Chapter 127 The Ice Road
At the city boundaries, the world ceased to exist.
North of the ruins of the North District there was nothing but white.
The Deadlands was not a snow desert only, it was a frozen sea of sharp ice, going to the horizon on every side. This wind did not howl, it screamed, and the crystals were razor sharp and stripped the paint off our cars and turned a naked flesh into ice in a few seconds.
It was now twelve hours of driving.
I was sitting in the Beast (in the passenger seat), and was covered with three blankets of scavenged wool. The heater was on the full blast, and still I could see my breath in the cabin.
"Fuel status?" Why, Ryker, asked with a rough voice that was caused by the dry air.
Not good, answered Vane, in the driving-seat. To reduce the glare of the snow he was wearing heavy welding goggles. "The Beast is a thirsty girl. We're down to 40% in the main tank. The buses are worse. Hauling too much weight they are."
O, we can not stop, said Ryker, looking out at the boundless white. "If we stop, the engines freeze. When the engines are frozen, the people die.
I looked in the side mirror. The procession behind us was as long as a steel snake. The buses of the city being retrofitted, the armored trucks, the buggies--they were all straining. The tires turned the heavy drifts, engines protesting.
Truck 4 lost an hour ago, Jaxon cracked the radio. "Axle snapped. We loaded up the passengers in Bus 2, although we had to abandon the supplies.
"What was in Truck 4?" Ryker asked.
"Blankets," Jaxon said. "And the last of the coffee."
"Damn," Vane muttered. "Morale is going to tank."
"Morale is a luxury," Ryker said. "Survival is mandatory. Make the formation close, Jaxon. No stragglers."
I looked at the dashboard. The GPS was dead. The compass was whirling frantically, disoriented about the magnetic aberration of the Rot. We were making our way only by the black contrail of the Purist ship in the heavens--a long, straight line of smoke, which was vaporizing all out of the wind.
"Are we even following them?" I whispered. "Or are we just chasing a ghost?"
"We're chasing hope," Ryker said. Nor way is there but one.
Suddenly, the Beast lurched.
It wasn't a bump. The whole car sunk six inches, and then heaved to its feet.
"Ice heave?" Asking, struggling with the wheel, Vane said.
No, no, said Baron in the rear seat. He sat with the window thrown open a inch, and sniffing the freezing air. "The ice didn't break. It moved."
"Moved?" I asked. "Like a glacier?"
As though it were a chest cavity, Baron said. Something breathing down there.
Ryker leaned forward. "Vane, test the seismic sensors.
Vane touched the screen on the datapad attached to the dash.
I'm receiving sound, I can't be sure, I told myself, I've a look that makes all the sense of the world--at least nowadays.<|human|>I'm receiving sound, I said, frowning. "Low frequency. Rhythmic. It looks like... a heartbeat."
"How big?" Ryker asked.
Vane adjusted the scale. His face went pale.
"Big," Vane whispered. "The size of a submarine. And it's directly below us."
BOOM.
Three vehicles were blown back by the ice.
I spun around in my seat.
One of the scout buggies exploded to a geyser of steam and broken ice. The medium-sized vehicle was thrown in the air as a toy. It rolled over, falling down upon the hard pack.
"Contact!" Jaxon screamed through the radio. "Rear guard is hit! Something came out of the ice!"
"Stop the convoy!" Ryker roared.
"No!" Vane shouted. "Don't stop! It hunts by vibration! If we stop, we're sitting ducks! We have to outrun it!"
We can not run away with such that swims in ice! Ryker argued. "Circle the wagons! Form a defensive perimeter!"
"It's too late for formation!" Baron screamed, and pointed through the window. "Look!"
The ice on our left was swelling. A huge ridge was ripping up the surface, and passing parallel of the convoy. It was travelling rapidly-- faster than the buses could go.
Heredity, Ryker told himself. "Vane, punch it! Get to that rock formation!"
He was indicating a mass of black, jagged rocks thrust out of the ice some mile ahead. Solid ground.
"All units!" Ryker shouted into the radio. "Full throttle! Get to the rocks! Do not slow down!"
The convoy surged forward. It raved with engines, spouting black smoke.
The creature under the ice felt the alteration in the speed. It decided to stop playing.
CRACK-ROAR.
The ice ridge exploded.
The monster breached.
It was an Ice-Borer.
It was a worm, though covered with chitinous plates of the color of dirty snow. It was a huge one--twenty feet thick and not less than a hundred feet long. It had a head that was a horrifying multiplicity of turning, serrated mandibles which had a red-hot glow.
