Chapter Six

 

 

Krysty pushed herself against the wind as fast as she could, taking time only to make sure each footfall landed on solid ground. They were up in the crown of the mountains now, and the crevasses that had resulted from the quakes and the volcanic pressures cropped up more frequently.

 

Jak and Mildred had gone off in a northerly direction to check out another route open to them. She still had fifteen minutes before they were supposed to return to report their findings.

 

The valley between the gap-toothed peaks she was using as her compass points suddenly split into two again. She turned up the collar of her coat. The thought of Ryan out there unprotected against the elements didn't sit well.

 

"Gaia watch over him," she said, "because I've never loved anyone more." The wind whipped her words out of her mouth, battered them into nothing.

 

"What's that, my dear?" Doc asked from behind her.

 

"Wishful thinking."

 

The old man came up beside her, his head pulled down into his coat and his hands jammed into his pockets. He held his walking stick up under his arm. The butt of his .63 Le Mat blaster stuck out from between the buttons of the coat. "Not upon a star, though, I see. It comes to mind that with the seeming scarcity of the mercury's ability to hit the scarlet field at all upon this night, and with the stench of sulfur from the volcanoes so like brimstone, one could truly say it is as cold as hell upon this mountain."

 

Krysty ignored the comment and considered the two options before her.

 

Both chasms led through the rock, angling down.

 

"Pardon, dear lady, I know your mind is not entertained a whit by my self-indulgent observations."

 

"Not your fault, Doc. I'm just worried about Ryan."

 

"Think not upon that. He'll be along in short order, I'm sure."

 

Krysty knew Doc was trying to make her feel better, but he was also sincere. She let out a tense breath. "I know. Mebbe I'm just more worried about us getting trapped up here."

 

"We've options open to us yet that remain unexplored." Doc gestured at the narrow defiles standing dark and empty before them.

 

"So which way?"

 

Doc peered at the two trails. "Neither of them appear to be heavily trod thoroughfares. But the one on the right beckons because it appears rather bleaker and even more deserted."

 

"Let's get it done." Krysty pulled out her blaster. "Double red, Doc. We haven't run into any more of those flying things Jak turned up, but that doesn't mean they're not around."

 

"Sally forth, brave lass, and know that I stand at the ready in your service."

 

Krysty headed forward, crunching her boots over loose, broken rock. She kept the .38's hammer eared back, and her eyes shifting back and forth to pick up any movement with her peripheral vision.

 

The mountain quivered unexpectedly, like an old dog staving off its death throes one more night. But it was enough to knock Krysty from her feet.

 

"By the Three Kennedys!" Doc roared, tumbling to land on the stone.

 

Krysty threw herself to the ground and covered her head with her arms. Rocks rained all around her, some of them thudding painfully into her body.

 

As quickly as they came, the tremors stopped.

 

The woman raised her head, tasting blood inside her mouth from a split lip. Dust hovered in the air around them, dirtying the snow and mixing with the flurries. She was grateful to find that she hadn't lost her blaster in the confusion. She glanced at her companion.

 

The old man lay very still on the ground, partially covered with rock and dirt.

 

"Doc!" Krysty shoved her way up from the debris.

 

"I'm quite all right, my dear Krysty. I was just lying here, gathering my thoughts and making sure I remained yet anatomically correct. I do feel of a piece, but not the piece that I was. And I seem to hurt in every place near and dear to me, and a few that I'd not been aware of. I shall choose to view that as a good sign."

 

Krysty crossed over to him and took hold of his jacket in her free hand. She helped him to his feet, keeping watch over the two of them.

 

"Thank you for your concern, but I assure you I'm well enough to stand on my own." Fastidious as ever, Doc took a moment to brush at his clothing.

 

As Krysty shifted around, trying to peer through the haze filling the defile, rock rushed down the incline and shot through the fissure in the ground only two yards away. Evidently the quake had done some damage to the underlying strata, because the fissure was now three feet across when before it had only been inches.

 

Among the thuds and splats of rock and earth tumbling over the side, there was also a decidedly metallic sound.

 

"And how are you?" Doc asked, gazing at her with some worry.

