Hell Road Warriors. James Axler

than Ryan and looked to be about half again as heavy, all of it muscle. His head was shaved, and he wore a sheepskin coat someone had tailored to his massive frame. The stainless-steel lever action blaster he carried looked like a toy in his hand. He was obviously a sec man and a damned impressive one.

       The leader was a plain-looking man and he stepped straight up to Ryan. He was neither tall nor short. His brown hair was clipped short as was his mustache and beard. The most notable thing about him was his green eyes. They literally twinkled as he smiled at Ryan, and the man radiated a busy, competent sort of energy. His predark parka, cargo pants and boots looked as though they had only recently been put into use. A shiny knew Diefenbunker SIG-Sauer blaster was tucked under his belt. He raised an open right hand in friendship and spent long moments saying something to Ryan that sounded mostly like vowels. It kind of sounded like language Ryan had heard in Cajun country. He looked at Jak. The young man’s snowy brows were bunching mightily. His head cocked slightly as he tried to digest what he had just heard.

       Doc took a step forward and made a graceful bow. “Parlez-vous anglais?”

       The convoy leader grinned. “But of course.” He nodded at Ryan again. “Hello!”

       Ryan nodded noncommittally. “Hi.”

       “I am Yoann Toulalan, son of Baron Luc Toulalan, baron of the ville of Val-d’Or.”

       Krysty shot Ryan a look, who had caught it, too. Val-d’Or was one of the Diefenbunker locations in Quebec. He nodded at the baron’s son again. “Ryan.”

       “Uh…” Toulalan seemed nonplussed at Ryan’s taciturn part in the exchange. He threw up his hands and grinned again. “Well! You are our savior!”

       “Glad to help.”

       The big man’s face split into a smile as he loomed over Jak. His voice was incredibly deep. “This one is mutant.”

       Krysty’s lips tightened but she kept her mouth shut. For the moment.

       Ryan’s voice went quiet and cold. “Albino, it’s a condition.”

       “Ah.” Toulalan nodded. “We know of such things.”

       The big man turned to Ryan and tilted his chin at the LAV and the supplies strapped to the sides. “You stole from us.”

       Toulalan made a tsking noise.

       Ryan spoke quietly. “You left it. Headed west. With no one to look after it.” The one-eyed man lifted his chin toward the smoking ruins of the coldheart wags. “Except mebbe them.”

       The big man slowly straightened in outrage. For a heartbeat Ryan thought it was going to be a fight. Mildred had been in the LAV with J.B. She stepped out angrily. “Why don’t you back off, brother-man!”

       The man’s rage fell away. He was clearly startled at the sight of Mildred. His mouth opened and closed again.

       Toulalan took the opportunity to step in. “Monsieur Ryan, may I introduce my head security man, Vincent Six. Forgive him. We have taken losses, lost friends. We’re all upset.”

       Six tore his eyes off Mildred for a moment. He looked like he didn’t give a spent shell whether Ryan forgave him, but the big man grunted and nodded. Ryan nodded back. Six went back to openly eyeballing Mildred, who put her fists on her hips and glared back.

       Toulalan gestured back at his wag. “And allow me to introduce my dear friend Florian Medard, he’s our, how would you say…scholar?”

       Florian nodded and touched a pair of fingers to his head in greeting. His eyes ran over each member of the companions and seemed to be cataloging them.

       Ryan shrugged. “What do you want?”

       Toulalan blinked in surprise. “I believe the question is, what do you want? You have driven off our enemies. For that we are deeply in your debt, but by the same token, you could easily decimate our convoy with your autocannon. I merely ask, what are your intentions?”

       “I don’t know.” Ryan shrugged. “Head south mebbe.”

       “Well, would you care to join us in our evening meal? Six shot a wild boar just this morning.”

       “We just had pizza.”

       “We had pizza for lunch!”

       “We noticed.”

       Toulalan gave Ryan a very shrewd look. “We have more beer.”

       One corner of Ryan’s mouth quirked against his will. “Bastard.”

       Toulalan threw back his head and laughed. “Florian, go tell Cyrielle we have guests for dinner tonight.”

      Chapter Three

      Ryan gnawed contentedly on a rib of barbecued wild boar. Little more than reconstituted Diefenbunker olive oil, salt and fresh-picked herbs had worked glory over the fire spit. The convoy had broken out predark folding picnic tables, lit fires, candles and storm lanterns, and it was a full-on feast. A woman played a mandolin, accompanied by flute, and several people were dancing. Toulalan’s sister pressed a fresh can of Diefenbunker beer into Ryan’s hand. She was nothing like her brother. She was small and dark with black hair, olive skin and huge dark eyes. However the twinkle in her eyes, the penchant for smiling and similar mannerisms made their kinship unmistakable. Ryan chewed the arc of bone more out of habit and for pleasure than anything else. In the Deathlands one often never knew where the next meal was coming from. Gorging was a reflex. The pig had been accompanied by green beans and something called potatoes au gratin that had sent Mildred to sighing with joy. The convoy had spent several days resuscitating large quantities of the Diefenbunker’s cryo-frozen fresh food. Six’s pig had also been accompanied by beer.

       The convoy was celebrating survival. They celebrated Ryan and his friends as conquering heroes. They had moved the convoy to a little hill surrounded by flat plain. The convoy formed a loose defensive ring around the hill. Sentries had been sent out, and Ryan’s LAV sat on crest with a 360° view of the landscape, ready to rain doom on anyone who approached. Jak was taking the first watch in the turret.

       Krysty leaned her head against Ryan’s shoulder. “You think they’re fattening us up for the kill?”

       Ryan spoke quietly into her titian tresses. “No, they lost their fighting LAV because they barely know how to operate it. If we hadn’t shown up, they’d be dead. They’re laying out the spread because they want us to join up.”

       “And?”

       “I haven’t made up my mind,” Ryan whispered. “And Toulalan looks like he’s about to get down to recruiting.”

       Yoann Toulalan raised an ancient piece of plastic picnic stemware full of wine in Ryan’s direction. “Salut, mon ami!”

       Ryan raised his can along with everyone else at the table and sipped the brew.

       “So,” Toulalan began, “you’ve been in the bunker, no?”

       Ryan looked up at the LAV on the hill and back at Toulalan.

       The man shrugged sheepishly. “Yes, but of course. But we have access codes. May I ask how you gained entrance?”

       “You can ask,” the one-eyed man replied.

       The irony wasn’t lost on the Canadian. “Yes, I see.”

       “Let me ask you a question,” Ryan said.

       “Anything,” Toulalan replied.

       “That bunker is still loaded with food, blasters and goods, and you’re driving away from it.” Ryan lifted his chin and pointed. “Quebec is that way. Why aren’t you loaded to capacity and running for home?”

       Toulalan shrugged. Ryan was beginning to believe the man’s shoulders, hands and eyebrows were connected to his mouth. “Well, my friend, there’s more to life than bullets and beans.”