Deathlands 117: Desolation Angels Read Online Free PDF Page A

quilt of angled planes. And still passed, she reckoned, to judge by the fact that little more than sprouts and tufts showed through the network of innumerable cracks.
    The space between it and the facade had obviously been a broad walkway. Now the pavement was gone, replaced by neat rows of cultivated plants—potatoes, beans twining up stakes, green vegetables, rows of shoulder-high corn along the edge closer to the structure where they wouldn’t deny the other crops light. It all looked terribly vulnerable to Krysty.
    “I wonder where everybody is,” Ricky said from behind her.
    As they approached the vast derelict—or ruin, she corrected herself, because somebody pretty evidently still occupied it—they had fanned out into a V formation, with Ryan at the point, Krysty at his left side and J.B. to his right. Mildred walked just behind J.B. Doc followed Krysty. Jak zigzagged cautiously ten yards ahead of Ryan. Ricky brought up the rear in a line behind Ryan.
    “Somebody’s spent a lot of time tending that garden,” he said. “Like the one behind us. And somebody keeps the junk from building up in that place we took our break. So where are they?”
    “Laying low,” J.B. said. “They likely heard blasters. Decided to duck and cover until whoever was having the disagreement sorted things out.”
    “Think they’re inside that thing?” Mildred asked uneasily.
    “Seems likely,” Ryan said.
    Jak crouched up the concrete steps to the entrance, well over to the right so he wasn’t walking right up to the open, Cubist cave mouth. He glanced inside.
    “See nothing,” he called back softly.
    “Ryan?” Krysty asked.
    “Drive on,” he said firmly.
    “You sure that’s wise?” Mildred asked.
    “No. If we were wise, we wouldn’t be here.”
    “Where else would we be, then, Ryan?” Doc asked.
    “If I knew that,” Ryan gritted, “we’d be there. Right. We walk in like we own the place.”
    “Won’t somebody spot us?” Ricky squeaked.
    “Son,” J.B. said, “somebody has. You don’t think people survive in a place like this without keeping close watch on everything that goes on in their immediate area? Especially intruders coming into it.”
    Ryan led the way boldly up the steps. Jak slipped around and inside the building, trusting his superior senses and reflexes to alert him to any lurking dangers—especially ambushers—and get him out of the jaws of any trap before they slammed shut.
    Inside was cool and dark, especially after the hot dazzle of the downtown street. Coils of razor wire were positioned at both sides of the entrance, at angles to leave the way in and out clear.
    “Looks like somebody likes to be able to shut the place up tight,” J.B. remarked. “Keep unwanted guests out.”
    “It is not working on us,” Doc said.
    J.B. shrugged. “Mebbe we’re not what they had in mind.”
    “Huh,” Mildred said, sniffing the air. “It doesn’t smell like sewage. Much. Other than us, I mean. We have got to get cleaned up. I know everybody these days has a super immune system, but if we don’t want any little scratch to give us pseudomonas, so that our legs swell up and go gangrenous and have to be cut off—”
    “Enough,” Ryan said. He halted them just inside the lobby.
    “Anyway, it seems like a good sign,” she finished.
    “People live,” Jak said. He crouched in an area right of the entrance, where a picnic table and some chairs had been set in what might have once been a kiosk. Its enclosure was now just metal uprights to hold long-vanished glass.
    “Yep, they do,” Mildred said. “Somewhere. The question is, do any live here?”
    “They do,” Krysty said. “I smell food cooking. With onion, garlic and basil.”
    Her stomach rumbled as she said it.
    “Mebbe they’ll invite us to join them for lunch,” Ricky said.
    “Or to be lunch,” J.B. suggested.
    Other tables and chairs sat on a tile floor, dark gray on lighter gray down the central strip that ran from the door,