"How did you chill it?" Mildred asked, pouring the water from her med kit to lessen its weight.

"Didn't. Aced whole ville."

"Oh, hell," Doc said, scowling at his LeMat, the fresh charge of black powder dribbling out. "Lost my sword-stick, too. Can somebody loan me a blaster?"

Steyr in hand, Ryan tossed over the SIG-Sauer. Doc made the catch and expertly dropped the clip to check the ammo, then slammed it back into the butt of the pistol and jacketed the slide to chamber a round. Doc might prefer an old-fashioned revolver, but he knew how to work a modern blaster perfectly well.

"What's going to stop it?" Dean asked, checking his pockets for spare clips. He found only two; the rest had gone to the bottom.

"Grens will," J.B. stated, passing out the military spheres from his munitions bag. "Don't get crazy. That's it for explosives. One each. The rest went down with the raft."

"This is enough," Krysty said, unwrapping the electrical tape from the handle. The ball was green with a black stripe, high explosive with steel shrapnel, exactly what they needed. Too bad they had only these few charges.

Out on the watery expanse, noises and splashing were coming from under the turbulent surface. Red blood spread outward from the aquatic combat, obscuring whatever was happening.

"I don't think our friends are winning," Ryan growled.

Then a large shape rose into view. A dozen spears were sticking out of its hoary hide, but the triumphant beast had a limp warrior dangling from its huge jaws. Tossing the body aside, the gator rolled over, showing its pale belly to the sky, then dived out of sight.

Tucking the gren into a pants pocket, Krysty furrowed her brow in thought. "An animal that size can't live in this swamp," she decided. "There's not enough food. The mutie must come from somewhere else to feed on these guys when it's hungry enough. It's probably the terror of their world."

"Starving mean dangerous," Jak noted grimly.

"Well, they tried to protect us, so we return the favor," Ryan stated, making sure the panga was still in its sheath. "Besides, if they lose, it'll come after us next, and without the raft there's no way we'd last long enough in the water to ever reach land alive."

"Gator follow dry land," Jak agreed.

"Any weak points?" Mildred asked pointedly.

"Eyes, belly. Ears best, but hid."

In a rush of water, the bawling gator lifted into view again with the chief clinging to its back by a bone knife, wildly stabbing at the beast with a spear.

"Light it up!" Ryan shouted, and started firing.

The companions aimed for the head, away from the chief, but their small-caliber rounds bounced off the thick hide. Only the .357 magnum slugs from Jak's Colt Python punched holes in the gator. Then the chief came free from the mutie creature and went flying. Riding the Uzi into a tight group, J.B. sprayed half a clip of 9 mm Parabellum rounds, hoping for a lucky strike. Undamaged, the beast was gone beneath the choppy waves.

"By the Three Kennedys!" Doc shouted in frustration, and began the laborious process of cleaning and reloading the .44 LeMat. As a precaution against rain, he always keep a few charges of ball and powder inside plastic film containers. It wasn't much, but until he got fresh supplies of black powder, it was all he had for the handcannon.

Dean reloaded the Browning Hi-Power and splashed away from the fight. "I know what to do. Jak, come with me!"

Snapping shut his Colt, the pale teenager stared at the running boy, puzzled, then smiled and took off after him.

"Hurry!" Ryan shouted, removing the spent clip from the interior of the Steyr and dropping in a fresh one.

There was some splashing nearby, and a score of the humanoids rose from the lake and shuffled onto the swamp. Some were bleeding from cuts, a few helped others walk and none looked in fighting shape. The chief stood directing the others, and Ryan could now see the being wasn't a human mutie, but more like an insect. A beautiful rainbow chitin was exposed through the slashes, and small quivering antennae were visible under the helmet, which Ryan now thought of as a crown, as only the chief had one. The smooth tan hide covering the bug was actually clothes, laced tight and with pockets. Some sort of fish hide, and not the human skin it resembled from a distance.

"It's camou," Krysty stated, "to hide their natural bright colors."

"They look like water beetles," Mildred added thoughtfully. "Only without the wings."

Ryan went to the chief and pointed toward the lake, then lifted his hand. "One?" he asked, raising a finger.

The beetle warrior gave a single click.

"Okay, there's only one of the fuckers. If it was more, we'd be running. But we can chill one gator."

"How?" J.B. asked, thumbing rounds into a spent clip.

"The mouth," Krysty replied stoically, snapping the cylinder of her weapon closed. "We let it get close, then blow it apart from the inside."

