Free Moonfeast by James Axler Page A

hold on the APC, Ryan glanced at the circular crater where the air vent had existed. Yards wide, a huge section of the floor and wall were gone, vanished, compressed into an allotropic state beyond comprehension. Shuffling toward the LARC, Ryan could see the internal plumbing and wiring, theventilation shaft a wide gaping mouth, the edges mirror-bright. There was no sign of the cloud, even the smell of the ozone was gone, every trace annihilated by the staggering power of the deadly implo gren.
    Clambering over the low gunwale of the LARC transport, the Deathlands warrior nodded to Krysty in the pilothouse, then saw her face contort with fear, and knew the truth. Turning fast, Ryan saw another cloud rising from the open ventilation shaft. Only this one began to move across the garage before it finished rising from the shaft. Fireblast, Ryan thought, the fragging things learned from their mistakes!
    “Me this time,” Jak snarled, standing in the vehicle and yanking out the arming pin.
    Flowing over some of the disorganized skeletons on the floor, the cloud paused for a few moments, the bones vanished, and the mass of the cloud grew slightly larger.
    “Eat dead?” Jak snarled. “Try eat this!”
    Throwing the gren against the distant pegboard, the albino youth banked the shot, and the mil sphere rolled toward the cloud from behind. As the cloud turned at the noise, Krysty slammed on the gas and the LARC lumbered into operation, the four huge tires squealing in protest.
    Angling fast around the first corner, Krysty heard the gren activate, her hair fluttering from the wind of the implosion.
    “Dark night, I saw the torch go out!” J.B. stormed, adjusting his glasses. “That means another cloud is on the way.”
    “The three heads of Cerberus, eh?” Doc rumbled, yanking the pin from his gren.
    “Save that bastard gren until you see the thing!” Ryan commanded, grabbing the side of the gunwale with both hands and holding on tight.
    At the best speed possible, Krysty raced the cumbersome LARC along the zigzagging tunnel, the steel hull throwing off sparks as it scraped along the walls. In the backseats, the companions were thrown around helplessly. Once, there had been safety belts, but implacable time had reduced those to a gossamer thinness more suitable for a bathroom than a restraining harness. As the LARC careened off a sharp corner, the M-60 bounced over the side. Jak tried for a save, but the weapon tumbled away, a sacrifice to the god of speed.
    “The sixty!” Doc cried out aghast, then the man used a word that normally he pretended didn’t even exist.
    Reaching the blast door, Krysty slammed the transport to a brutal stop, the old brakes grinding in protest. The exit door didn’t have a massive lever. Hopping over the side, Ryan ran to the keypad set into the wall, then with a pounding heart the man made himself slowly and carefully enter the exit code. A single mistake now would mean he would have to start again from the beginning, and that would bring the next Cerberus straight down their bastard throats.
    As Ryan entered the last digit, there was a brief pause and then the blast door began to slowly move aside with the customary low rumble of heavy machinery from below the floor. A dry wind blew through the wideningcrack, carrying the faint tang of the sea. But then that was overpowered by the sharp reek of ozone.
    “They’re here!” J.B. snarled, turning to see a sparkling white cloud flowing around the corner, the interior filled with beautiful fairy lights.
    “Move!” Ryan shouted, vaulting over the gunwale.
    Stomping on the gas, Krysty threw the LARC into gear just as Doc yanked the safety pin on his implo gren, and the mil sphere knocked from his grip to go wild and hit the wall—only to bounce right back into the departing LARC. Moving with adrenaline-fueled speed, Mildred snatched the charge and whipped it backward, uncaring of where it landed as long as it was far from the vehicle.
    Still