The patch over his ruined left eye had shifted during the fight with the Russian, and he lifted a hand to straighten it.
Ryan Cawdor blinked, opening his one good eye. Next to him lay an old man with wild, silver hair, clutching a small, unconscious puppy.Ī woman with hair as red as blazing pitch was stretched flat on the floor, but she was moving, fingers opening and closing as she approached consciousness. A thread of fresh blood inched from the lad's nose, his mouth sagged open and his eyes were shut tight. It was a young, skinny albino boy, his hair like the tumbled snow around the hamlet of Ozhbarchik in the far, far northeast. "By the anvil and the hammer," Zimyanin muttered.
Now his eyes were focusing, settling on something opposite him that was colored dazzling white and vivid crimson. He fumbled for the pistol at his belt, feeling the familiar shape of the 9 mm Makarov blaster. Where could all of his men have gone? Dozens of troops couldn't just disappear into space. "I beg your pardon, but could you inform me as to the whereabouts of my entourage?" he whispered through dry lips. In his attempts to master the language of his bitter enemies, the officer had been secretly learning the English tongue, using a book with a publication date of 1911, nearly two hundred years earlier - The English Tongue for the Benefit of the Russian Gentleman Abroad. Somehow, while they were all unconscious, the Americans had succeeded in transporting the whole mysterious complex to a mountain. The Russian had lived at altitude in winter and knew the sensation well. The thick choking smoke was gone, and the air was thin and cold. The colors had altered and the air tasted different. Something had changed in the glass-walled chamber. With a massive effort of will, Zimyanin managed to open his eyes. The brawl had ended with swirling blackness and his fingers clawing at the throat of the leader of the terrorists. There had been a dreadful firefight, with many corpses a body of one of the enemy, flaming like a beacon of defiance the Yank flag a winding staircase, shrouded in choking smoke. The Russian was immensely strong, and he was recovering from the jump with remarkable speed.Īs consciousness began to creep back into the blurred fringes of his mind, so shards of memory also lurched out into the open. Major Commissar Gregori Zimyanin, of the Internal Security Section of Moscow, felt as though someone had pushed a brass-hilted bayonet into the center of his skull, then stirred it around, puddling his brains. The hands on his throat remorselessly strong.Ī voice breathed in Ryan's ear. Life is very sweet, brother who would wish to die? Lavengro by George Barrow There's night and day, brother, both sweet things sun, moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things there's likewise a wind on the heath. In the Deathlands, the past and the future are clashing with frightening force. In the jungles of Minnesota, the group discovers yet another freakish legacy of a world gone hideously wrong: Vikings. Mildred Wyeth is successfully revived from subzero suspended animation and joins the team of warrior survivalists.
Series: Deathlands Northstar Rising James Axler A generation after a global nuclear catastrophe, Minnesota is a steamy tropical environment of lush plants and horrifically mutated insects.Įmerging torn and battered after a triple jump through the gateways, Ryan Cawdor and his band of post-holocaust survivors discover an abandoned cyronics complex - a doomed fantasy begun a century before in a world far away from Deathlands.
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