Eden’s Twilight by James Axler Page A

storm, J.B. had aced the second engine to try to save fuel. But the UCV was still consuming juice at a prodigious rate. They were already down to a quarter tank, and had only traveled about eighty miles. Unfortunately, without knowing how many gallons were in the fuel tanks, she couldn’t calculate their mileage. She could only guesstimate that they were getting ten or twelve miles per gallon. Which was pretty impressive for a century-old machine that weighed about ten tons.
    Just then, another stingwing hit the wag, making Doc jump. He scowled as it fell away. “Nature red, in fang and claw,” the scholar mumbled.
    Slowly the day progressed, the sandy desert gradually yielding to a barren grassland. At first, there was only a random tuft of green sticking out of the sterile soil, then patches, small islands and now long fingers of black loam and living plants were stretching outward, slowly coming together to form a proper forest. It was like watching a wound close and heal.
    Soon the grassland boasted flowering bushes, then saplings and finally trees, tall and stately, although the species was unknown. They were thick as oak trees, but with a white barklike a birch. Spanish moss hung from a few thick branches, but most were adorned with festive flowering vines that were simply beautiful. That was until Mildred saw a robin land on a vine and start pecking at a juicy fruit.
    In a flash, the vines were around the startled bird, squeezing out the life, blood and feathers falling away. Then, as it went limp, the pretty flower closed over the corpse of the songbird to begin a long slow digestion. The woman felt her heart go out to the poor thing, and hoped the bird was dead and not merely stunned. As a physician, pain was her natural enemy, and she never gave it a willing victory.
    â€œHow far is the redoubt?” Mildred asked, trying not to scratch at her arm. The wound was much better after a night inside the warm vehicle. With her bedroll spread out in the back, the cushioned floor had made for a pretty comfortable sleep.
    â€œThat depends,” Ryan said, tucking away his knife and running a hand over his jaw to check for missed bristles. “There’s a redoubt down in Kentuck, and another near the Pennsylvania border. Both are a good distance to travel.”
    â€œThat one is near Rock ville,” J.B. added, “where we ran into the Sons of the Knife, and that mutie ivy.”
    Absentmindedly rubbing her arm, Mildred remembered the biker gang, as well as Rock ville, the predark prison that had been made into a fortified ville. The nearby redoubt had been guarded by Ranger, a robotic tank, but that was aced. However, both of the redoubts were empty of food and brass.
    â€œMy vote is for Rock ville,” Krysty said, shifting gear to take a low hillock. “The redoubt had plenty of fuel in storage, and then we can head for Front Royal and trade that Fifty for food at some local ville along the way.”
    â€œAs long as we stay far away from the Wheel,” Ryan voiced sternly. “I don’t want to tangle with that mutie ivy plant again.”
    â€œAnd this time, we have no flamethrowers,” Doc added.
    Keeping a tight grip on the steering wheel, Krysty shivered at the memory of her captivity inside the giant plant.
    â€œSounds okay to me,” Jak drawled. “Mighty good hunting in Shens. Lots of possum and conie.” His hands and face were streaked with grease, but the big-bore rapidfire he was cleaning shone like a fresh sin.
    â€œAh, pan-fried conie,” Doc said softly, his sight lost in private reverie. “My dear wife Emily liked to fry the rabbits in cornmeal, but always burned them no matter how hard she tried. However, I ate them anyway, beaming a happy smile. She knew how terrible they were, but we were young and in love…” His voice trailed away and Doc stared blankly at the sword stick in his hands, the reflected light playing across his