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couple of small fires. But the torrential rainfall that followed quickly
extinguished the orange flames.
"Could've been worse," Ferryman said, standing next to Ryan near the fortified
outer wall of the ville.
"You get some big winds down here?"
"Sure."
"Acid rain?"
"No. That's farther south, near the sea. And down the acid lakes to the east,
around Norleans. But we get the hurricanes."
"Strip paint?"
Ferryman spit tobacco juice in the gray dust by his feet. "You bet. Most
animals out wild know when the wind's on the way and get into the canyons. Man
gets caught out in it and you don't recognize him.
Clothes go. Skin. Eyes. Lips. Hair. Most of the hair. Cock and balls, too."
"Thanks, Ferryman. More than I ever wanted to know about it."
Beyond the gate they could hear the sound of a high-pitched engine, running
rough and hot, whining toward the ville.
"Sounds like one of our recce boys coming in off patrol in one fucking son of
a hurry," said the sec-boss.
Ryan recognized the noise as being an old two-wheeler wag. It was surprising
how many of the ancient
Harleys still survived around Deathlands.
The main sec-gate was thrown open on the yell of recognition from the main
lookout tower, and a dusty motorbike came into Towse, skidding sideways in a
shower of grit and sand. The rider was goggled and helmeted and wore what
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looked to be a flak jacket over a dark blue T-shirt. He turned off the engine,
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Deathlands - Time Nomads dismounted and walked toward Ferryman and Ryan.
"Hi, there, McMurtry," the sec-boss greeted. "What put you in such a
tire-wrecking way?"
"White lion," the man replied, pulling off the helmet and easing up the
goggles, showing twin rings of clean skin amid the caked grime.
"White line?" Ferryman looked puzzled. "What white line?"
"No." The man shook his head so vigorously that it almost disappeared in a
cloud of pale dust. "Lion. A
white lion. Cougar. Puma. Don't matter what the fuck you call it. A white
lion."
Albino animals weren't that unusual throughout the Deathlands, but Ryan knew
that some of them were valued for their rare pelts.
"Baron'll be interested in that, McMurtry. Go get cleaned up and the report
direct to him. Where'd you see this white lion?"
"Didn't see it myself. But I caught this ole Indian woman and took some of her
water. Was going to give her a kicking for being near a highway. And she
started talking on about this animal."
Ferryman sucked at his front teeth. "And you believed her, McMurtry?"
"Sure."
Somewhere on the far side of the quiet plaza there was the sound of breaking
glass, and all three men turned in that direction. But a child came running
out of a doorway, pursued by its angry, cursing mother.
McMurtry tried again. "Listen. I didn't just take the old slag's word, did I?
I'm not a triple-stupe, boss.
Took her to her hogan and asked the others. Old man and some women and kids.
All told the same story.
One of them women had seen it only yesterday. Scared the shit out of her, way
she looked."
"Where?"
"Beyond the big sand dunes. I figured out from her words and gestures that she
meant the head of Trick
Canyon. By Dry Falls Creek there."
The sec-boss rubbed at the side of his nose, looking at Ryan. "You heard
anything about a white lion? On the road?"
"No, but we move on through. Don't stop much. The Trader doesn't like the
stopping."
"Yeah. He's already been bitching to the baron about the delay in the gas."
"Should I go tell him about this, boss?" McMurtry asked.
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Deathlands - Time Nomads
"Yeah. He'll want to get a hunting party up soon as possible."
The scout pushed his two-wheel wag away, leaving double tracks in the sand.
Ryan and Ferryman watched him go.
"You a hunting man, outlander?"
Ryan didn't answer immediately. When he'd been a boy, in Front Royale ville, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]