James Axler - Deathlands 037 - Demons of Eden

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Dlands 37- Demons of Eden

The Lakota raced to their chief's aid

The steady blaster fire from Ryan's friends converged on the warriors, and he glimpsed a

bare-chested man jerk and stagger backward, a crimson arterial spray jetting from a

severed carotid.

Behind him, over the thunderous noise, Ryan heard Krysty cry out in pain and surprise.

Instinctively his head turned in that direction.

He saw Krysty, her back against the curving cavern wall, slowly sliding toward the floor

of the walkway. Her hand was pressed against her chest, just below her left breast. A

feathered shaft jutted between splayed fingers. She kept her hand there as she eased into a

sitting position, as though she were trying to catch the blood.

For an instant their eyes met, hers showing a dull green in the throbbing bright green

glow of the cave.

Ryan saw death in them.

Demons of Eden

#37 in the Deathlands series

James Axler

A GOLD EAGLE BOOK FROM WORLDWIDE

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY •

HAMBURG • STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID •

WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen

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Dlands 37- Demons of Eden

property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the

author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

For Melissa and Jim Mooney— Artists and sacred warriors of the circle

First edition May 1997

ISBN 0-373-62537-5

DEMONS OF EDEN

work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now

known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in

any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission

of the publisher, Worldwide Library, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada

M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and

have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not

even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all

incidents are pure invention.

® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in

the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in

other countries.

Printed In U.S.A.

Nothing lives long,

Only the earth and the mountains.

—Death song of White Antelope, Cheyenne war chief

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Dlands 37- Demons of Eden

THE DEATHLANDS SAGA

This world is their legacy, a world born in the violent nuclear spasm of 2001 that was the

bitter outcome of a struggle for global dominance.

There is no real escape from this shockscape where life always hangs in the balance,

vulnerable to newly demonic nature, barbarism, lawlessness.

But they are the warrior survivalists, and they endure—in the way of the lion, the hawk

and the tiger, true to nature's heart despite its ruination.

Ryan Cawdor: The privileged son of an East Coast baron. Acquainted with betrayal

from a tender age, he is a master of the hard realities.

Krysty Wroth: Harmony ville's own Titian-haired beauty, a woman with the strength of

tempered steel. Her premonitions and Gaia powers have been fostered by her Mother

Sonja.

J. B. Dix, the Armorer: Weapons master and Ryan's close ally, he, too, honed his skills

traversing the Deathlands with the legendary Trader.

Doctor Theophilus Tanner: Torn from his family and a gentler life in 1896, Doc has

been thrown into a future he couldn't have imagined.

Dr. Mildred Wyeth: Her father was killed by the Ku Klux Klan, but her fate is not much

lighter. Restored from predark cryogenic suspension, she brings twentieth-century

healing skills to a nightmare.

Jak Lauren: A true child of the wastelands, reared on adversity, loss and danger, the

albino teenager is a fierce fighter and loyal friend.

Dean Cawdor: Ryan's young son by Sharona accepts the only world he knows, and yet

he is the seedling bearing the promise of tomorrow.

In a world where all was lost, they are humanity's last hope…

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Dlands 37- Demons of Eden

Chapter One

Ryan Cawdor withdrew his head from the crest of the ridge and mouthed, "Trouble."

Krysty Wroth slowly raised her head over the edge of the ridge, catching only a brief

glimpse of a strange, wheeled vehicle outfitted with a white broadcloth sail before Ryan

pushed her head down.

"Your hair might as well be a signal flare," he whispered.

"Sorry, lover."

Mildred Wyeth, J. B. Dix, Doc Tanner and Jak Lauren looked up at them tensely, holding

the reins of their horses. They didn't voice any questions. The companions were so in tune

with one another's moods from their time of traveling through Deathlands together that

they instantly assessed from Krysty's and Ryan's body language that a triple-red situation

was in progress.

Ryan tapped her shoulder. "Take a look if you have to, but keep your head down."

Krysty cautiously poked her head up over the crest of the bluff. She stared at the scene

below, barely able to suppress the utterance of horror rising to her lips.

The prairie schooner—or "wind wagon" as they were sometimes called—matched the

configurations of a longboat. It was about twelve feet long from bow to stem, and a tall

mast with a furled sail was set amidships, stretching upward twenty feet. A pair of

maneuvering sails was folded like wings against the sides of the craft. Four spoked

wooden wheels lifted the keel several feet above the ground. Mounted astern was a huge,

wire-encased, four-bladed fan and a diesel engine.

Flapping from the rigging attached to the mast were clumps of human hair, finger bones

and shriveled ears. A black pennant fluttered from the masthead, bearing the outline of a

scarlet skull. Pirates.

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Dlands 37- Demons of Eden

Krysty recognized that emblem, if not from sight, then from tales she had heard in small

western outposts, including her Colorado ville of Harmony. It was the insignia of the Red

Cadre, a loosely knit group of scalphunters and marauders who preyed primarily on the

Indian tribes in Montana, the Dakotas and Wyoming.

According to rumor, the Red Cadre set forth on its raids of pillage and murder in a fleet

of wind wagons. The leader of the Cadre called himself Hatchet Jack, and as far as she

knew, he could be one of the four freebooters below.

As if picking up on her thoughts, Ryan whispered, "Don't think Hatchet Jack is with

them, but he'll be close by. This little raiding party wouldn't wander far from the fleet, not

in that small craft."

The schooner stood in the center of a small cup formed by three sloping bluffs and a dry

creek bed. To the left was a grove of poplar trees running raggedly between the

farthermost hills. Three ponies were hobbled nearby, grazing on the tough saw grass.

Two of the animals bore saddles made of wood and blankets. The third was apparently a

packhorse.

A dark mound, like a huge, humped cigar, lay at the rear of the schooner. It was a buffalo

carcass, waiting to be skinned. Its wooly hide was still intact, which was more than could

be said for the Cheyenne man tied spread-eagled to the wooden spokes of the schooner's

rear wheel.

Krysty had heard stories of "peeling," a torture certain marauder bands reserved

exclusively for Indians. The pirates had practiced the ritual with great enthusiasm on the

man. Entire strips of flesh had been flayed from his torso and upper arms. Great red, raw

patches were exposed to flies and the late-afternoon sunlight.

Though she felt acidic bile climbing up her throat in a burning column, Krysty studied the

victim for any sign of movement. She saw none. His swarthy face was a livid mask of

dried blood that had flowed from the crimson patch atop his skull where his scalp had

been torn away.

She squeezed her eyes shut as the bluff beneath her seemed to spin like a cork caught in a

whirlpool. She had seen many monstrous deeds during her life in Deathlands, and had

narrowly escaped similar fates more than once. Still, she had never grown accustomed to

the horrors people inflicted on others simply for the sake of seeing them suffer.

It took a great effort for her to open her eyes again. She sensed Ryan watching her,

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Dlands37-DemonsofEdenTheLakotaracedtotheirchief'saidThesteadyblasterfirefromRyan'sfriendsconvergedonthewarriors,a\ndheglimpsedabare-chestedmanjerkandstaggerbackward,acrimsonarterialsprayjet\tingfromaseveredcarotid.Behindhim,overthethunderousnoise,RyanheardKrystycryoutinpain\andsurprise.Instinctively...

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