James Axler by Deathlands 87 - Alpha Wave

shoulder where it hung on his back by a thick leather strap. As the man closed the gap between them, J.B. could see pitted scarring on his cheeks, awkwardly catching moonlight.
    “Nate?” the man asked again, deliberately keeping his voice low. He was just a few paces from J.B. now, trying to make him out in the darkness. “Hey, you ain’t Nate,” the man finally said.
    With the butt of the Uzi resting on the car roof, J.B. had the man perfectly in his sights. But he waited, not pulling the trigger. The man had realized that he wasn’t
    “Nate,” but he hadn’t made any move for his own weapon.
    “What happened to Nate?” the man asked, his dirty blond hair blowing around his face.
    In his mind’s eye J.B. saw the sec man falling from the train after Ryan had knifed him in the gut, a bloody splash oozing over his shirt. “Stomach problem,” he stated.
     “Little wonder.” The man laughed, clearly at ease with the stranger. “All I see him eat is crap.” He crouched and held an empty hand out to J.B. “Givin. Sean Givin.”
    J.B. rested the Uzi on the rooftop and shook the man’s hand. “John Dix,” he told him. “You my relief?”
    “Yeah, man, and— did you say your name was Dix?
    You’re not Tish’s old man, are you?”
    “Cousin,” J.B. said. He had no idea who Tish was, but it seemed that Sean Givin was happy to fill in the details and provide far more trust and alibi than J.B. could have asked for.
    Sean shook his head, relieved. “Phew, thought I’d just walked into an ambush for a minute there.” He looked around. “I didn’t walk into an ambush, did I?”
    J.B. reached across, giving the sec man a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Hey, what my cousin does is up to her. None of my business,” he confirmed.
    A line of bright teeth appeared in the moonlight as Givin smiled. “I’m real sorry I’m so late, man,” he told J.B. “You go get yourself some sleep. I got this covered now.” He pointed out across the land behind the train, not really looking.
    J.B. got to his feet. He was rapidly considering what to do next. Doc and Krysty were on their way, and the last thing they needed was a firefight with this stupe. At the same time, if the Armorer chilled him now he’d only up the possibilities of raising suspicion. The ante had been raised high enough with their boarding the train, and the trusting sec man’s naiveté had granted him a lucky break.
    He made his way to the far end of the car roof, looking back at Sean Givin sitting there, the wind catching his long blond hair. Doc or Krysty could handle this dope, and neither of them would be stupe enough to approach the train without checking for guards. For now, J.B. was going to have to retreat and see if he could locate Mildred and Ryan.
    “WHERE ARE WE GOING?” Ryan barked at the man in the bunk, pushing the barrel of the blaster further into his forehead so that the man sunk down in the pillow.
    “What is this train’s destination?”
    The man in the bed stuttered, fear overcoming his ability to speak. “I—I—I…”
    “Where?” Ryan barked again, but the man failed to provide a coherent reply. “Listen, you little worm. That thing you feel pressing against your forehead is the end of my blaster. I’ll shoot what little brains you have right out the back of your head and no one will hear a damn thing over the racket of the engine, no one will come running. So you answer my questions now or you’re going to have yourself one bastard headache. You understand?”
    The man gave a slight nod, the pressure of the blaster causing more pain as he moved his head. His whole face had turned very red with the pressure placed on him, the blood rushing to his head.
    “So,” Ryan asked again, “where?”
    Ryan watched the man blink rapidly, his tongue struggling around his mouth. “Forks, man,” he said, his voice trembling. “The Forks.”
    “And where the rad blazes is that?” Ryan asked, and he looked across to