahead without fear. Alton apparently knew where he
was going, and the closer they got, the more at ease he acted.
"Been a while since I got out this way," he said. "Like you, I been traveling
myself. Back and forth with no permanent place to hang my hat."
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Dean, bored out of his young mind and looking up at the blue sky, noticed the
movement in the trees first. His keen eyes detected a slight movement in the leafy
covering of a particular large tree directly next to the scavie's head. The mighty
oak's branches were hanging out like spread wooden fingers over the asphalt path
they were traveling.
He thought about mentioning it, but he didn't want to look like a stupe over a
squirrel or other arbor-dwelling creature. Besides, his father didn't seem to be
worried, and the boy knew Ryan's survival senses were honed by experience to a
much finer edge than his own. As Alton and then Ryan both passed under the long
branches, Dean held his breath until they were on the other side.
The boy exhaled with relief.
Until the leaves parted with a sudden, frantic rustling, and the hidden men leaped
out and were upon them.
Chapter Nine
"Ambush!" Dean cried out in a voice pitched high and tight with shock, but his
warning arrived a second too late as the men in the tree revealed themselves with
a sudden, murderous intensity.
Alton Adrian fell like a dropped doll, taken totally by surprise as the weight of his
attacker came down hard and swift upon his head and upper body. The second
man wasn't as lucky. He had chosen Ryan as his target. The one-eyed man reacted
much more swiftly than the bearded guide, his reflexes inhumanly quick as he
brought up the muzzle of the SIG-Sauer in a swift, practiced motion and fired off
a trio of shots, each slug catching his assailant in the chest. The force of the bullets
at such close range flipped the attacker backward, causing him to hurl his weapon
away.
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He landed hard on his lower back and rear once his feet clumsily hit heel first on
the broken road. Between the force of the bullets and the impact of the fall, the
man was wheezing, gasping for air as he writhed helplessly in pain.
J.B. was in motion the instant the ambush begun, swinging the butt of his own
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