Download Deathlands 35 - Bitter Fruit by James Axler PDF

By James Axler

Escaping from a marauding gang, Cawdor and his band emerge from a gateway into an idyllic Druidic group, basically to profit that underneath its Eden-like floor lies a perilous undercurrent of dissension.

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The drone was a spherical shape almost a foot and a half in diameter. Twin tracks only a couple inches apart threaded across the center of the tunnel, hanging from occasional braces from the ceiling. The drone hung from one track like a dead crow with one foot latched around a power line. The fire fed on the circuitry inside the mechanical sentry. A pall of gray blue smoke whipped against the ceiling, then began to drop toward the bottom of the tunnel. Knowing the illumination from the fire wasn't going to last long, Krysty pushed herself to her feet.

Of the group, only she and Doc hadn't rotated out topside since entering the complex, and she was sick of dust and dark. The woman lifted the torch higher until the apex of the yellow-and-white flame nearly kissed the metal ceiling. She was an inch short of six feet, and carried 150 pounds in whipcord curves. Her hair was flame red and sentient, responding to her emotions and mood swings, further evidence of her mutie heritage. Even by the light of the torches, her eyes were cut emeralds that gleamed liquidly.

Cracked ribs showed where the bullets had gone through, perhaps a dozen of them. At least one of them had severed the spinal cord, paralyzing the man at once while his killers finished the job. Doc stepped back into the room with his torch blazing. He looked down at the dead man. " Krysty pointed toward the empty holster at his side. " She straightened and glanced at the computer setup on the desk. A slight flicker flared to brief life in the lower right corner. "Computer's up," she said, leaning forward.

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