"It melts the ice!" Sato screamed from the back. "Thermal jaws!"
The Borer lunged. It didn't go for the Beast. It boarded the bus of the New Citizens.
"No!" I screamed.
The bus wavered, and the worm was too swift. It rammed its body on the side of the bus and knocked it on two wheels. The bus wobbled, and struck its side sliding over the ice.
"Jaxon! Cover fire!" Ryker ordered.
He kicked his door wide open as the Beast was still in motion.
"Vane, keep driving! Get the others to the rocks! Baron, with me!"
Ryker jumped. He crashed down on the ice and came to a halt. He drew his Star-Metal sword.
Baron pursued behind shifting in the middle of the air to his giant wolf form.
Taking the wheel of the Beast, I sprang into the turret, as Vane clambered in.
"I've got the gun!" Vane yelled. "Elara, drive!"
I got into the driver seat and scrambled inside. I was not used to driving a tank. The steering was hard and the pedals were heavy. But I slammed my foot down.
"Go help them!" I shouted to Vane.
Vane swiveled the turret. The heavy cannon thudded.
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.
Blasting rounds struck on the side of the Borer. They tore the chitin shell, and the blood of the orange came upon the snow.
The beast bellowed--a grinding metal noise. It turned its head off the overturned bus and focused on the cause of the suffering.
It looked at Ryker.
Ryker was scoundrel, who was all in the ice: a small black spot on the big white worm. His sword was flamed, and flamed with orange.
"Hey, ugly!" Ryker shouted. "Over here!"
The Borer screamed and rushed. It had no crawling, but it slithered, and its hot body burned a hole through the ice as it ran.
Ryker didn't run. He waited.
"Baron! The eyes!" Ryker yelled.
Baron sprung, as the worm jumped. The gigantic grey wolf made use of the strength of the creature, charging up its back. He tore holes into the inferior meat between the metal armor.
The worm wrigled in an effort to shake him off.
Ryker slid. He fell on his knees, and allowed the force of things to push him beneath the raised head of the creature.
He thrust his sword upward.
SHINK-HISSS.
The blade of the Star-Metal had passed through the underbelly of the worm which was soft. Ryker gripped on and dragged the sword along the length of the creature with it going over him disemboweling it.
Boiling blood and steam sprayed on him.
The Borer convulsed. It fell down on the ice, kicking in its death-agony. Its thermal jaws flicked and expired.
Ryker crawled out beneath the carcass, and was smeared with orange slime. He stood up, breathing hard.
"Is it dead?" I requested, drawing the Beast about.
It has come to a halt, panted Ryker. "That counts as dead."
We rushed to the overturned omnibus.
The New Citizens were crawling through the emergency exit in the roof. They were rattled, battered but not dead. Silas was assisting a lady who had a fractured arm.
"The seeds?" Ryker asked immediately.
Safe, said Silas, tapping a metal case that he had strapped to his chest. "We cushioned them."
"Good man," Ryker said.
He looked at the convoy. The other cars were on a place of safety on the rocks. We were exposed.
"We can't stay here," Ryker said. Where one worm flies, there is one of her breed.
The bus is totaled, Jaxon said when he looked at the wreck. Axle bent, engine block is cracked.
"Scavenge it," Ryker ordered. "Fuel, ammo, food. Then burn it."
"Burn it?" Jaxon asked.
Heat, said Ryker, looking at the freezing refugees. "We need warmth. And the smoke it will countenance our ways.
In ten minutes we had stripped the bus. The passengers were evenly spread among the other vehicles. It was a tight squeeze. Deposits were sitting in laps crammed in cargo holds.
When we drove away toward the piece of rock, I looked back.
The bus was burning. A column of black smoke went to the white sky.
We lost a vehicle, we lost a vehicle, said Vane. And a lot of fuel struggling that thing.
"How much left?" Ryker asked.
Whatever it was, fifty miles, said Vane. Wouldn't we have to walk, on the occasion of our failure to discover the Purist base by that time?
Ryker stared at the horizon. The black trail of the ship had disappeared and was eaten up by the wind.
"We'll find it," Ryker said. "We have to."
But when the Beast scrambled up the rocky slope, leaving the ice behind him, I could see the hand of Ryker shaking. It wasn't the cold. It was the adrenaline crash.
He was holding the convoy together with nothing but the skin of his teeth. But will would not burn in a diesel engine.
And the Deadlands continued indefinitely.