Sooner Dead (Gamma World) - Mel Odom [70]
“Tie the chain to the cleat.”
Hella slid across the deck on her knees, grabbed the chain, and wrapped it several times around one of the mooring cleats passengers used to tie onto when they needed to float vehicles that wouldn’t fit on the ferry across. “Okay.” She scooted back as Stampede let go the chain. She half expected the links to slither free and whirl around in lethal arcs.
Instead the chain remained taut, and the ferry stayed in shallow water.
Stampede slumped to a sitting position on the deck and flexed his cramped hands.
For a long moment, Hella and Stampede just sat there and listened to the river race by them. She checked the magazine in her rifle to make sure nothing had jarred loose. “Do you think any of the ’Chine are still alive?”
“Not on this ferry.” Stampede pulled his rifle around and slipped in a fresh magazine.
“What about the ones in the water?”
“Even if there were any that could swim, they either drowned by now or they’re a long way from here. Even with the hive mind powering dead bodies, they’re not getting out of the river any time soon.” Stampede looked at her. “Those EMPs do anything to you?”
Only because Stampede would know that she was lying if she said no, Hella told him the truth. “They made me sick.”
“You still sick?”
Hella sat quietly and took stock, but the weakness and nausea she’d felt were more memory at that point than anything noticeable. “No.”
“Not like you to be sick.”
“I know.”
“Anything permanent?”
She shook her head because she didn’t think that was the case.
Stampede forced himself to his feet. “Let’s go see if Pardot’s cargo survived the trip. I don’t think he’s going to be happy if we’re the only ones that made it. And I wouldn’t know where to start looking for it if we lost it overboard.”
Inside the passenger compartment, a canvas-covered object lay in the middle of a group of dead ’Chine. The mechmen’s cause of death was a mixture of things: antipersonnel flétchettes, bullets, and burns from the incendiary grenade. Stampede and Hella dragged the dead things away; then Stampede slipped his belt knife into the rope that held the canvas in place.
Gingerly they pulled the canvas back and found a metal man lying there.
Stampede cursed and stepped back. His hand slid around the grip of his rifle in smooth reflex, and he pointed the barrel at the metal man.
“Wait.” Hella slid forward for a closer inspection. “This isn’t ’Chine. Look at it. This thing looks more like a man than any ’Chine I’ve ever seen. There’s nothing human about him.”
In fact, the figure was beautiful. Every feature, every limb, everything about the man was perfect. His silver skin glistened in the glow of Stampede’s flashlight. He was bald, his head perfectly shaped, and he was more handsome than any man Hella had ever seen. He was curled into a fetal position, as if he’d gotten afraid during the recent battle and had willed himself to go to sleep. He had no garments, and he wasn’t immodest in spite of his nudity because there were no obvious genitalia, but Hella recognized him as male.
“Do you think it’s some kind of statue?” Stampede sounded irritated.
“I don’t know.” Cautiously Hella prodded the metal man with her fingers. When she made contact, her whole hand buzzed, like she’d touched something carrying electrical current. She jerked back and Stampede dropped a big hand on her shoulder and yanked her back further.
“What happened?”
Hella gazed at her hand but couldn’t discern any damage. “Shocked me.”
“It’s carrying voltage?”
“Yes. Not enough to hurt you, but it got my attention.”
Stampede gazed around the bobbing ferry. “Nothing aboard this thing carries voltage.”
“The Wroths use it back at their house. A waterwheel to turn a generator so they can use metal lathes and other tools.”
The metal man remained inert.
Puzzled, Hella reached for the thing and touched it again. She was prepared for the shock and didn’t immediately break contact.
“Current still there?” Stampede peered at her.
“Yes.”
Stampede dropped a hand onto the metal man then frowned.