Angie came to the rescue. “They’re a collector cult. They worship anything from before the apocalypse — washing machines, ball point pens, action figures, intercontinental ballistic missiles; you name it. They think it’s sacred — all of it — wisdom of the ancients and all that. And therefore, anybody who has any old shit who isn’t a Guardian is a heathen unbeliever defiling sacred objects, which must be taken away from them and kept safe in Guardian Citadel.”
Vargas nodded. “And they’re not above killing someone who doesn’t want to give up their sacred stuff.”
“Shit,” said Hell Razor. “They’re not above killing whole villages.” He nodded toward Athalia. “I’m with the nun. They’re not gonna listen to us. We should go in shootin’.”
“We have to at least try to give ‘em the benefit of the doubt,” said Vargas. “It’s the ranger way.”
“And so is getting our asses blown to teeny little pieces, apparently,” Hell Razor grumbled.
Vargas shrugged. “Last chance to get while the gettin’s good. I ain’t gonna order anyone to follow me in there, but I’m goin’, and I’d welcome the backup.”
“I’m in,” said Angie.
“What the fuck else am I gonna do,” said Hell Razor.
“If Angie goes, I go,” said Ace.
As usual Thrasher just grunted, but it was an affirmative grunt.
Athalia looked at me. I couldn’t meet her gaze. I hung my head. “Sorry, I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Then neither have I. I’m coming with you.”
“Aw, come on, Athalia,” I said. “It’s obvious you don’t wanna be part of this. Why not just wait for me here?”
“Because someone has to keep you safe.” She stood. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”
We all went over our weapon checks, buttoned up our gear, and kissed our good–luck charms. I kissed Athalia, right out in front of everyone. Then, satisfied we’d done all we could to prepare, we wound our way along the twisted, uneven path that led down and around the mountainside to the Citadel’s exterior fortifications.
The sun went down just as we came into killing range — marked by a line of bullet–pocked flagpoles and clusters of aged skeletons shining white in the light of an early moon.
“Not exactly encouraging, is it?” I said.
Vargas gave the skeletons a sour look, then squared his shoulders and pointed himself at the front gate, a hundred meters away. “Well, come on. Stand up straight and put your guns on your backs. If we sneak in like sappers they’re gonna peg us for sure.”
We lined up behind him like good little soldiers, but just as we were about to march forward, a massive goliath of a man in black armor and a motor cycle helmet eclipsed the splash of the Milky Way in the sky above. His voice boomed forth, loud and rumbling like an earthquake.
“YOU HAVE COME FAR ENOUGH. YOU SHALL GO NO FURTHER!”
– Chapter Three –
He was big enough, and was carrying a big enough axe — that it looked to me like the only way we’d get past him was if we stuffed sticks of TNT in every nook and cranny of that armor, lit him up, and did laundry before the blood stains could set, but Vargas just stepped around one of the half–buried skeletons and gave the guy a friendly little salute.
“Howdy, amigo,” he said. “We were actually wondering if we could have a pow–wow with the boss man — or woman, as the case may be. We wanna ask ‘em about the keys to the—”
“YOU HAVE CROSSED THE LINE OF DEATH! YOU MUST DIE!”
“Uh, okay, then. What if I just step back out and ask again? Would that be—”
“DEATH TO THE OUTSIDERS!”
Goliath swung his axe at Vargas’s head like he was looking to chop it off and send it flying all the way to Ranger Center, but Vargas ducked back and swung his AK–97 off his back in one smooth motion, then raised it to fire. So did everybody else.
“No.” Thrasher was stepping forward and unlimbering his rebar billy–club. “The guardians won’t talk to us if we kill him. Let me.”
I blinked. That was more than all the other words than I’d ever heard Thrasher say combined.
Vargas laughed but lowered his gun. “You think they’re gonna like it any better if you beat their guard dog senseless?”
Thrasher shrugged. “Mercy begets mercy. Sometimes.”
Begets? Jesus.
He motioned to the black–armored behemoth, who had gone into a defensive posture when he’d seen all the guns. “You and me. Come on.”
Goliath waved him forward. It wasn’t until I saw them standing toe to toe that I realized just how big the guy was. Thrasher was as big as any man I’d ever met. Bigger by a head than those muscle–head raiders we’d tangled with back at White Mesa, but Goliath was a head taller than that, and wider too. Some of that was the armor, sure, but not much.
He swung his axe down at Thrasher like he wanted to end it in one shot. Thrasher sidestepped, then spun in, billy–club blurring. The first two hits made Goliath’s chest armor ring like a dinner bell. The third cracked his motorcycle helmet across the face. It starred and he staggered back, but he didn’t go down.
“OUCH!”
As Thrasher came in for the follow–up, Goliath swung the axe up from the ground and caught him in the side. The pseudo–chitin armor stopped the blade from chopping through Thrasher’s ribs, but massive as he was, the force of the blow still launched him halfway across the narrow canyon and slammed him into the rock wall.
Thrasher pitched forward, groaning, but before Goliath could close, he turned it into a roll and came up into a crouch. I’m not sure if it was bravado or sheer willpower, but he didn’t even rub the spot where the club had hit. He just grunted and advanced, billy–club swaying like an iron snake, as stone–faced as ever.
Goliath tried another monster swing, but Thrasher wasn’t going to get caught again. He danced away with a lot more grace than I expected, then came in on the big man’s off side and rained hits down on him like he was playing a drum solo.
Before, he’d tried to crack Goliath’s armor; this time he targeted the gaps and joints. A thwack at the neckline popped the monster’s gorget off and exposed his throat. His off hand came up to protect it. Thrasher saw the opening and bashed his side full force just below the edge of his breastplate. I could hear ribs snapping.
The Guardian staggered sideways, clutching at himself and bellowing in pain. He spread his legs, trying not to go down, then held up a gauntleted hand. It was shaking.
“I YIELD! I YIELD! YOU HAVE BESTED ME!”
Vargas stepped forward and cracked him in the helmet with the butt of his rifle. “Yeah yeah, yield quieter. Sheesh.”
“You go ahead,” said Athalia as Goliath toppled backwards onto the stony ground. “I’ll disarm him in case he comes to again.”
She heaved the big man’s big axe up into the rocks of the canyon wall like it was a broomstick, then knelt beside him and started searching him. The others started ahead, but I hung back to wait for her. She pocketed his side arm and a knife, then tugged a neck chain out of his collar. It had something long and narrow dangling from it. She yanked it free and pocketed it too.
“Hey, what was that?” I asked. It looked familiar.
“Hmmm?” she said. “Some kind of amulet or something?”
“No, wait. Let me see it.”
She shrugged and pulled it out of her robe again. I stared.
“That’s one of the self–destruct keys!”
She frowned at it. “Is it? I didn’t get a good look when Angie showed us.”
“It is! Let me have it.”
She handed it over and I ran after the others. “Angie! Vargas!”
They turned and I held out the key. “Athalia found it. The big bastard had it around his neck.”