Holstering her ZKR, Mildred held out a hand. "Shotgun," she said to the Armorer, and he passed over the weapon.

A beetle stuttered loudly and threw its spear into the lake as the gator charged from the water, the shaft jutting from its head. The beast shook off the spear and plowed through the beetles, snapping one in its powerful jaws and crushing the insect. The warriors jumped on it, stabbing wildly, but the spear points could do no more damage than the 9 mm rounds of the blasters. Flipping on its back, the gator crushed a beetle and lashed its tail at another, removing the head.

"Son of a bitch!" Mildred roared, and fired the shotgun. The spray of buckshot hit the speckled hide, doing scant damage. Cursing furiously, the woman worked the pump and ejected the rest of the buckshot cartridges, then shoved in new ones from the loops on the strap.

Pulling the pin, Krysty threw the gren, and it landed in the gator's open mouth. But the beast hawked the obstruction loose and the sphere rolled into the lake and detonated, throwing water to the sky.

Startled, the beetles backed away from the blast, and the gator lashed out its tail randomly. Closing in for a kill, Mildred dived out of the way just in time, losing her grip on the scattergun. It vanished beneath the swampy brine.

The range was too close to try a gren again, so the humans pounded the beast with their weapons, dodging out of the way when it came close. The chief led the beetles back to the fight, and started launching the barbed points of their spear like crossbow bolts from the shafts. But nothing seemed to do anything more than annoy or distract the thirty-foot reptile.

Taking a stance, Doc leveled the LeMat and pulled the trigger. The percussion cap gave a bang, but the charge didn't ignite. A misfire. For the first time ever, Ryan heard the old man use a word the scholar normally pretended didn't even exist.

As if sensing a weak member in the pack, the gator charged at the gray-haired man, its stubby legs propelling it just as fast on the mud as in the water. Doc stood his ground and waited. Holding the blaster with both hands, he triggered the weapon at point-blank range. The LeMat threw flame and thunder, and the gator recoiled, hissing in pain as black blood flowed from a puckered wound in its torso. It tried circling Doc, and the man fired again, a miss. Then a piece of the mutie's scalp was blown away, exposing its bare white skull. Doc fired again and was rewarded with a dry click. Empty.

Rolling over, the gator lashed at Doc with its deadly tail. With the grace of a fencer, Doc swayed out of the way and pulled the SIG-Sauer, shooting a fast dozen times at the beast. But the 9 mm slugs glanced harmlessly off the dense hide of the giant mutie.

While the humans reloaded, the beetles rallied and launched another salvo of spearheads. By now the mutie was mad with blood lust and pain. Bawling in rage, it snapped its terrible jaws and lashed its tail, the entire lower half of its muscular body swaying from the pendulum force of the killing limb.

Aiming from the hip, Ryan fired the Steyr at a rock under the beast, and scored a ricochet into its belly, thin blood pumping from the wound. The beast turned its furious attention on him alone. Ryan braced for a charge, when there came the report of a big-bore handgun and he saw the hide of the beast spray out dark blood. Instantly, the creature shook itself as if trying to dislodge something on its skin.

Walking through the swamp, flies buzzing everywhere, Jak came on as steady as a machine, firing his .357 magnum pistol again and again, every round smacking into the mutie gator. With each impact, the gator went mad as if jabbed with white-hot pokers. Its breathing became labored, white foam dribbled from its jaws and weakly the beast charged the pale teenager.

As Jak reloaded, Mildred stepped between them and fired the wet, filthy scattergun, the flechette round blowing off the gator's front leg. Now the animal screamed and hastily turned, hobbling for the deep waters of the lake.

Ryan and the chief both shouted as the humans and beetles converged on the killer. As the creature was no longer able to dodge, the small-caliber rounds found its eyes. Blind, it spun in a circle, lashing out with its tail and catching a beetle across the torso. But the warrior was merely knocked aside and not pulverized. The beast was weakening fast. Mildred fired again, opening its chest, and the beetles filled the wound with their spears, one penetrating more than a yard. Dark blood poured from its mouth as the dying mutie crawled relentlessly for the safety of the water. Then Ryan stepped in front of the beast and fired directly into a gaping eye socket. The gator jerked as if hitting a wall and dropped flat in the shallow swamp, a pool of blood spreading wide until it seemed to cover the entire surface of the Carolina swampland.

