James Axler Deathlands 032 Circle Thrice

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said. "Thinking about
Straub."
"Better not."
"He the worst?"
Ryan smiled at Jak's urgent, eager question. "The worst? You're asking someone
who's lived all his time in Deathlands, much of it scraping scum off the wheel
of life. Like asking someone what was the happiest moment of his life. Best
meal he ever ate. Cleanest chilling."
"Straub worst of them?" Jak pressed. "Or was it Russkie? Was bad."
"Major-Commissar Gregori Zimyanin." Ryan sniffed. "Guess he would run Straub
close as a powerful and dangerous man. But he wasn't somehow as wicked. Brutal
and cruel. Not top-drawer evil like
Straub."
Krysty had been walking close behind, listening to the conversation. "Cort
Strasser?"
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"Gets my unanimous vote for sicko bastard numero uno," J.B. said.
"At least most of these gibbering demons from the past are long dead," Doc
stated. "And the earth a much cleaner place for their passing."
"And there's the legends you've talked about." Mildred swatted away a cloud of
tiny iridescent flies from her face. "The Magus. The Warlock. The Sorcerer."
"Three names for a single man," Ryan said. "Steel eyes and half a face. First
man to try and buy and sell stickies. Most decent folks would run a hundred
miles before crossing up those muties. He used to sell them to Gert Wolfram.
The ringmaster of the greatest traveling freak show in all of Deathlands
history.
Now, there's a truly evil couple."
Krysty heard the grating note in Ryan's voice, almost tasting the flatness of
fear that overlaid his words.
"But they're dead, aren't they, lover?"
"Nobody knows. Some folk say that the Magus was never really alive."
Now it was Krysty's turn to huddle up as though she were cold. "Ooooh, let's
find something else to talk about. Just thinking of men like Straub and
Strasser makes me feel sick to my stomach. Perversions of humanity."
"Moral muties," Mildred said.
They'd reached an open clearing that ran down toward a gently sloping beach,
with open water beyond.
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"Still hungry," Jak stated.
"You and your stomach!" Krysty chided.
"You one said change subject," the teenager protested. "Just done that."
FORTUNATELY RYAN'S SUPPOSITION that the redoubt was now set in the heart of an
island proved to be false. It was lucky because they found little or no fallen
timber suitable for making a raft to get them off.
As they walked along the beach, Ryan in the lead and J.B. bringing up the
rear, they found that their land mass was linked to another, larger body of
land. A narrow causeway, less than six feet wide in parts, ran across, roughly
southerly, with small waves lapping at it.
"Still no sign of wildlife," Jak said. "Mebbe fish? Could try?"
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Ryan was walking cautiously along the path, constantly watching the water,
aware of how vulnerable they were if any large mutie monster should attack
them.
But the lake remained calm and placid, and they all made the crossing safely.
Only then did he answer Jak's question. "Fish? Didn't see sign of any."
"Could be good trout country," Doc said.
Ryan stooped and cupped his hand, bringing water to his mouth, tasting it and
spitting it out hurriedly.
"No fish in that. Nothing living in that."
Everyone followed his example, wanting to try it for himself or herself. All
of them reacted the same way to the brackish bitterness.
"Polluted filth!" Doc gasped.
Mildred cautiously touched her tongue to the liquid, puckering her mouth.
"Iron. Sulfur. Where there's pollution, there always seems to be sulfur. And
some other metals. Lithium? Zinc. Just a hideous cocktail of poisons."
"Least we had plenty to drink in the redoubt," Ryan said, wiping his wet hands
on his pants. "But the sooner we get right away from this ruined place the
better."
"Trees look healthy." Krysty stared around. "But I can't feel any sort of
life."
"No game. No fish. Not a bird in the sky." J.B. took off his fedora and fanned
it in front of his face to shoo away more of the bothersome insects. "Just
these bastard flies. And I don't fancy eating them." He flicked at his neck.
"Though they don't seem to have any objection to eating me."
Ryan looked around, spotting what could have been the twisted wreckage of an
old fire watchtower, jutting out several hundred feet above them.
"If I go up there, I should get a view all around. Mebbe find the best way out
of this blighted maze of water and islands. Take me about a half hour there
and back."
"Could we all come?" Krysty asked.
"No. We got no way of knowing how far we're going to have to walk to get
something to eat. And drink.
Best everyone conserve energy."
"I confess that I am already feeling just a trifle fatigued," Doc said. "I
shall lay down beneath yonder ridgepole pine and await your return. All that I
lack is a jug of wine and a slim volume of verse."
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THE TRACK WAS DUSTY and narrow. Since there appeared to be nothing living in
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