Axler, James - Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf

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Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf

They weren't in the Deathlands anymore

Sixty feet and maybe more below, an emerald green ocean lapped at the bottom

of the terra firma they found themselves on. There was no indication of land

mixed in with the accumulated snow and fresh layers of ice. Out ahead, scattered

across the wide expanse of the sea, were hundreds of ice floes. Nearly all of them

were smaller than the one they were encased in.

Mildred stepped up beside Ryan to look out over the ocean. "We're in a damn ice

cube floating in the middle of the goddamn ocean!"

And that, Ryan figured, just about summed it up.

Way of the Wolf

#42 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

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Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf

stolen 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."

First edition July 1998

ISBN 0-373-62542-1

WAY OF THE WOLF

of this 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.

Song of the Wolf

Silent, sleek, savagely swift

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Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf

on the watchful hunt.

Locking eyes with the chosen one

to see who yields to the final call.

While the stars wheel on their course

we are at one with that primal force.

O Pure Brothers, a sacrifice

to the gods of survival.

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.

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Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf

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…

Chapter One

"What the hell are you doing out here?"

Ryan Cawdor shifted casually in the long shadows of morning, a flexing of

muscles that most people might have missed, bringing himself around to face the

coming trouble squarely. But several of the men among the twenty-six

coldhearts, who were gathered in front of Doc and him, took notice. Their hands

dropped to their weapons.

Ryan's own hand touched the butt of the SIG-Sauer P-226 holstered on his right

hip. He was tense, knowing what he and his companions faced, and knowing they

had a slim chance of walking through the coming fire unscathed. They were all

on triple red: Krysty Wroth, J. B. Dix, Jak Lauren, Mildred Wyeth and Ryan's

son, Dean, who hid in the forest beyond the clearing, watching over them.

Of course, Ryan had made sure the odds were tilted in their favor as best he

could. He was a brave man, a man who'd faced some of the worst Deathlands

could offer and walked away a winner by simply surviving the encounter, but he

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Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf

was no greenie stupe when it came to trapping and being trapped. This day he

was the trapper, but he'd had to step into the lion's den to get it done.

The clearing under the tall trees held the promise of defensible positions, but only

if Ryan and his companions didn't get cut down before they could make a move

toward the enemy.

Rough-hewn, and stamped by violent events as a true son of Deathlands often

was, Ryan stood over six feet tall and went over two hundred pounds, all of it

rolling muscle from living hard. His curly black hair framed a sun-bronzed face,

but the dark color was picked up again in the weathered patch that covered his

left eye. He carried the SIG-Sauer pistol in a worn, serviceable holster at his right

hip, and held the Steyr bolt-action sniper rifle in his right hand. His finger rested

inside the rifle's trigger guard, the safety off.

"Why, my dear fellow," Doc said congenially, addressing the man who'd spoken

to him and spreading his hands to indicate the small packages spread across the

rough woolen blanket before him. "I came here to conduct a little free enterprise."

"Trading?" the lead rider asked.

"The very thing." Doc grinned, showing his unnaturally perfect white teeth.

The gang members were mostly young, Ryan noted, but they had all the moves

down. It wasn't anything military or a result of organized drills. They ranged the

way a pack of natural predators moved against a possible enemy—or a potential

victim.

Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner gave them the impression of a victim, which

was why Ryan had delegated him spokesman. Doc was nearly six feet three

inches in his stocking feet, but built as gangly as a stork. Silvery white hair

framed his face, blowing in the gentle wind that came at them from the east,

making it brush his shoulders. He'd washed his clothes in a small stream the

group had camped by overnight. The dress shirt hadn't come entirely white, and

wouldn't without some strong detergent and bleach. Still, it looked presentable

with the black string tie and the Victorian black frock coat that held a greenish

hue and luster that time had ground into the garment. Black pants and cracked

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Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf

leather knee boots completed the look. The lion's-head walking stick—really a

sword stick—was an affectation of Doc's, not a necessity.