"That was one tough son of a bitch," J.B. stated, jerking the bolt on the Uzi to clear a jam. "What the hell was on those bullets, the snake?"

"Bushmaster," Dean said proudly, holding up the bloody snake head for the others to see, the white fangs glistening in the afternoon light, the hollow tips moist and still dripping. "I thought of the poison, but only Jak's blaster could carry a dose."

"But my LeMat is more powerful," Doc said.

"You fire miniballs, solid slugs," Ryan explained. "The magnum was loaded with hollowpoints. Perfect for the job."

"Just a drop of venom in each," Dean boasted, "and a dab of mud to keep it there."

Doc smiled. "Good call there, young Dean. And exemplary shooting, Jak."

"Shit," Jak said, dropping the spent shells from his blaster and rinsing the weapon in the dirty water. "Big target. How miss?"

"I'm just glad it's chilled," Krysty stated wearily. She looked around for a place to sit, and saw nothing.

Mildred straightened from examining the still form. "It's snuffed," she reported. "No doubt of that."

Shuffling forward, the chief offered his spear to Jak. The teenager grunted in thanks, and Dean offered the bushmaster in return. It was accepted reverently, then the chief called out a series of long clicks. The surviving warriors waved their gory spears overhead and swarmed over the gator hacking it to pieces. Whether for food, or just to make sure it was really dead, none of the companions knew or cared.

"Now what?" Dean asked, rinsing his hands in the brine.

Ryan slung the longblaster over a shoulder and looked at the distant speck of green. "We start swimming."

Chapter Ten.

Reaching the shoals of the island, the companions climbed wearily over the exposed tangles of tree roots and finally reached dry land. Going inland, they found pine trees growing thick along the shoreline, the ground covered with needles. Drained, the friends dropped to the soft carpeting and fell asleep almost immediately. Ryan found himself to be the last one awake, and dragged over a rock to sit on as he took first guard duty. Hours later, Krysty awoke and relieved him at the post. Choosing a spot, Ryan lay down and finally allowed himself to succumb to exhaustion. This had been a long and hectic day.

RYAN AWOKE to the smell of coffee and roasting meat. Sitting upright, he pushed aside the blanket covering him and stared at the boxes and crates dotting the campsite.

A fire was crackling in a pit, and the carpet of needles had been cleared away from any possible flying embers. J.B. was stirring something in a pan that sizzled, and the coffeepot bubbled softly, emitting the most tantalizing aroma. On guard duty, Mildred was sitting with her back to a pine tree, blaster in hand. There was no sign of the others.

"We got our supplies back," J.B. said in greeting, using a knife to flip over some meat in the pan. "The beetles retrieved most of the stuff from the bottom of the lake. They even found Doc's swordstick and my hat."

"Damn nice of them. How bad is it?" Ryan asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. The smell alone invigorated the man. He understood how predark folks could get hooked on the brew.

Using a sock to protect his hand, J.B. took the iron pan off the fire and slid a steak onto a tin plate from an Army mess kit. "Good and bad," he remarked, passing over the food. "The ammo is fine. The boxes are airtight, and the brass was only underwater a short while. No problem there. We got back four more grens and two Claymore mines. We found a freshwater spring inland a couple of hundred paces from here. Have to boil it first to be sure, but it reads clean."

"And," Ryan prompted, cutting into the meat. It was tough but edible. He guessed it was some of the gator from yesterday.

"Everything else is gone, including the last rocket launcher. We barely have enough food for another day. A lot of the MRE packs got opened when the raft was torn apart, and more floated away. I think the beetles stole some, but probably because they were pretty. Not for the food. They have enough meat to feed a whole ville for a month. The can of fuel is gone, as well as all of the medical supplies, bedrolls, rope and the tent canvas. That is our only pan. So if you want hot food with the steak, you have to wait till it's washed."

"This'll do," Ryan answered with a full mouth. Hunger was the best sauce.

"On the other hand," J.B. added, gesturing with his head, "that huge roll of leather over there is the gator. They skinned the huge bastard and gave us the hide."

"Guess it's a reward for helping them." Ryan grinned, wiping his mouth on his hand. "Make nice boots."

"Weighs a ton."

"So I would guess, but we can't leave it. That would insult the chief." Ryan laid the plate aside. "Just stuff it in the big duffel bag with some salt to keep the smell down. When we're a couple of miles from here, we'll throw it away."

"Speaking of awful smells," Mildred said, tossing a bar of soap on the ground at his boots, "you'll find the spring a hundred feet to the north."

