By James Axler
Traveling the villa of a strong Tennessee baroness and her mysterious consultant, Ryan Cawdor and his band of warrior survivalists examine of her talents at nighttime arts and her ruthless goals to safe her destiny.
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Krysty cried out, falling to her knees, smelling her hair scorching in the inferno that roiled above her. Several long seconds drifted by, and the noise and the rushing, fiery wind all passed over. She came to her senses enough to realize that the steepness of the bank above had protected her from what had happened. It took several long minutes before she recovered enough to stand on shaky legs and crawl up the slope toward the softball field. The grass at the top was gone, replaced by a dark, powdery ash, and the air was filled with an overwhelming stench of scorching, like the time in the fall when the farmers burned off the stubble from their fields.
Ryan was relieved that his young son, Dean, hadn't been with them. The boy had often suffered from previous jumps. He wondered how Dean was getting on in the boarding school up in the high country of Colorado. Nick Brody, owner of the school, had seemed a good and honest enough person, and the place's reputation was sound. Ryan had promised that he would visit the boy when it was possible, though Dean had lived long enough and hard enough in Deathlands to know that it might be quite some time before such a visit was practical.
It was an endless tangle of rusting metal and rotted concrete, the streets littered by old cans and broken glass, so that every step crunched under the heels of his combat boots. He was holding the sticky hand of his two-year-old daughter, Jenny, and they were trying to find Jak's wife, Christina. The little girl had been toddling bravely at his side all day, but now she was starting to complain that she was becoming tired and hungry. "Want eat, Daddy" "When we find Mom," Jak replied, tugging a little harder at the child, almost pulling her off her feet, making her whine unhappily.