“So,” explained Santiago, “they’re all busy with the party. See, Johnson did this last year, too, and the year before, it just took us a while to figure it out. But then we noticed that, for like a week or so, the muties laid off and there was no fighting. So when we finally learned about this Emperor character and how they celebrated his birthday, we put it together.”
“Some kinda mutant holiday,” said Lumler. “Right?”
“Exactly,” said Santiago. “It’s like they all get the week off. Almost like a cease fire.”
“Huh,” Lumler said. “OK, that’s nice to know, I guess, but what’s this got to do with the Chief?”
“OK, well,” said Stiletto, taking over, “as long as there’s fighting going on, as long as the bullets are really flyin’, the Chief sticks pretty damn close to home. Like, you know, safe in one of the IC’s or holed up in the Governor’s mansion. Ain’t that right?”
Lumler nodded right away. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s a real chicken-shit when it comes to that, alright. And I think I see where you’re goin’ with this. When there’s no fighting, like now, for example, the Chief is out and about. On the street, where you can get to him. Right?”
Stiletto grinned wickedly. “You got it. You said yourself that a lot of his bodyguards have been drafted, right? So security will be light. Lighter, anyway.”
Getting a headache, Lumler made a face. “Hey, it all sounds great. And, tell the truth, I think you’d stand a pretty fair chance of killing the guy. But I still don’t have a fuckin’ clue what this all has to do with the War! So you whack the Chief. The Governor’s still just gonna replace him. Get somebody else to do the searching and interrogating and shit. What’s that got to do with the deformos? I mean, when they’re done with this fucked-up party of theirs, won’t they just go right back to tryin’ to kill everybody? Or am I just too fucking stupid to see the connection? Huh?”
“Ah, well,” said Santiago soothingly, “that’s sort of another story. See, we want to deal with the Chief now, while we can. And then? Well, then, when we don’t have to worry about being raided and arrested and tortured to death, at least for a while, we have some little surprises for our deformo friends. Some very nasty little surprises.”
Most of the Council chuckled ominously at this and nodded knowingly.
“Like what?” said Lumler. This sounded promising.
“Oh, you’ll see,” said Stiletto coyly. “But first, we need to take care of Hanson Knox. Now, what can you tell us about his routines?”
Lumler smiled, a thin line slightly upturned at the edges. Maybe these folks weren’t so crazy after all. Maybe they knew what they were doing. Nodding, he sat forward at the table and started to tell the others all about where and when they could most easily kill his former superior officer. The strange thing was, compared to all of the other little nuggets of information he’d been asked to digest today, this seemed almost mundane.
Chapter Fifty-Two
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In the rear of the little group of explorers, with the Kid never more than two feet away (but somehow never underfoot), Teresa was beginning to wonder if maybe she should just abandon her things and get the hell out of here. Could be that even her beloved boomstick wasn’t worth having to see this kind of crazy ploop.
As it turned out, the monsters were human-eaters after all. The big room full of bones, most of which had teeth marks on them, had told them all they needed to know about the matter, and the other room, with the chopped-up arms and legs, also with bite marks, had just confirmed it. Retching and holding their noses, they’d quickly fled these chambers.
There were other rooms, other caves and little cells and big open spaces, a whole great big hive of these horrible smelly things, and most of them held similarly nasty things. Generally, they’d just made sure that there wasn’t anything they could use and then moved quickly on, but in one of them Teresa paused and looked more closely at something that had caught her eye.
Bending down and holding her nose, she peered at a particular corpse, one of several, until it hit her that she was looking at what was left of Bowler. Plaid shirt, long dark hair, one cowboy boot. Yes, even though the face was all but obliterated and the chest and abdomen had been opened and cleaned of guts, she was certain it was him. Frowning, feeling a confusing mixture of disgust, pity, and latent anger, she’d stood up and shook her head at the poor dead thing.
“So long, Bowler,” she’d whispered. “Ya doopy fuckin’ greep. Rest in pieces.”
CJ, watching this, had been naturally curious.
“What’s up?” he’d asked. “Not somebody you know, I hope?”
Teresa had simply shrugged and moved on. “Nope,” she’d said. “Not no more.”
Now, padding down another, longer tunnel, she was starting to get a very healthy case of the creeps. The bodies, the stink, the darkness and the dripping water, it was all really getting on her nerves. What she wouldn’t give just to see the sun and breath some fresh air! Suddenly a very urgent sense that she wanted out of this place, at any cost, immediately, came over her and something like panic percolated in her chest. Run! it shrieked. Just run like hell till you’re out of this hell pit!
Grimly, she inhaled and exhaled carefully, letting the fear out with each breath. Get a grip, she told herself. It’s just like Clanky always said: Don’t let the scare get you. And besides, none of these poor dead greeps can hurt you, now can they? They’re dead! Finally, the panic waned a little and she went on. Still, it was damned creepy. She’d seen dead bodies, plenty of them, and in all kinds of states of decomposition, but this was way beyond anything she’d ever experienced. These things were just plain sick and wrong.
She was almost at the end of her rope, keeping the fear at bay-wise, when they finally hit pay dirt. Hardly believing her eyes, she stepped into a medium-sized chamber and shone her light around at the walls, where a very impressive array of weapons hung like displays in an old paper magazine. Rifles, shotguns, pistols, knives, axes, and all kinds of nasty-looking tools and implements lined the walls and cluttered the corners, and another wall was given over to box after box of unwrapped ammunition, for just about every gun she could think of.
With a happy little sigh not unlike any other woman her age in a high-tone shoe store, Teresa moved closer and, along with Seymour and CJ, surveyed the collection more closely. As hoped, there were plenty of brand new, still-in-the-packaging guns and knives and everything, but there were also used weapons in every state of usability, from slightly beat-up to rusted beyond repair. Apparently the monsters knew what weapons were, just not how to care for them. With a happy cry, she spotted her boomstick and, quick as could be, snatched it up, examined it for any wear or damage, gave it a little kiss, and then slid it into the holster at her back. Immediately, she felt a little better.
Next, like a discerning shopper, she went along and, after careful comparison and consideration, selected as many weapons as she could carry. Starting with the big guns, she grabbed an assault rifle equipped with a grenade launcher. Then a long rifle, what they called a sniper gun, complete with scope and tripod. Then a couple of pistols, one an enormous revolver and other a 12-shot auto, and finally, three hunting knives, a machete, and something CJ called a sword, a long, thin blade with a fancy grip.