Ryan tucked the bar into a shirt pocket. Breakfast had disguised the odors for a while, but now the stink of the swamp muck, mixed with dried gator blood and sweat, was returning strong. "Anybody else there?"

"Everybody washed earlier. It's all yours."

Taking his weapons, Ryan moved through the pine trees, easily finding the spring. Clear water bubbled from the ground, forming a still pool, and Ryan checked the area. The water was crystal clear, and nothing could get within ten feet of him without being seen first. Stripping, the one-eyed man washed his clothes to get out the stink of the swamp, then hung them over some bushes to dry in the sunlight. Next, he grabbed a handful of pine needles and rubbed them vigorously into his combat boots to remove the sour smell of sweat and sulfur.

Making sure his blasters were within easy reach, Ryan submerged his tired body in the pool and scrubbed himself clean using the tiny bar of soap from an MRE pack and some more pine needles. He was surprised at the amount of grime that came out of his hair, and on impulse decide to shave using his knife. When finished, Ryan felt enormously refreshed and lay on the bank of the spring to let the warm breezes dry him off.

There was a rustle in the bushes, and he drew the blaster with lightning speed as Krysty walked into view.

"Hi, lover," she said, smiling. "Nice view."

Immediately, Ryan felt himself stirring under her frank gaze. "You missed breakfast," he said, clicking the safety back on.

She sat and kicked off her boots. "Had mine earlier. Doc and I have been on recce. Dean spotted some smoke drifting over the trees, and we followed it to a ville about five miles away. Good walls. No rads. Seems okay."

His interest shifted to their mission. "Any chance of getting a wag there?"

Krysty stroked his cheek, tracing a fingertip along the jagged scar. The man wore his life on his body, the network of healed wounds telling more than anything else could. He was a stone-cold killer when necessary, and yet would share food with strangers-when there was extra. No starry-eyed dreamer who lived on wishes, he was the ultimate pragmatist, and yet many times during their travels they helped save villes he might never see again. Ryan only wanted to live in peace, but constantly shook the world until its teeth rattled. Krysty considered him the only real man she had ever known.

"Ask me that again later," the redhead whispered, slowly unbuttoning her shirt.

THE SUN WAS HIGH when the companions left the pine island and headed for the mainland. They were carrying all of the remaining supplies, along with the gift from the beetle warriors. A narrow land bridge crossed the inlet, and soon they were walking through fields of scrub grass. Broken stone walls sectioned the landscape, showing that the area used to be farms at one time. Mountains rose in the far distance, the rocky crags seeming to support the ominous dark clouds filling the sky.

A beaten path wound through the grassy fields and windswept arroyos. Soon the companions reached a flattened dirt road leading toward the high stockade of a ville. The outer wall was made of logs and stones, rising to twice a man's height, the top bristly with sharp sticks and a few strands of rusty barbed wire.

Sec men armed with homemade blasters stood guard at the open gateway, the man and woman watching the companions closely as they approached. The guards were tense about the open display of blasters, but they said nothing as Ryan and the others walked into the ville.

"They must get a lot of outlanders," Krysty surmised.

Ryan frowned. "Or the guards are fools."

Inside the walls, they found a bustling community built from the remains of a predark city. The houses and buildings were arranged in orderly rows, the streets clean hard-packed dirt. A gallows stood by itself, though no rope dangled from the killing bar. People walked about carrying baskets and buckets. The aroma of frying fish was in the air, along with the smell of horses.

"Whoever built this place knew what they were doing," Mildred said in admiration. "See how far apart the lavs are from the public water well? No cholera here."

"Good defenses," Ryan agreed, gesturing to tall towers made from felled trees. Sec men stood guard holding crossbows, with strange curved axes hanging from thongs at their hips.

"Throwing axes," Jak noted while straightening his collar, being very careful of the razor blades hidden within the fabric. "Mighty hard learn, kill good."

Doing a recce, the companions entered the ville commons and watched a potter spinning bowls from red clay, a horde of children staring in fascination at the process. A fat woman was selling beer from a tub, while a white-hair tailor mended the shirt still on a burly man and a barber cut hair.

"Civilization," Mildred said, sighing. "Such as it is."

"Better than that junkyard ville," Dean stated.

"True enough."

Ryan worked the slide on his SIG-Sauer, ejecting a live round. The brass spun in the air and he caught the bullet, returning it to the clip.