Read Online Borderlands: The Fallen by John Shirley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Shirley
Tags: Fiction
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animals.
Creeping closer to the firelight, Cal peeked around the edge of the boulder and saw the camp just a step or two away. On the other side of a campfire, a big, dark-skinned man lay on his back, his head propped up on a folded coat, goggles pushed back on his forehead, a rifle of some kind in his hands. He was snoring softly, mouth slightly open. Cal couldn’t see the rest of his face because of the shadows in the way. A random tumble of old bones lay to one side, including a skull. Not good. Maybe this guy
was
a cannibal.
Still—it was just one guy to sneak by. Cal noticed an open metal box on the far side of the fire from the sleeping gunman. Looked like the kind of thing someone might store food in. He could swipe the box. Maybe it’d contain a communicator of some kind, something he could use to call for help. But he had to do it silently …
Heart hammering, Cal crept forward on hands and knees, wincing when his stomach growled. He kept moving, hoping the crackle of the fire would cover any little noises he made.
He got closer to the box, closer still … then heard a clatter, loud as a fire alarm in his ears.
Cal looked down, realized he’d stumbled into a piece of string stretched tautly over the ground between two half-buried sticks. And strung on one of the sticks a cluster of empty tin cans was dancing, jangling together.
He jumped up, turned to run—and stopped in his tracks as a big, rough hand closed around his throat. He found himself looking up into the grim face of a scowling black man—the one who’d been sound asleep a minute ago.
The man’s grip tightened around Cal’s throat, and he demanded in a rumbling voice, “
Who
the hell are
you
?”
“How much you think we can sell ’er for, Vance?” asked Dimmle, as he leered at Marla. Sitting across from her in the boat, Dimmle was the bearded, scarred one, his face crisscrossed with old, blue-ink prison tattoos, mostly words, phrases like:
Rip Up & Rip Off … Die Slow, Die Fast, But Die … Call Me 4 QuickFux
…
Mama, May I? …
and
… First the Knife.
“That I don’t know,” Vance said, rubbing his big jaw ashe eyed Marla. He had his hand on the engine tiller of the open boat, steering without having to look where he was going.
There were six of them, five sea thugs and Marla, riding a ten-meter inflatable boat out toward an island—a dark blotch on the horizon picked out by a few lights. Vance was at the stern of the boat, to Marla’s left, where a glowing purple cylinder hummingly propelled them through the smooth sea. At the prow of the boat was an electric lantern.
Marla was thinking of throwing herself into the sea. She might drown, or be killed by some vicious aquatic predator. Better than dying slowly in the hands of human predators. Her hope of coming out of this intact had shriveled when they took her uni from her. Vance had it.
“Won’t have you checking for signals, lady,”
he’d said.
She leaned over a little, trying to reposition herself to dive in the water …
Vance shook his head. “Forget it, lady, you try to jump overboard I’ll grab you by the hair. And I’ll drag your pretty behind inboard—none too gently!” He grinned at her, his smile broad and gleaming white. Despite the threat, there was something boyish about this brawny man. Maybe this Vance could be manipulated, tricked into giving her a chance to escape, if she waited for her moment.
“You wouldn’t let me kinda rent her for a night, would you, boss?” Dimmle asked. “I’d pay ya good. Wouldn’t leave her the worse for wear. Mostly.”
Marla shuddered.
“Not a chance, Dimmle,” Vance said, his growl surprisingly affable as he went on: “You and the others’ll keepyour hands off her or I’ll lop your fingers off and feed ’em to the Cruncher.”
Dimmle scratched his crotch meditatively. “Don’t do no harm to ask. We don’t see women away from the settlements much.”
The other men in the boat, gawking at Marla,
Creeping closer to the firelight, Cal peeked around the edge of the boulder and saw the camp just a step or two away. On the other side of a campfire, a big, dark-skinned man lay on his back, his head propped up on a folded coat, goggles pushed back on his forehead, a rifle of some kind in his hands. He was snoring softly, mouth slightly open. Cal couldn’t see the rest of his face because of the shadows in the way. A random tumble of old bones lay to one side, including a skull. Not good. Maybe this guy
was
a cannibal.
Still—it was just one guy to sneak by. Cal noticed an open metal box on the far side of the fire from the sleeping gunman. Looked like the kind of thing someone might store food in. He could swipe the box. Maybe it’d contain a communicator of some kind, something he could use to call for help. But he had to do it silently …
Heart hammering, Cal crept forward on hands and knees, wincing when his stomach growled. He kept moving, hoping the crackle of the fire would cover any little noises he made.
He got closer to the box, closer still … then heard a clatter, loud as a fire alarm in his ears.
Cal looked down, realized he’d stumbled into a piece of string stretched tautly over the ground between two half-buried sticks. And strung on one of the sticks a cluster of empty tin cans was dancing, jangling together.
He jumped up, turned to run—and stopped in his tracks as a big, rough hand closed around his throat. He found himself looking up into the grim face of a scowling black man—the one who’d been sound asleep a minute ago.
The man’s grip tightened around Cal’s throat, and he demanded in a rumbling voice, “
Who
the hell are
you
?”
“How much you think we can sell ’er for, Vance?” asked Dimmle, as he leered at Marla. Sitting across from her in the boat, Dimmle was the bearded, scarred one, his face crisscrossed with old, blue-ink prison tattoos, mostly words, phrases like:
Rip Up & Rip Off … Die Slow, Die Fast, But Die … Call Me 4 QuickFux
…
Mama, May I? …
and
… First the Knife.
“That I don’t know,” Vance said, rubbing his big jaw ashe eyed Marla. He had his hand on the engine tiller of the open boat, steering without having to look where he was going.
There were six of them, five sea thugs and Marla, riding a ten-meter inflatable boat out toward an island—a dark blotch on the horizon picked out by a few lights. Vance was at the stern of the boat, to Marla’s left, where a glowing purple cylinder hummingly propelled them through the smooth sea. At the prow of the boat was an electric lantern.
Marla was thinking of throwing herself into the sea. She might drown, or be killed by some vicious aquatic predator. Better than dying slowly in the hands of human predators. Her hope of coming out of this intact had shriveled when they took her uni from her. Vance had it.
“Won’t have you checking for signals, lady,”
he’d said.
She leaned over a little, trying to reposition herself to dive in the water …
Vance shook his head. “Forget it, lady, you try to jump overboard I’ll grab you by the hair. And I’ll drag your pretty behind inboard—none too gently!” He grinned at her, his smile broad and gleaming white. Despite the threat, there was something boyish about this brawny man. Maybe this Vance could be manipulated, tricked into giving her a chance to escape, if she waited for her moment.
“You wouldn’t let me kinda rent her for a night, would you, boss?” Dimmle asked. “I’d pay ya good. Wouldn’t leave her the worse for wear. Mostly.”
Marla shuddered.
“Not a chance, Dimmle,” Vance said, his growl surprisingly affable as he went on: “You and the others’ll keepyour hands off her or I’ll lop your fingers off and feed ’em to the Cruncher.”
Dimmle scratched his crotch meditatively. “Don’t do no harm to ask. We don’t see women away from the settlements much.”
The other men in the boat, gawking at Marla,
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