Deathlands 122: Forbidden Trespass by James Axler Page A

enjoyed an island of stability in the midst of the chaos of the outside world,” Conn said. “I hope it’s not invadin’ to stay.”
    His nephew, Zedd, who had tan, freckled skin and rusty, tightly curled hair, emerged through the door.
    “Looks like Layna and Mord, Unk,” he said.
    “Ugh,” Nancy said. She turned away. She was hard as nails about most things, but had a squeamish touch. Her cousin and employer, Conn, respected that in her; it made her seem more human.
    “How do they look?” Conn asked, despite his cousin’s visible discomfort.
    Zedd showed pressed-together teeth. They were white and mostly even. Patriarch Tarley enforced hygiene inhis clan with an iron hand, despite his normally easygoing ways. He had a rep for being tough when it counted.
    “Like you’d expect,” Nancy said, as if she were gritting her teeth to hold in puke. Evidently she was hoping to stave off further details.
    If so, she hoped in vain.
    “Not really,” Zedd said. “Chills ain’t burned so much as, well, kinda roasted. And not really all over, you know?”
    Conn kept his gaze steady on the young man as his cousin loudly lost her battle against throwing her guts up. “And they don’t look et so much as busted all to nuke. Like they got hacked with an ax. Heads’re both busted wide-open, and don’t look as if their brains swole from the heat and popped through the skulls like taters in the oven.”
    “That’s enough details right there, Zedd,” Tarley said.
    The young man shrugged.
    “I was only tryin’—”
    “Ace. Thanks. Enough.”
    Nancy straightened, grunting and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The group shifted upwind of the fresh pool of barf in the tramped-earth yard.
    “Doesn’t that support Wymie’s claims?” she asked, all business once again. “I mean, would the weird fanged monsters the outlanders claim to’ve seen have done somethin’ like that? Whacked them with an ax?”
    Tarley shrugged. “Why not?”
    “Truth,” Conn said. “We don’t know what these things’d do. We don’t know if they’re even real. It’s a matter on which I’m far from makin’ up my mind.”
    “But what difference does it make, anyway, Mathus?”Nancy asked. “They’re strangers. Outlanders. Why are you botherin’ to stick up for them?”
    “Fairness?” Tarley suggested. “Justice?”
    Nancy scoffed. “How many magazines do them things load?”
    “More than you might think,” Tarley said stolidly.
    “A reputation for fairness is part of my stock in trade,” Conn reminded his assistant. “And let’s not forget that dealin’ with these rough-lookin’ outlanders has been highly profitable. We can resell the scavvy we get from them to folks who want it most at considerable markup, and everybody’s happy. Or do you want to go scout out their node and then dig scavvy yourself?”
    She shook her head. “I’m not the outdoor type, boss,” she said. “You know that. Had folks out looking, though.”
    “No luck, however,” Conn said.
    “No. They cover their tracks triple well.” She frowned. “A suspicious mind might judge that as pointin’ to them, too.”
    “A suspicious mind judges everythin’ as pointin’ to those it suspects,” Conn pointed out.
    “Wymie’s on a rampage,” Tarley said thoughtfully. “She ain’t in a frame of mind to listen to reason. She could cause a power of mischief, it seems to me.”
    “Then seriously, boss,” Nancy said. “Why not just throw the strangers to Wymie like a bone to a beggin’ dog? Sure, justice, profit, all those good things. But if it gets her to calm the rad-dust down, mightn’t that work out more profitable in the long run?”
    Conn chuckled. His cousin had a way of reminding him exactly why he’d hired her, and without any sign of intent. Just by doing…what he’d hired her to: minding the bottom line.
    But this time he still thought she’d made a rare mistake in her tallying.
    “She’s already stirred up a mob,”