Downrigger Drift. James Axler
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screaming so loud now that Ryan couldn’t hear if anyone replied from inside. He was about to beat on the doors again when the pipe dropped another six inches with a shriek of rending metal.
“J.B.! Get on top!” Reaching around, Ryan threw a leg over and pulled himself up on top, just as he felt something scrabble through his hair, followed by the click of teeth snapping near his ear. “Fireblast!” The moment he was secure, Ryan brushed a hand through his hair, making sure nothing was about to tear into his scalp.
“Ryan…can’t make it…up…”
The weak shout made Ryan whirl to see J.B.’s hands slipping. Throwing himself forward, he stretched out full-length, his hands reaching out to grab the other man’s wrists. The pipe screamed at the impact of his body, but still held, even under their combined weight. He grabbed J.B.’s arms a moment before he would have fallen to the floor.
“You aren’t leaving this place without me, you hear?” Ryan gritted between clenched teeth. His hands and arms, already sore and unfeeling from the trip to the mat-trans control room and back, radiated pure agony as he held J.B. in place. “On three, I’m going to lift you, and you’re going to grab this pipe with both hands and hold on with everything you got, you understand?”
“All right… Don’t have to yell…”
Ryan braced himself for was he was about to do. “One…two…three!” He heaved up with every ounce of strength he possessed, muscles cracking under the strain. One inch, two, three…
Straining until he thought his arms were going to tear out of their sockets, Ryan pulled J.B.’s arms up until he could get them wrapped back around the pipe, then he grabbed the scruff of the other man’s battered jacket and, with the last of his strength, hauled the man up so he was half on, half off the pipe.
A feral chitter from J.B.’s knees made Ryan slowly raise his head. There, with its front claws dug deep into the other man’s left leg, squatted a pig-rat easily two feet long, drool oozing from its two-inch tusks.
“Ryan, what—”
“Don’t…move…” Ryan stared at the mutie only three feet away from him, pinning it with his hardest stare. The beast gave as good as it received, its large, black eyes gazing back into his, as if it knew it would have to fight to keep this meal.
Not taking his eye off the abomination, Ryan’s hand slowly crept toward the handle of his panga. The pig-rat tensed in anticipation, hindquarters lowering to J.B.’s stained, bloody pants as it prepared to spring.
Their eyes locked one last time, and Ryan moved the millisecond he saw the pig-rat jump.
As the brute pushed off, Ryan drew the heavy blade and brought it around in a short, vicious arc. The flat of the machete smacked into the rodent’s head right before it would have sank its teeth into Ryan’s face. The blow sent the creature hurtling away, falling with a startled shriek into the ravenous crowd below.
“Thanks…fucker clawed me bad…”
Ryan nodded, unable to speak, and more so because he had no idea what to say. It didn’t seem like Krysty or the others had heard him inside, and the pipe was about to break loose at any moment, sending them down to a very short, one-way trip to be a feast for the rad-blasted muties below.
He shifted his weight to lessen the strain, but his movement only caused the pipe to groan again and drop a few more inches. With his free hand, he drew his blaster and cocked the hammer.
“This is it. I’ll break the pipe free, hope to crush a shitload of them underneath. When it drops, make for the door. We might be able to get inside before they bring us down. I’ll be shooting the whole way, so you just run. Don’t stop for anything, and that includes me.”
J.B. raised his head, and Ryan was startled to see his friend’s face flushed a bright, mottled red. “Be…right…behind you…”
“All right, here we go.” Ryan turned to face the elevator, about to throw his entire weight upon the pipe to send it crashing to the floor, when the metal doors below began to slide open.
Krysty was framed in the doorway, looking every inch like a flame-haired, avenging angel, only instead of a sword, she was holding something much better.
The S&W M-4000 shotgun was braced against her hip, ready to spew a hailstorm of metal death.
“Fire in the hole!” Ryan shouted, throwing himself back on the pipe, jamming his right ear into his shoulder and clapping his left hand over his left, just before the world split apart in explosions of thunder and flame.
His head aching and rattled from the weapon going off right under him, Ryan was dimly aware of strong hands pulling him from the pipe and helping him into the elevator. Other hands gripped him and helped him to a corner of the small room, where he sank to his knees. “J.B.—”
Krysty’s face appeared in front of him through a pall of smoke, speaking slowly and distinctly. “We got him out—”
That was as far as she got before Ryan crushed her to him and kissed her long and hard for as long as he had air in his lungs. Her strong arms curled around his back was the best sensation he’d felt in a long time.
When they parted, he wasn’t the only one breathless. “Nice to see you too, lover,” she panted.
“Bastard good to be seen. The doors…”
“Are locked as tight as a drum, my good man.” With a courtly flourish, Doc spun his ancient LeMat on his finger, nearly dropping it before steadying it with his other hand and dropping it back into his holster. “I daresay your paramour was like a woman possessed. She swore she heard you outside the door, even when the rest of us could not through the ruckus of that hellspawn outside. At the last, she said she was going to open them, and would perforate with lead anyone who tried to impede her. Obviously she was right on the money and gave those impudent beasts the what for. While she went out and brought the two of you back, I stood guard with my trusty sidearm, and when she got J.B., I gave them something to think about with my second barrel while we closed the doors again.”
“So, we’re moving?”
“Most assuredly, my dear Ryan. However, I’m not sure you are going to like the particular direction we seem to be heading.”
Doc’s words made Ryan realize just what was off about the movement of the elevator. It didn’t have the stomach-lurching feel of ascension at all. Pushing off the wall to his feet, he stalked to the panel with the buttons, his face darkening as he saw which one was lit.
“Fireblast, Doc, why the hell’d you press the bottom one? We want to go up, not down!”
“Easy, Ryan.” Krysty grabbed his arm, distracting him. “About fifteen minutes after you left, a recording came on telling us to clear the elevator as it was due to go to the maintenance level in ten minutes. We started counting down, and when it got to thirty seconds—well, I wasn’t leaving without you.”
“But as to where exactly we’re going, we don’t have a clue, other than the maintenance level,” Mildred said from where she was bent over J.B., field-dressing his wounds as best she could. “Jesus, Ryan, where the hell did you two go—swimmin’ through a sewer?”
“Yeah. We used a little plastique to clear the mat-trans comp room. J.B. got bit and clawed by a pair of them. How’s he doing?”
“Not good. The exertion worked the infection into his bloodstream more quickly than Jak, so they’re running neck and neck regarding who’s worse off at the moment. We’ve got to get medicine into them, fast.”
She didn’t mention the unspoken truth: if there was any medicine to be had it was in the upper levels. Assuming they made it that far in the first place.
The elevator ground to a halt, and the disembodied voice spoke again, startling Ryan, who was hearing it for the first time.
“Maintenance level. This elevator will