Read Online Atomic Underworld: Part One by Jack Conner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jack Conner
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arms, passed down a suitcase.
The tall man accepted it carefully, inspected it, then turned to the mutant
leader and nodded. The leader barked an order and the boat set off into the
fog, motor purring once more. The tall man stood in the center, suitcase at his
side, staring off into the mist.
Tavlin
rowed toward the trapdoor. The unseen people above slammed the door down before
he came close, though, and the sound of a bolt sliding across rusty metal
signaled the end of that plan.
“Shit,”
he muttered.
Suddenly,
he felt very alone out here. To reassure himself, he patted the revolver
snugged in its shoulder holster, a gift of Boss Vassas. I hope it doesn’t come to that.
The
commotion in the factory above him continued, but it shifted into a new
phase—it started to lessen . As if
whatever the activity’s purpose was had been accomplished. Had it been to
prepare whatever was in the briefcase? If so, then now that the briefcase was
en route to its destination, wherever that was, the factory workers need only
close up shop. Tavlin frowned into the darkness where the boat was disappearing,
a dark mark surrounded by yellow-white vapor.
With
deep misgivings, he grabbed the oars and began rowing after it.
He
followed the ever-changing hole in the mist caused by the boat’s passage, and
as the mist surrounded him he couldn’t resist a shudder. Nothing but cloying, foul,
roiling fog, the gaseous secretions of the water. He spat out the bitter taste,
reminding himself to take double the amount of pollution pills later on. He
hated to be out on the open water. These channels linked to the Atomic Sea; one
fall overboard could infect him. He would die of a lingering disease or else
become mutated like so many others, forever relegated to the fringes of
society. And that was if something didn’t eat him.
He
rowed carefully.
The
sound of the motor began to fade ahead, and he realized he would have to use
his own engine—dangerous, but he saw no choice. He revved the outboard with a
jerk of his arm, grabbed the steering rod and aimed the boat after his quarry.
The other boat’s motor was larger and more powerful. He could hear it, just
faintly, over the roar of his own. Hopefully that meant they couldn’t hear him.
The
larger boat, containing the man with the briefcase—could he be Octunggen, as
Boss Vassas had surmised?—set off over the open water between Muscud and the
walls of the cistern chamber, then vanished into a high passage, with flails
sucking on the walls.
Tavlin
followed. The sound of the larger boat’s motor echoed loudly off the tight
stone walls. The boat wound through the dark, empty passageways, traveling down
one canal, then another, and Tavlin pursued. Soon he wasn’t sure in which
direction he had come from, or how to find his way back. They seemed far from
Muscud now, and he remembered how large the network of sewer tunnels really
was. Occasionally he stopped his motor and pricked his ears to decipher where
to go next.
Where
could the man with the briefcase be journeying to, anyway? Was he simply a
courier, delivering the contents of the case?
Tavlin
came across them sooner than he had expected.
The
boat with the Octunggen man (if that’s what he was) had rounded a bend and
slowed to a stop, its motor cut off. Tavlin, lagging behind, just saw it vanish
around the corner, and as soon as he heard the chug of the motor winding down
he quickly shut off his own engine.
The
engine rattled to silence several seconds after his quarry’s. His whole body
tensed, and he felt his skin prickle along his arms. His scrotum contracted. If
the occupants of the boat had heard his engine ...
He
waited. Teeth clenched, he waited. Slowly, he removed his gun and held it
before him, aiming at the passage the boat had vanished into. Mist, fainter
here in the small canals, drifted slowly over the water.
The
boat did not emerge. Sounds did, however. He heard the swish of oars in water,
the voices of mutants
The tall man accepted it carefully, inspected it, then turned to the mutant
leader and nodded. The leader barked an order and the boat set off into the
fog, motor purring once more. The tall man stood in the center, suitcase at his
side, staring off into the mist.
Tavlin
rowed toward the trapdoor. The unseen people above slammed the door down before
he came close, though, and the sound of a bolt sliding across rusty metal
signaled the end of that plan.
“Shit,”
he muttered.
Suddenly,
he felt very alone out here. To reassure himself, he patted the revolver
snugged in its shoulder holster, a gift of Boss Vassas. I hope it doesn’t come to that.
The
commotion in the factory above him continued, but it shifted into a new
phase—it started to lessen . As if
whatever the activity’s purpose was had been accomplished. Had it been to
prepare whatever was in the briefcase? If so, then now that the briefcase was
en route to its destination, wherever that was, the factory workers need only
close up shop. Tavlin frowned into the darkness where the boat was disappearing,
a dark mark surrounded by yellow-white vapor.
With
deep misgivings, he grabbed the oars and began rowing after it.
He
followed the ever-changing hole in the mist caused by the boat’s passage, and
as the mist surrounded him he couldn’t resist a shudder. Nothing but cloying, foul,
roiling fog, the gaseous secretions of the water. He spat out the bitter taste,
reminding himself to take double the amount of pollution pills later on. He
hated to be out on the open water. These channels linked to the Atomic Sea; one
fall overboard could infect him. He would die of a lingering disease or else
become mutated like so many others, forever relegated to the fringes of
society. And that was if something didn’t eat him.
He
rowed carefully.
The
sound of the motor began to fade ahead, and he realized he would have to use
his own engine—dangerous, but he saw no choice. He revved the outboard with a
jerk of his arm, grabbed the steering rod and aimed the boat after his quarry.
The other boat’s motor was larger and more powerful. He could hear it, just
faintly, over the roar of his own. Hopefully that meant they couldn’t hear him.
The
larger boat, containing the man with the briefcase—could he be Octunggen, as
Boss Vassas had surmised?—set off over the open water between Muscud and the
walls of the cistern chamber, then vanished into a high passage, with flails
sucking on the walls.
Tavlin
followed. The sound of the larger boat’s motor echoed loudly off the tight
stone walls. The boat wound through the dark, empty passageways, traveling down
one canal, then another, and Tavlin pursued. Soon he wasn’t sure in which
direction he had come from, or how to find his way back. They seemed far from
Muscud now, and he remembered how large the network of sewer tunnels really
was. Occasionally he stopped his motor and pricked his ears to decipher where
to go next.
Where
could the man with the briefcase be journeying to, anyway? Was he simply a
courier, delivering the contents of the case?
Tavlin
came across them sooner than he had expected.
The
boat with the Octunggen man (if that’s what he was) had rounded a bend and
slowed to a stop, its motor cut off. Tavlin, lagging behind, just saw it vanish
around the corner, and as soon as he heard the chug of the motor winding down
he quickly shut off his own engine.
The
engine rattled to silence several seconds after his quarry’s. His whole body
tensed, and he felt his skin prickle along his arms. His scrotum contracted. If
the occupants of the boat had heard his engine ...
He
waited. Teeth clenched, he waited. Slowly, he removed his gun and held it
before him, aiming at the passage the boat had vanished into. Mist, fainter
here in the small canals, drifted slowly over the water.
The
boat did not emerge. Sounds did, however. He heard the swish of oars in water,
the voices of mutants
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