"Could of done your trading in town," the stranger said. He was a big man, broad

across the shoulder and narrow at the hip, almost looking too large for the

dappled gray mare beneath him. Like the other men, he wore chaps over denim

jeans and a sheepskin coat with the sleeves roughly hacked off. A violet-and-

white-striped bandanna circled his head. Blue tattoos of knives and naked women

and impossible monsters marked his arms and face, making him one with the rest

of the group.

Ryan knew the purpose of the tattooing was to bind the group together. Once

marked, there was nowhere the recipient could go without his history catching up

to him. It tied him to the band forever.

"I could have," Doc agreed, "but the forest is my theater, and here I owe no man."

He looked pointedly beyond the speaker to the man at the center of the group. "I

had been told that any business conducted within the ville had to pay a tariff to

the sec chief."

Ryan and his companions knew the "sec chief" from an earlier recce. They'd

come out of a mat-trans unit in what used to be southern Kentucky early the

previous day, worn and lathered from the events at the mall. The jump had been a

hard one, and Doc had slept most of the preceding twenty-four hours recovering

from the effects.

Living off the land in the Berland Mountains region was easy pickings for the

survivalist group. What wasn't so easy was finding ammo for their weapons. All

of them were running low after the last bit of killing, and the redoubt they'd

arrived in had contained no ammunition, but did yield many items they could

trade for what they needed. Then Ryan had heard about Hazard, the nearest ville,

from a hunter he'd met in the deep woods the previous evening, when he and Jak

had been tracking mule deer.

According to the hunter, the sec chiefs name was Liberty, and he ran Hazard's

buffer zone, keeping the area clear of muties. The people put up with the band of

coldhearts as long as no violence was directed at any of the citizens. Now Liberty

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Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf

sat in a horse-drawn buggy that had once been an old Ford convertible sedan

from predark times. The front end had been cut out, leaving the steering intact.

Two horses stood in traces before the vehicle.

Lean, his face clean shaved but shadowed by tattoos, his hair cut short enough to

show more tattoos on his scalp, the man sat impassively with his legs in the rear

seat and his butt on the trunk. A Winchester lever-action rifle leaned against the

seat at his side.

A dwarf in silver-and-blue livery occupied a makeshift bench seat across the

empty space where the engine had been. A wriggled scar pulled his mouth out of

line as he gazed at Ryan. There weren't as many tattoos on the little man, but they

were there just the same. The dwarf adjusted the traces.

"So you're out here trying to avoid the tax," the rider stated.

"Yes," Doc admitted. "Being a free man, I have no love for most barons. They

are generally only tyrants with self-aggrandized titles."

The coldhearts broke into sudden laughter, the noise startling their horses. The

sounds of leather creaking and the stamping of restless hooves filled the small

area under the canopy of branches.

Ryan knew he was drawing more stares than Doc. The gang had already written

off the old man as harmless. Him, they recognized as danger. But Ryan had

counted on that. The riders didn't know about the big Le Mat blaster Doc had

hidden behind a nearby tree.

"If you're gonna do business in these parts," the rider said, "you're gonna pay a

tax."

"I thought the wares I am exhibiting might preclude any such taxation without

representation," Doc replied.

The rider looked uncertain, obviously not following all of the words the old man

used. He peered over his shoulder, back at the Hazard ville sec chief. "What he's

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Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf

saying, Philox," Liberty said in a quiet baritone voice, "is that he thinks the stuff

he's got is worth so much that he ain't gonna have to pay a tax 'cause we're gonna

like it so much."

Philox swiveled his head back to Doc. "Mister, I ain't seen nothing we couldn't

live without. And if I did, I'd take it anyway."

"Always happy to see a confirmed consumer." Doc nodded happily. He looked

beyond Philox. "Mayhap I could have your name, sir, since it appears I am going

to be conducting my business with you instead of your associate."

Anger deepened Philox's coarse features. He put spurs to the mare and started

forward.

Doc stood his ground, both hands resting lightly on the lion's-head sword stick. "I

warrant, young man, that you should remember what was said about respecting

one's elders." The good-natured grin never left the old man's face.

