"Axler, James - Deathlands 050 - Pandora's Reboubt - Nick Pollotta" - читать интересную книгу автора (Axler James)

"Agreed," Ryan stated, cracking a rare smile. "Let's move out."
He moved to the door, then started to press the handle. Everybody readied weapons as the heavy portal smoothly swung open on silent hinges. However, instead of the usual anteroom on the other side, there was only a seamless expanse of wood, dark and solid as a mountain.
"Blocked off," Ryan said in amazement
Dean worked the slide of his Browning, chambering a round for immediate use.
"What in hell for?" Mildred asked. "To hide the mat-trans?"
"Seems likely."
Expertly, J.B. ran his callused hands over the wood. "Hmm, not joined beams, but a single piece."
"Big tree," Jak said.
"Paneling," J.B. stated, tapping the material lightly with a knuckle. "Hear that? Thin stuff. No more than a half inch thick. Pretty light armor."
"To keep others out, not us in," Ryan said, holstering his pistol and sliding the Steyr SSG-70 rifle off his shoulder. "Everybody get ready. Triple red."
Moving to the rear of the pack, Mildred eased back the hammer on her Czech-made ZKR .38-caliber target pistol. Loosening one of the many throwing knives in his belt, Jak did the same with his .357 Colt Python revolver.
J.B. placed an ear to the wood and held his breath. Nobody spoke.
Approaching the man, Ryan placed his mouth near his old friend's ear. "People? Sec droid?" he asked softly, easing the off safety of the Steyr. He was down to only a few rounds, but the heavy-caliber bullets would do far more damage to both man or machine than his pistol.
"Clear," J.B. announced, stepping away. "There're no traps I can find, and nothing is moving on the other side."
Mildred grunted. "Then open it."
"Check." Expertly running his hands over the wood, the Armorer knocked experimentally, then scratched here and there.
"Blast hole?" Jak asked, rummaging in his fatigues and withdrawing a half stick of dynamite.
Resting the rifle on his shoulder, Ryan snorted in contempt "We can kick our way through."
"Not necessary," J.B. replied, probing the edges of the alloy doorframe. "Ah. here we are. Found the catch." The wood slid aside, exposing darkness.
Instantly, everybody moved away from the open doorway, weapons at the ready. For several minutes they stood motionless, patiently waiting, listening hard. When nothing happened, Ryan took the point, moving in low and fast, the pitted barrel of his Steyr sweeping the room, searching for targets. He was flanked by Jak and Krysty, with J.B. and Doc staying as backup at the open door, ready to block it with their bodies if need be. Dean stood off to the side with Mildred, ready to cover the two men should it be necessary.
It took a moment for Ryan's eye to adjust to the dim light. That wasn't good. Usually, the overhead lights came on automatically. Then he saw the ceiling fixtures were completely smashed, every single bulb systematically destroyed.
"But not the tiles alongside," Krysty noted.
"Somebody wanted it dark," Ryan agreed, keeping his blind side toward his companions.
There was a sigh of steel on leather as Jak eased a knife from its sheath. "Ambush?"
"Most likely."
Carefully, the three moved through the mixture of litter that covered the floor of the anteroom. Next, instead of the usual control room, they discovered an office. The furniture was broken, the pieces scattered randomly with broken plastic and glass underfoot everywhere. Bullet holes stitched a wall at chest height. Ryan checked, and sure enough the opposite wall was the same. A firefight had occurred. Over in a corner was the remains of an executive bar. mirror and bottles reduced to glistening shards from a small explosion.
"Plastique," Ryan stated. "Homemade, weak stuff."
"No shrap," Jak added, kicking away some unidentifiable wreckage. "Diversion."
The hairs on the back of Ryan's neck were starting to rise, and he loosened the 9 mm pistol in its belt holster. "Yeah, but a diversion for who? There's nobody here."
"And no bodies."
"Found them," Krysty called out, holstering her pistol and looking at something on the back side of an overturned couch. Jak and Ryan quickly joined her.
There on the dirty floor, locked in each other's arms were two corpses. Human, male, and both long dead. The skin was drum tight over their bones, teeth exposed in the rictus of death. Their hands were locked around each other's throat, fingers buried in the mottled flesh. A pair of knives lay nearby, as did a rusty U.S. Army Colt .45, the slide kicked back showing it was out of ammo. At the base of the wall was a badly rusted Browning Automatic Rifle, its bolt action open and showing it too was out of bullets. The men were dressed in the usual scavenged rags of a dozen different styles, only their boots and the holsters in decent shape. Two bandoliers of empty cartridge loops crisscrossed the chest of the blond man on top' while the bald man on the bottom wore a vest made entirely of rectangular pockets to hold ammo clips for an autofire blaster.
Satisfied, Ryan whistled sharply through his teeth, once long, then short, and the others cautiously walked into the ancient battle room.
"Died killing each other," Mildred said, studying the desiccated corpses. "Been dead four, maybe five weeks. Air system has kept down the smell."
"But not removed it entirely," Doc admonished, sniffing delicately. "I must say, this locale is getting decidedly most pungent."
Loudly blowing his nose into a handkerchief, Jak inspected the bloody residue and barked a laugh. "Don't breathe."
Stoically, Ryan looked around the room. "Nothing much here to fight over. Bar's empty, no weapon cabinet in sight, and they clearly knew nothing about the mat-trans behind the wall. Must have been personal."
"None of their equipment is from standard military stores," J.B. added, lifting the BAR and working the bolt a few times. "So they didn't get it out of storage here. This is old and been patched many times. Seen a lot of work, too. Probably mercies, or coldhearts."
"My question is how did they get inside the redoubt?" Mildred asked, wiping off her hands on her pant leg. "Could the door be down?"
"Must be. No other way in."
Resting the butt of his rifle on his hip, Ryan chewed that over. "So they somehow blasted through the nuke-proof door? Not likely. Somehow, the bastards figured a way to open the door." He paused. "Or worse, they were let in."
"Sleepers?" Dean asked.
"Always a possibility."
Nudging the blond corpse with the silvered toe of her cowboy boot, Krysty frowned, her long crimson hair tightly circling and uncurling about her lovely face. "This is getting worse by the minute. Secret panels, suicide norms, now sleepers? I vote we go."
"Check," Jak said, pocketing a knife from the floor.
"No," Ryan stated, grimacing. "After that trouble we had with Kaa, anything odd with the redoubts warrants a recce."
"I agree," J.B. said, shoving back his fedora and scratching underneath. "I don't care for it, either, but we gotta know. These things are our lifeline."
Jak scowled but didn't voice a differing opinion, and after a bit, Krysty shrugged her acceptance. Mildred remained neutral.
"Lay on, Macduff," Doc said, extending a hand toward the door.
Gingerly, J.B. went to work using flexible tools that slid under the jamb. A loud click made everybody jump, except the Armorer. He beamed a smile and the door swung into the room. Attached to the handle was a simple affair of a old-fashioned pineapple grenade and string.