By James Axler
Rising from a gateway with partners in tow, Ryan Cawdor is pressured to make an unsettling determination in regard to the red-haired Krysty Wroth, who harbors a private wish for revenge.
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But Ryan could hardly see any of that, couldn't see any of his companions. His range of vision was blocked by a leering skull, scant inches from his. The face was long and angular, the sharp cheekbones honed like an Egyptian mummy's, the skin dried and leathery. A mane of snowy hair tumbled across the high forehead, brushing against Ryan's cheeks, feeling like the caress of a hundred tiny desiccated worms. And the eyes, wide and blankly staring, brimmed with fresh crimson blood that leaked from the tear ducts and spilled down onto Ryan's face.
We're here," Mildred said, pointing to a discreet green cross. "And that's the gateway," Doc remarked, pointing at a section in pale pink marked Matter Transfer, which also carried the holographic message Entry Absolutely Forbidden To All But B12 Cleared Personnel. B. said. "Quite a way off, up three levels, behind the guard section. " Dean asked. " Krysty tapped her finger on a green hexagonal area. "Dining hall and supplies. That's where it would've been. But it seems certain that the whole place was swept just before skydark.
Krysty Wroth's fingers squeezed his hand very hard, painfully. She was telling him something, shouting. But the jump was almost under way. Almost. A silhouetted figure stood outside the heavy door, someone tall and skinny, wearing black. Ryan's grip on the present had almost gone, and he clung to consciousness by a ragged fingernail. Images floated through his whirling mind. The massive dark brown armaglass door to the chamber was opening, closing. Dark figure. White hair. Face close against his, with eyes that leaked bright blood.
Deathlands 30 Crossways by James Axler