Chapter Five

      “It is not very long,” Doc mused. “Not very long at all.”

      It was the morning after their first meal with the people they now knew were called the Hellbenders, and while Mildred went with Travis to check on Cy’s condition, the rest of the companions were taking a few moments to assess, through headaches caused by the previous night’s strong brew, what they had learned.

      As the evening had worn on, and the redoubt dwellers had become intoxicated, so the rowdiness had increased. People were singing and shouting at one another, and Correll had tried to make himself heard to Ryan. But the volume from the assembled throng was too great, and the gaunt man’s voice strained to be heard.

      It was then that he gave a demonstration of his authority that made the one-eyed man assess the power that he held, and conclude that it was very great. Frustrated at not being able to make himself heard, a cloud of fury crossing his brow, Correll rose to his feet and then climbed onto the table. This movement immediately caught the eye of J.B., who rose an eyebrow at Ryan, receiving a similar gesture from his friend. This would be a telling moment.

      Correll drew a long knife from a scabbard attached to his thigh. It was similar to Ryan’s panga, but with a more curved blade that caught light from the candles that were augmenting the now dimmed fluorescent tubes, reflecting it in glittering patterns. Correll tossed the knife in the air so that it spun, and as it came back down he caught it by the point and, in one fluid motion, threw it so that it described a parabola around the circumference of the room. It skidded low across the tops of heads, its passing marked by a rush of air that breathed on the people, making them stop and turn. If someone had been standing higher than head height—on a chair, or on a table—then the knife would have sliced into them. As it was, Correll had judged the height to perfection, leaving nothing in the wake of the flight but a series of turned heads and a growing silence around the room.

      The knife returned to him, its speed still strong. Correll leaned back without moving either of his feet and plucked the knife out of the air by its point as it passed him, killing the momentum dead with a downward flick of his wrist.

      The room was now silent, all eyes on their leader.

      “Good. I hate it when you all get too rowdy and I’m trying to talk. I was about to explain to our friends here that the mission on which they will join us is fast approaching. I have had intelligence reports that the trade-off is to be in seven days’ time. So we go on triple red and train hard. The countdown begins here. Enjoy tonight, but wake up tomorrow to work hard. Vengeance will soon be ours.”

      With which he stood down from the table to a moment’s silence before the assembled throng, having been given the countdown to that which they desired, erupted into cheering and whooping before resuming their festivities—this time with a renewed sense of purpose.

      THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Krysty remembered the conversation with an appalling clarity, just as she remembered the expression on Correll’s face as he spoke. His eyes glittered, his skin drew tight as the veins on his temples throbbed and the sinews stood out on his neck.

      “It could never be too long, Doc,” she said. “I don’t think I could ever wait too long to go into a firefight with him.”

      “Fight whether want or not,” Jak said with a shrug. “Fight him, fight Charity…fight someone.”

      “Jak’s right,” Ryan agreed. “We’re caught between that rock and that hard place here. If we try to pull out on Correll, we’ll buy the farm right now. But—”

      “But seeing the way he is, what kind of suicidal strategies does he have planned?” J.B. finished. Like Ryan, the Armorer had an uneasy feeling that Correll would stop at nothing to achieve his aim, not caring for the lives of his people—or, for that matter, his own.

      “Right now we’ve got to go with it,” Ryan stated simply. “We’ve got no option here. But mebbe we can find a way to fill any holes in his plans and get nearer that old tech knowledge.”

      “It sure would help,” Dean said, almost to himself. He had learned a few things at the Brody school, from the limited knowledge that was available. Like Mildred, he had an interest in the old comp tech that had led to them investigating the machines in redoubts whenever they had the chance, but those chances didn’t come too often.

      Doc eyed Krysty shrewdly. “I fear you are not happy with such a plan,” he murmured to her. “In truth, neither am I. But Ryan is correct. In terms of options, we are severely limited.”

      “I know it, Doc,” Krysty answered, “but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

      Mildred returned with Travis and entered on these words, the redoubt dweller behind her. She took in the situation at a glance, and immediately launched into a detailed report on her patient’s condition, along with praise for Travis’s skills, in order to deflect her companion from asking questions about, or dwelling on, anything he may have overheard as they entered.

      Travis was unassuming about the praise he received. “I was only doing what you said,” he said to Mildred before, obviously uncomfortable at being lauded, changing the subject. “Look, we should be getting down to the meeting room. There’s a briefing, and I can’t believe Mr. C. doesn’t want you there. Not after last night.”

      So saying, he led them from their room through the corridors to the room where they had eaten the previous evening.

      “Nicely done, Millie,” J.B. whispered as they went.

      “No more than you should expect, John,” she returned.

      When they reached the meeting room, it was to find that the rest of the community was gathered, with Correll at the head, waiting for their arrival. After asking briefly how Cy was doing, Correll turned his attention to a crudely drawn map that was pinned to the wall.

      “Now, most of the next six days we’re going to spend shaping up, sharpening those reflexes. There’ll be a training regime and combat tactics to learn. You’re good and sharp, but I want you sharper still. Ryan,” he said, turning to the one-eyed man, “I want you in on this with me. I figure an outside view from someone with your experience could be kinda interesting. And I want J.B. around, as well, ’cause we got to get that armory in the best shape it’s ever been, and you’re the man for that.”

      The Armorer nodded, not letting his feelings show. It was in the companions’ best interests to have the armory in A1 condition, but it would also be good to know exactly what Correll had in his armory in case they had to stand against him.

      Correll continued, pointing at the map. “I figure that the route will take both convoys around the really arid areas here—” he pointed at a spot toward the center of the distance between the two villes “—but they’ll still want to meet as near to the center as possible. I know Jourgensen, and so does Hutter, the baron in Summerfield,” he added for the benefit of the companions. “Any kind of advantage Jourgensen could get, he’d take with both greedy hands, so Hutter’ll want to keep things as neutral as possible. And guess what, people? It just so happens that brings them nice and near to us.

      “While most of us train, there’s going to have to be volunteers for a recce party to scout Charity. I managed to get word from our spy in Charity about the meet, but Jourgensen has got the shape and size of the party well and truly sewn up. We need to get someone close enough to the ville to see what’s going on.”

      There was a moment’s silence, then Lonnie rose to his feet. “I’ll go,” he said simply. The Native American woman rose to her feet, casting a hostile and suspicious look at the companions as she did.

      “Count me in,” she muttered.

      Correll shook his head. “No way, Jenny. You’ve got to oversee the armory, and I’ll need you to work with J.B.”

      “Shit, Joe, can’t someone