Deathlands 117: Desolation Angels Read Online Free PDF

mixed shades of blue and gray to the sides. It looked as if the area was used for socializing. A dead escalator rose at the far end to a second story surrounded by a rail.
    “Ryan, look,” Krysty said as they advanced. She pointed at a giant square doorway that opened to their right.
    Like several others, it spilled yellow daylight onto the floor tiles. Through it they could see what looked to be another farm or garden. A hole in the roof—or a roof that was missing entirely—allowed the life-giving sunlight in.
    “Huh,” Ryan said.
    “Nobody home,” Ricky stated.
    “Waiting and watching to see what we do, likely,” J.B. said.
    “So what should we do, lover?” Krysty asked Ryan.
    He had reholstered his weapons when they ducked into the building across the intersection. Now he cupped his empty hands around his mouth and hollered, “Hello! Anybody here? We’ve reached this ville and we’re looking for work.”
    A blaster shot fired from the railing toward the escalator was his reply.

Chapter Four
    “Mebbe they don’t like outlanders,” J.B. said.
    “You rad-sucking fool, Tyrone!” a man’s voice shouted from the gallery. “Why’d you give us away?”
    “They’re mercies!” another voice yelled back defensively. “We can’t let Hizzoner’s blasters on Angels turf!”
    “Back outside!” Ryan yelled, racing toward the doors, which fortuitously were open.
    As the companions turned to sprint the few steps back to the outdoors, another shot cracked out. Tile splintered to Ryan’s right. Then another blaster spoke and another.
    “More right!” Jak yelped. Meaning other enemies were appearing in the doorway to the odd interior garden plots.
    “Hold your breath!” J.B. shouted. “Poison gas!”
    Then Ryan heard a clatter and sound of something metal and weighty rolling on tile.
    “Gas!” one of the ambusher screamed from the railing.
    A female voice cried, “Get back!”
    Ryan burst into the sunlight. He took a few steps down the steps to the street, then spun, unlimbering his Steyr and dropping to one knee. He intended to cover his friends’ retreat.
    He saw dirty yellow-white smoke billowing up from the middle of the wide floor. Already it rose high enough to obscure the second-story gallery from view, which meant it also obscured them from their enemies’ view, making aimed fire impossible.
    Ryan grinned as his friends came flying out of the giant half-gutted building, racing past him. He heard a rip of full-auto fire and recognized J.B.’s Uzi. The Armorer was clearly giving their attackers some additional reason not to be fast about rushing to pursue.
    Of course, they would pursue. That was a given. Especially once they figured out that what J.B. had unleashed on them wasn’t poison gas at all, but just one of the black-powder smoke bombs the Armorer and his apprentice, Ricky Morales, had started making in their spare time weeks ago.
    Ryan was impressed by just how much smoke a bomb the size of a predark beer can produced—and how quickly.
    “Best power right on,” J.B. called as he trotted down the steps, holding his Uzi in his right hand and his fedora pressed to his head with his left. “They’re starting to get organized, and it sounds like we got them hot well past nuke red.”
    Jak raced past and took off to Ryan’s right to put himself in front of his companions. Everybody else was clear. Ryan had checked them off mentally as they passed him.
    They headed southwest again, away from downtown—where they knew there were hostile blasters who more than likely were still keeping eyes skinned for them, even though they hadn’t pursued. They wouldn’t be any better disposed toward the companions after they had treated them to a faceful of mutie talons and all the accumulated sewage of some unspecified but no doubt vast swath of the great half-overgrown urban ruin-scape.
    It was as good a direction as any. Ryan stood and followed.
    * * *
    W HEN HIS BUDDY Jak sprinted past him to