Deathlands 08 Ice and Fire by James Axler

By James Axler

Snakefish, California, is wealthy within the forex of post-holocaust the US gas. nearly leveled by way of the Soviet missiles that annihilated lots of the West Coast, Snakefish is in the course of a reconstruction, financed via a commodity way more helpful than the standard Deathlands jack. yet greed and man's lust for strength threaten to shatter the hard-won peace and quietness of this fledgeling group as disparate factions struggle for regulate of the substance that would supply them wealth past their wildest desires. Ryan Cawdor and his partners emerge from a gateway and step into the trail of a smoldering warfare for energy.

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There were automatic dispensers set in the wall, with trim, polished nozzles. Krysty pressed her hand under one and a thin mescal worm of scented soap settled in her palm. "Come on in, lover. Water's real good. Fireblast! " Ryan called to her from the sunken bath. He was stretched out full-length, resting his head on the edge of the tub, his thick hair matted and wet. He grinned up at her. From beyond the next partition they both heard Lori squeal. "It's cold!! " They couldn't catch the old man's reply, as it was drowned out in a hissing torrent of steamy water and a burst of giggling from Lori.

Tomato soup, oxtail soup and vegetable soup for the start. Potatoes, chicken nuggets and corn. " "Sounds real good," Ryan said, licking his lips in anticipation. " "Tins would have blown," Krysty observed. "Should be fine. Oh, but that smells wonderful, guys! " "And look what I found to go with it," said the Armorer, brandishing a ribbed bottle half-full of a dark amber liquid. " Lori asked. Doc, who'd been fiddling with some sort of electrical control unit in the corner of the dining area, glanced around.

B. in the circle was the youngest member of the traveling group of companions, a lad fifteen years of age. He weighed 110 pounds soaking wet and was five feet four inches tall. His long mane of spun silver hair cascaded across his skinny shoulders like a winter fall of Sierra melt-water. His mind blanked by the jump, the boy looked like a sleeping child, at peace with the world. To Ryan's knowledge, Jak Lauren had killed upward of a hundred human beings and probably as many muties. When it came to close-quarter butchery, Ryan had never seen anyone to match the teenager.

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