Free Plague Lords (Empire of Xibalba, #1) by James Axler Page A

makes the delivery or who he pays for the C-4,” J.B. said. “He sure as hell isn’t going to care what happened to the scroungers. That’s the kind of shit-snake he is.”
    “But it is possible that he was expecting the arrival of all six backpacks,” Doc interjected.
    “In that case, he’ll be happy that one actually showed up,” Ryan said. “We’ve got a believable story. His pet scroungers were chilled by stickies. We salvaged a single load. Hell, it’s almost even true.”
    The one-eyed warrior sat on the grass, untied his boots and kicked them off. “No sense in more than two of us getting wet,” he said. “Jak, gather up a couple of backpacks of C-4 and wade out with me.”
    Leaving his own pack on the bank, Ryan hoisted three others and moved slowly into the warm water, careful to tear the smallest possible rip in the algae mat.
    The albino kicked off his boots, grabbed up the remaining unbooby-trapped packs and waded out to midthigh. The two of them sank the packs under the water, holding them down until all the trapped air bubbles escaped. As they backtracked their path to shore, they brushed together the torn edges of the bloom.
    Ryan and Jak carefully dried their feet on the grass before putting on their boots. When Ryan stood, he waved for J.B. to hurry down from the lookout.
    “I am still at rather a loss here,” Doc confessed. “What exactly is your larger strategy?”
    “If we can get cartridges and gas in trade for the one load of C-4,” Ryan told him, “we can lug the fuel and the sunken explosives back to the bikes, and ride on east to Louisiana in style. If we can’t get gas, we’ll have to find transport by water, or keep walking. If things go sour with BoomT, and we have enough of a head start, we can come back here and recover the rest of the C-4. If not, we can leave it where it is for now and come back later.”
    After J.B. rejoined them, Ryan retrieved his long-blaster, shouldered the last backpack of explosives and said, “Let’s go cut ourselves a deal.”

Chapter Five
    They returned to the mall, retracing their circuitous route to approach it from the north, an extra but necessary precaution. If things went badly, BoomT and crew wouldn’t think to look south for any spoils they had hidden. As the companions stepped onto the sunbaked parking lot, the dried mud crunched under their boots like layers of crisp pastry dough, and each step sent up a little puff of fine brown dust.
    Keeping the edge of the mall’s acres of mounded rubble on their left, they headed for the big-box store. As Ryan got closer, he could see that a side entrance to the mall’s interior and its covered walkway were still intact and connected to the north wall of BoomT’s emporium. The interior hallway and roof were supported on the opposite side by the facades of gutted storefronts. Ryan led the others wide right of the doorless opening, giving them some room to maneuver, if need be.
    Just inside the shade of the corridor on the left, a bevy of rode-hard and hefty gaudy sluts reclined on tubular aluminum chaise longues. Barefoot, in carelessly belted, ratty nylon housecoats, they were showing off their wares and airing them at the same time.
    There were no takers among the handful of scroungers loitering on the other side of the partially collapsed hallway.
    Too hot.
    Too sober.
    Or mebbe the airing was incomplete.
    Above the row of overtaxed chaises, a predark restaurant sign said Cantina Olé in red, three-dimensional letters. The “i” of the sign was a little cartoon cactus and the “O” was wearing a yellow sombrero.
    Jak leaned close to Mildred and in a deadpan voice said, “Did H fall off?”
    At first Mildred was puzzled by the question. Then she stared in amazement at the wild child. A second later she burst out laughing.
    “Nuking hell!” J.B. exclaimed, turning to the others. “Did you catch that? Jak just made a joke!”
    Although his mouth remained a thin line of implacable