Philox grinned, and the expression was one of the purest expressions of evil Ryan

had ever seen. "If I get a hankering, I'll beat you to death, gray hair." He urged

his horse forward, straight into Doc.

Instead of stepping aside, Doc reached out and seized the horse's reins. He

yanked them roughly, twisting the bit in the animal's mouth and causing the horse

to rear in pain and surprise.

Philox bellowed and grabbed for his saddle pommel, but missed. He landed hard

on the ground and came up roaring, pushing away from the rearing horse. The sec

man pulled his pistol, fisting it in one beefy hand while he tried to hold on to the

horse's reins with the other.

For a moment Ryan thought he was going to have to chill the coldheart right then

and there, and open the ball on the rest of it. Then Liberty's voice roared.

"Philox, you pull up right now or I'll chill you myself!"

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Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf

The big man froze into place, shooting the sec chief a glare that told Ryan he was

contemplating disobeying the order. Ryan closed his hand around the SIG-Sauer's

butt.

Liberty pulled up the Winchester and levered a round into the breech with a

metallic ratchet. "I said pull up, you stupe bastard!" The rifle barrel pointed

straight at Philox.

"This what it's gonna come to, Liberty?" Philox demanded. "We start protecting

some bastard ville, tying ourselves down like nurse-mommas, then we're gonna

start taking guff from a near-deader?"

Liberty kept the rifle pointed. "We're gonna do what I say we're gonna do. That

ain't gonna change. Ever. You don't like how I call the shots, you're free to pull

up stakes and ride on."

Ryan's respect for Liberty rose. The one-eyed man had ridden as lieutenant for

the Trader in years gone by. Keeping the crew of War Wag One in line had been

demanding, and a weak man or one hesitant to chill someone who spoke out

against him wouldn't have lasted a tick of a chron.

Philox's displeasure with the harsh words from his commander showed in the

dark blood that filled his face. He shoved his pistol back into his holster and

gathered his horse's reins. He mounted and rode to the back of the band. They

parted and let him through. As he passed, another man pulled out of the crowd

and rode with Philox.

"What about you, One-Eye?" Liberty demanded. "You got a name?"

"Is it important?" Ryan asked. "Man you're going to be dealing with is standing

there in front of you."

Several of the gang turned to look at their leader. Liberty kept the rifle draped

across his thighs. His thin smile remained in place. "Like to know who I'm

dealing with."

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"This is Doc Tanner," Ryan said, nodding at Doc. "He's the man you're dealing

with."

Liberty turned his attention to Doc. "Who's your friend, Doc?"

"My boon companion," he replied easily. "A man I'd travel the river with, no

matter where it took me or how treacherous it became."

"He got a name?"

"Indeed he does. There are some who call him Noman."

"Noman?" someone repeated. "What the fuck kinda name is that?"

"A proud one, sir, with a long lineage. In histories past, even long before skydark

set in and swept the old world away with nuclear winter and cataclysmic

contortions of the earth, Noman was renowned as a giant-killer."

"A giant-killer?" a gang member asked. "Seen some bastard big muties, but none

I'd rightly call a giant."

"In those days," Doc said in a voice measured for drama, "giants roamed the

earth."

"He's talking about The Odyssey," the dwarf said. He craned his head and looked

back over his shoulder at Liberty. "It's from an old book that was ancient like he

said. Man in there was named Odysseus. Had a big war, then he was trying to get

home, only he kept having these adventures that kept getting in the way.

Odysseus used the name Noman to kill a giant without the other giants knowing

he was there."

"Ah," Doc said in obvious delight, gazing at the little man. "Someone who knows

literature."

"I was a teacher," the dwarf stated with a trace of pride.

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Deathlands42-WayoftheWolfTheyweren'tintheDeathlandsanymoreSixtyfeetandmaybemorebelow,anemeraldgreenoceanlappedatthebo\ttomoftheterrafirmatheyfoundthemselveson.Therewasnoindicationof\landmixedinwiththeaccumulatedsnowandfreshlayersofice.Outahead,s\catteredacrossthewideexpanseofthesea,werehundredsofice...

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Axler, James - Deathlands 42 - Way of the Wolf

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