By James Axler
Top his band of made up our minds fans to the remnants of post-nuclear Sunshine nation, Ryan Cawdor speedy learns that their survival is determined by their wits and an unforeseen alliance with an alien tradition.
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Observed. " Ryan was feeling better, but his original desire for a hot bath, food and a bed was still there. His wet clothes had virtually dried on him, with a faint smell of mold. B. asked, gesturing to Ryan with the Uzi. "No. You stay there. " The Armorer reached out and pressed the silver arrow that pointed upward. Nothing happened. " Mildred asked, smiling nervously as everyone turned to look at her. "Well, it's just a question. B. replied, his glasses flashing in the stark neon light. " "Why not press 'down,' just in case," Ryan suggested.
A white strip above the door was lighted from behind, a maroon pointer showed the progress of the car toward them. "Over halfway," Dean said. "Three-quarters," Doc stated. "No more talk," Ryan warned. " The pointer slowed as the elevator neared the bottom of the steep shaft. Ryan had been counting, and he calculated that it had to be around one hundred and fifty feet to the top. There was a faint but audible jolting noise as the car finally stopped. Nothing happened for several long moments. Ryan took a quick look at the faces of his companions.
He grimaced. "Sorry. Told you that it wasn't going to be relevant. Silly. " Ryan rubbed at his chin. "Well, now, remember we've started hearing these strange rumors. Gangs of what they called yellow-skinned killers. " "Don't get bubbles without water," Trader said. "Doesn't seem likely," Krysty argued. "All the way from China or Japan. " Ryan looked at her. B. added, eyes brightening behind his spectacles. "The long Dragunov. Reworked Kalashnikov. " "And we got to old Russia," Ryan said. "We still have no idea how many mat-trans gateways there are in Deathlands.