Vengeance Trail. James Axler

the skag, Ben,” Matt said, shifting weight from left boot to right with poorly checked eagerness. “Show her who’s boss.”

      “Naw, naw, gently now. She’s a cool one, aren’t you, honey? I like that. I bet a girl like you could show us a good time. Big nasty redhead like you.”

      He grabbed her, lowered his face to nuzzle her neck. She fended him with the back of his hands. He yanked his head back, anger flaring in his dark eyes.

      “Now, now, don’t be in too much of a hurry, boys,” she said in her throatiest voice. It was a voice guaranteed to raise wood on a week-old stiff. “Why don’t you’ll just relax and make yourselves comfortable while I fix you a nice big dinner?”

      The rage drained from Ben’s eyes. He smiled. Nodded. Laughed a little laugh.

      “You know, hon, you’re right. Been a long, hard day, getting shut of that asshole General and his merry men. I’ll feel a lot stronger once I get around a good old home-cooked meal.”

      He let her go and went back around the counter. Matt was almost vibrating with outraged horniness. “What are you doing? What? Why are we waiting?”

      “Relax, kid,” Ben said, hoisting a cheek onto one of the round pedestal stools at the counter. There had been three; one was missing entirely, the other had been uprooted and lay against the foot of the counter.

      “And quit waving that damned blaster around. You make me nervous. Our little redheaded bedwarmer is a smart one. You can tell just by looking at her. She knows better than to try to run on us. Don’t you?” He propped his own blaster next to his stool.

      Krysty gave him a zipper-busting smile. “Now, why would I want to run anywhere, sugar?”

      “But, but—” Matt sputtered.

      “Sit your ass down,” Ben commanded.

      Matt complied. He sat at a table in the middle of the little room. He didn’t put his longblaster down, although he did aim it at the ceiling. “What are we waiting for?” he asked peevishly.

      Ben chuckled indulgently. “Didn’t you ever hear the story of the old bull and the young bull, boy?”

      “No.”

      “This old bull and this young bull came upon a fence. And on th’ other side of that fence, what should they see but a whole herd of fine young heifers swishing their tails over their nice firm fannies.”

      “This one’s got a nice ass,” Matt said, staring at Krysty and almost drooling. “I can tell.”

      “She surely does. Now, pay attention to my story. This young bull sees them heifers, and he says, ‘I got an idea! Let’s jump the fence and fuck us one a’ them heifers.’ And this old bull just shakes his head and says, ‘No. What we gonna do, we’re gonna walk down to that gate, walk through it nice and peaceful, and fuck all them heifers.’”

      He laughed, grandly amused at his own joke. His gales of laughter died slowly away as he realized his younger companion wasn’t laughing with him.

      “Go ahead,” Matt demanded. “Git to the punchline.”

      “That was the punchline, you triple-stupe nuke head!”

      “Weren’t funny.”

      “Well, did you at least get the point of the story?”

      “There’s a point?”

      Ben dropped an elbow to the bar and sank his face in his hand.

      “Well, now, don’t go being unreasonable, Ben,” Matt whined. “You said it was a joke. You told me so. And a joke got no point. It’s supposed to be funny.” A light dawned dimly. “Except that joke weren’t funny.”

      He looked questioningly at Ben. The older man just waved a world-weary hand.

      “Lookit, the bitch is all done cooking. Can we do her now? Can we?” He licked his lips. “I wonder if she got red fur on her pussy. Do redheads have that? Red hair on their pussies?”

      “We ain’t et yet, you damn fool.”

      “I was going to make up a batch of nice biscuits,” Krysty said, “if you big, strong men can just hold on to your appetites a little longer. And wouldn’t you like something to drink while you’re waiting?” She nodded her head back toward a canteen sitting on the counter.

      Ben nodded, picked it up, began to unscrew the top. Then he stopped. A cagey look came into his eye.

      “You wouldn’t be trying to pull one on us, now would you, honey? Here. You take a drink first. Then we’ll know it’s safe.”

      He tossed the canteen at her. Holding his eye, smiling seductively the while, she undid the lid and took a long draft. Then she put the lid back on and tossed the canteen back. He drank greedily and pitched it to Matt in turn.

      “So what are two such handsome men doing way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

      Water ran down the side of Matt’s chin. He lowered the canteen and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “We’re. Uh, that is—”

      “We’re deserters,” Ben said cheerfully.

      “Deserters?” Krysty said. In her mouth the word sounded like a marvelous thing. Like a baron combined with an old-time movie star. But better. “Does that mean, like from an army?”

      “Sure does,” Matt said proudly. “The Provisional United States Army!”

      “Well, that’s what they call themselves,” Ben said. “They’re really just a bunch of coldhearts under command of the General. But they like to play like they’re an army.”

      “That’s why we run,” Matt said. “Got tired of all the bullshit. Get out of bed when somebody else says. Haul our asses all over this sorry-ass desert rounding up limp-dick civilians to work on the line.”

      “The line?” Krysty asked.

      “Railroad line. Same one runs out back of this shithole.”

      “See,” Ben said, “the General ain’t just any old asshole like one of your bug-heap barons. He’s got himself a train.”

      “A train?” Krysty asked.

      “A train. But not just any old rail wag. It’s an armored train.”

      “MAGOG,” Matt said. “That’s what he calls it.”

      “What’s that mean?” Krysty asked.

      Ben shook his head. “Don’t mean nothin’. It’s just what the General calls it.”

      “He found it,” Matt said, with something like pride. “Scavvied it out of some big ol’ underground bunker somewhere. All fulla weps and food and everything. It’s only the biggest, most powerful rail wag ever built. The General, he says it was built for something called the War on Drugs. Gonna be sent down to someplace called Columbus—”

      “Colombia, nuke breath!”

      “Colombia. Except the world blew up. Everybody knew about it got iced. But it was all protected and everything. In perfect shape when the General found it. And it runs off fusion batteries so it don’t never need to refuel. Got all the power a body’d ever want.”

      “Sounds…impressive,” Krysty purred. “What’s this General doing with this train of his?”

      “Says he’s trying to put America back together,” Ben said. “Don’t put much stock in that myself. I think he wants to be just another baron, but mebbe carve himself out a bigger empire.”

      “Sounds like a pretty big job.”

      Ben shrugged. “That’s another reason we run,” Matt said. “He been at it years, conquered himself a mess of little villes along the line, keep him supplied and shit.