 

"Shh," Krysty said, cocking her head to listen.

 

The sound repeated in a series of rapid basso beats.

 

Intrigued, Krysty crept closer, going down on her belly at the edge of the fissure. She peered down into it but could see nothing. "Did you hear that?"

 

"Indeed I did. These old ears are still sharp as a bat's." Doc went prone at her side, then stretched out a hand. "Do you feel it?"

 

Krysty stretched her hand out over the fissure, careful not to put it too close in case something predatory came roaring up with snapping fangs. The breeze coming up from the fissure wrapped itself around her fingers. "Warm air."

 

"Exactly." Doc peered down into the gloom, sticking his head in a little farther than Krysty felt was safe. "Mayhap the shivers we felt but moments ago opened up a new artery into the heart of the volcanic region that holds the roots of this mountain range." He extended both hands out, "Ah, and it's enough to warm an old man's bones."

 

His movements sent a fresh pile of rock and dirt cascading into the fissure. More bonging sounded.

 

"Something else is down there. Volcanoes don't make bonging sounds," Krysty argued.

 

"No, they do not."

 

Krysty pulled out one of the short torches she carried in her pack. Holding it only a little way inside the fissure, she set it on fire with a self-light. The oil caught slowly but spread fast, casting golden streamers of incandescence above and below.

 

The fissure hollowed out nearly three feet beneath the surface. The shattered stone understructure of the mountain held a chamber that showed signs of old growth; twisted, dead trees and bushes gathered against low spots where the rainwater runoff evidently flowed through into even lower recesses.

 

The warm air that pushed up into Krysty's face smelled of stringent sulfur and bacteria-laden loam. Her hair relaxed around her head, fanning out a little to better absorb the extra heat. She used her gift, trying to sort out any threats that lurked below. From the looks of things, she judged that nothing under the rocky crust lived.

 

"In past times, mayhap even stretching back as far as the nukecaust," Doc said, "that area below was once the top of this mountain."

 

"It isn't anymore." Krysty moved the torch, about ready to give up on the search. If the chamber did open up into the volcanic substrata, that definitely wasn't a course she wanted to pursue. Warm air would come in useful, though, if they had to stay on the mountaintop to ride out the storm.

 

"Wait," Doc said, "I thought I saw something."

 

"Moving?" Krysty brought her blaster forward.

 

"No. A vehicle possibly."

 

Krysty moved the torch again. The flames jumped and remained burning bright yellow in the steady supply of oxygen. The chamber was almost twenty feet across and thirty feet deep. Flaming bits of the torch dropped the intervening distance, and some of them landed on a metal surface halfway buried in the mountainside.

 

Canted on its side, the blue-and-white fuselage lay crusted over by boulders and dirt that had worked its way from the top of the mountain to the hidden chamber under the fissure. The rear propeller was missing, as was much of the tail section, and the main rotor held one bent blade stretching up. The others were buried somewhere under it. The Plexiglas bubble was almost covered, as well, but enough of it showed that the multiple fractures threading through it were apparent.

 

The facet of the craft that most interested Krysty was the word Rescue lettered on the door.

 

She looked around the fissure opening and thought she might be able to make the climb. "I'm going in," she told Doc.

 

The old man looked at her. "I don't wish to offend you, my dear Krysty, but the idea of you in that cave harbors no good thoughts in this weary old head despite the present temperature, which has undoubtedly slowed the flow of blood through my brain."

 

She handed him the torch and shrugged out of her backpack. "Good thoughts or not, that was evidently some kind of rescue airwag. There could be medicines and dressings inside that we can use."

 

"Then I beg of you, let me go there in your stead."

 

She gestured with the torch, pointing down as far as she could. The flames wrapped around her fingers for just an instant but not long enough to burn. "That's pretty steep. Do you think you could make it any better than me?"

 

"I would surely give it the effort," Doc replied.

 

"Doc," Krysty said, "I'm in better shape than you for this sort of thing. If anything happens down there, I'll need you up here."

 

The old man covered her hand with his and looked at her solemnly. "As you wish. I am yours but to command."

