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Jimmy flavored the stew with a healthy wad of spit. As his father always said,
revenge came when you least expected.
"Damn, after nothing but coyote and lizard for the past month, even this shit
tasted good," Rev announced as he sucked a juicy morsel from his back teeth.
The man loudly belched in satisfaction and tossed the plate in the darkness. A
squeal came from the crash followed by tiny scurrying noises.
"Got yourself a lizard there, Rev," said a burly man, wiping his mouth on a
sleeve.
"Who gives a shit?" came the brusque reply.
An Oriental man in faded Army fatigues grinned widely as he filled a coffee
cup with champagne from a dusty bottle and drank it like water. Best damn
hooch he ever tasted. Raided lots of ruins, but never heard of Iron Horse
before. Now he'd watch for the stuff. Age didn't seem to affect some booze,
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occasionally made it taste even better. Damnedest thing.
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"Hey, Samson," Wu-Lang asked, refilling the mug. "What did that runaway we
captured say the ville was called?"
"Alphaville," the giant squeaked. Nobody laughed at the ridiculous contrast.
Samson possessed the voice of a child, but the body of two men and a mind of
solid ice. Not even Rev would challenge the big man directly. "Used to be run
by some old baron till a new guy took over last winter."
His shaved head gleaming in the firelight, another man laughed. "Don't matter.
The ville is ours. They just don't know it yet."
"Yeah," Wu-Lang added, finishing off the champagne. "Can't understand it,
though. He hated the place so much he risked traveling through the Deathlands
solo. But when we ask for info on the defenses, he clams."
Baldy snorted in contempt. "Dying to protect a ville you hate. Just so your
old baron gets a chance to reclaim it from the new boss. Never heard of such a
crazy notion."
Reaching into a wheelbarrow placed conveniently near the campfire, Jimmy
tossed in some more books and stirred the blaze with the poker. "He lasted
long enough under the knife before talking."
"Crazy don't mean weak," Rev stated, reaching into the canvas duffel bag lying
at his boots. Finding a carton of cigarettes, he ripped it open, destroying
most of the packs, the smokes tumbling to the asphalt.
He chose one from the jumble, tucked it between his lips and lit it with a
stick from the fire. Rev drew the smoke deep into his lungs with satisfaction.
Lighting up a predark cig usually tasted like smoking a turd.
These were wonderful.
"And he knew where the old baron had all this shit hidden away," Wu-Lang
continued. "I have never seen such weps before!"
"And the foods, the clothes!"
"It's the shits," Rev agreed, smiling as he blew a smoke ring. "The absolute
shits."
A soft whistle started to keen from a copper teakettle on the fire, and the
cook deftly removed it using arc-welding gloves. They would be wanting coffee
soon, and he needed the fire high to get that huge pot boiling before they
whipped him for taking too long. Sure would be great when the folks at the
ville were hooked on jolt and he had some slaves of his own to beat.
"Where the hell are those guys, anyhow?" Wu-Lang asked, picking his teeth
clean with a dirty thumbnail.
"Isn't it time for shift change?"
"Yeah, it is," Rev said, frowning.
"Might have found another supply of booze," a fellow with a big mustache
suggested. "And they're testing it for quality."
Cig dangling, Rev stood and hooked his thumbs into his gun belt. "Kick their
ass if they do. This be a military op. We ain't partying yet. And guards stand
rotation."
"If you say so," Jimmy said, tending to his business.
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"Mebbe the wolves got them."
"Lots of them around here." He laughed. "Or those flying muties the sec man
told us about before he chilled."
Holding aloft his rifle, Samson squealed loudly. "I got the cure for muties
right here, boys!"
A slightly drunken chorus agreed with the giant wholeheartedly.
"Hate wolves," Wu-Lang muttered, reaching out to take a cig from the loose
pile on the ground. "Hate the way they taste, too."
Rev offered the man a light from a burning stick. "Shuddup. They're our key to
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the ville." He turned his head to watch the searchlights sweep the sky.
"Fighting wolves means some of them got to get hurt.
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