 

Krysty clambered into the fissure, her nasal passages and throat burning as she fought the gag reflex against the sulfur smell. Once inside, she fashioned a mask over her nose and mouth from a handkerchief, then took the torch from Doc and started down.

 

The grade tilted steeply. She took a tacking course, not heading straight for the helicopter, but rather making for the other side of the flattest section of stone she could find a few inches below her initial position. She made two more angled passes before she got close enough to the aircraft to touch it, scooting on her butt part of the way so she wouldn't start sliding.

 

In the center of the chamber, the torch pretty well illuminated her surroundings. Craggy walls seemed to pulse in on her with jagged teeth as the torchlight ebbed and flowed, and a dark crack opened up beneath the helicopter.

 

Resting her hand on the craft gingerly, Krysty peered into the crack under the helicopter. The blackness extended a long way. She shoved the torch farther into it but still couldn't see the bottom.

 

Shifting a rock with the toe of her boot, she nudged it over the edge. The rock hit the sides of the crack as it passed, making loud whanging noises as it dropped farther away. She finally gave up on it when she realized her breathing had gotten louder than the impacts.

 

"Are you all right?" Doc called down.

 

"Just eyeballing things before I go any farther," she replied. Still moving slowly, she went to the front of the helicopter and peered inside.

 

A skeleton that had gone gray white in death sat strapped into the pilot's seat, dressed in a red short-sleeved shirt and gray slacks. The material hung in shreds, worried at by insects and beasts, faded and ravaged by time. Layers of dust and dirt caked the dead man and the inside of the helicopter.

 

Krysty's hair tightened against her neck. Reminding herself of the potential booty that might lie inside the craft just for her taking at a time when the companions might need it, she thrust the torch forward.

 

Reflections of the flames danced in the webbed lines of the Plexiglas. Shadows wavered around the corpse like dark things that had been disturbed from their restor feeding. The hollow eye sockets seemed locked on Krysty as she took another step forward.

 

The door opened easily, creaking with the decades of disuse. A fresh shower of dirt and pebbles rolled down the incline in an earthen wave.

 

"Krysty!"

 

"I'm okay, Doc." She glanced up at the old man, peering anxiously into the gloom. "I'm going to take a look inside."

 

"Be careful. I do believe friend Ryan would be most vexed should I allow anything of ill nature occur to you."

 

Krysty turned her attention back to the aircraft. The helicopter had a low ceiling, which didn't give her enough room to stand. But it held seats for the dead man and one other, as well as space behind for cargo.

 

She pulled herself in through the door, pausing a moment as she felt the craft wobble under her. Metal shrieked in long, low notes, then it stopped. Evidently the helicopter was wedged firmly.

 

She held the torch as high as she could inside the cockpit. Upon closer inspection, she saw that the front of the dead man's skull was broken, smashed in completely along the right cheek and temple.

 

She grabbed the corpse's shirt and shook it. Dust and dirt fell away from the material, and a chunk of it came away in her fist. She smoothed it out on the empty seat, keeping the torch raised high. The pockets held an assortment of coins, a penknife and a few butterscotch candies in individual wrappers that had turned black.

 

Satisfied there was nothing of use in the cockpit, she went into the cargo area.

 

A stretcher clung to one wall, halfway covering a red fire extinguisher. Shallow metal racks covered the other wall, filled with narrow drawers that looked almost as big as bread loaves.

 

All of the drawers were marked with names. She knew only some of them, but they all had to do with pharmaceuticals or surgical equipment. She opened the drawers in succession, working quickly.

 

In minutes she had filled her pouch and pockets and every empty space on her person. It pained her to see that so much remained they could use. Once she got back with the others, they could arrange another raiding party.

 

She took up the torch from the fire-extinguisher mounting and headed back toward the cockpit. As she passed through, she felt something bum along the back of her hand. When she examined her hand, a long scratch dripped blood.

 

Using one of the packages of gauze she'd left in the supply bins, she wiped at the scratch to make sure it wasn't anything to worry about.

 

Her mutie ability kicked in with a force she'd seldom felt when not actually threatened with physical harm. Her senses swam, taking her into the bloody splotch on the back of her hand. It felt as though her heart had stilled.