"Mighty big insect," J.B. observed, cradling his new blaster, and looking anxiously up at the cloud-speckled sky.

Rick opened his eyes and gazed blankly upward, blinking through the pebbled glasses. "What's?.. It's an airplane? By God, but it's..."

"Everyone down," Ryan shouted, setting an example by diving beneath a stunted clump of ocotillo. Krysty landed at his side, with J.B. beyond her. Ryan could see that the others were also taking cover.

The noise was louder, hiccuping occasionally, rasping and whining. He peered up through the sparse protection of the brush.

And saw it.

The freezie had been right. It was aplane. Two wings on each side, with circles of red, white and blue painted on them; a stubby body, with twin cockpits. It was about a hundred feet above the ground, swaying from side to side, the racket now quite deafening to the people below it.

It had a single revolving propeller set on the point of its nose. Blue smoke coughed from the engine. Ryan could make out only one flier, his round, helmeted face hidden behind an enormous pair of glinting goggles. As far as he could make out, the flying machine carried no blasters.

It dipped and swooped overhead, carrying on toward the lower slopes of the mountain. Jak started to get up, then ducked down again. "Coming back," he shouted.

It passed about two hundred yards to the south of them, again apparently not noticing them. Finally the plane vanished away across the desert in the direction it had originally come from. As the sound faded, everyone stood and dusted themselves off.

"I've seen pix of old planes in vids," Ryan said, "but not one like that. Looked real old."

"Bless my soul," Doc said. "That was a Sopwith 1 1/2-Strutter, or I miss my guess. I studied the first World War during my imprisonment by the Cerberus dogs. Yes, indeed. A trusty biplane. A Sopwith 1 1/2-Strutter. Such a coincidence after we'd been talking about if there were any planes left in Deathlands."

Rick stood up, looking shaken. "What kind of world is this?" he said slowly. "It's a crazed mix of the past, my present and your future. It's all bloody madness."

"Yes," Ryan agreed. "It is."

It was now obvious that there must be a ville beyond the arid wasteland, so they pushed on at top speed, taking turns helping the frail man.

Each dusty arroyo was like the next one and like the previous one. Small clusters of cactuses with steely thorns made walking difficult. Despite Jak's estimate of how far away the edge of the desert was, the hours drifted by and it didn't seem to get much closer.

"Looks like a trail here," said Lori, who'd been leading the way, stumbling and cursing in her spike-heeled boots.

"Hold up," Ryan called, joining her and taking the lay of the land. They were in a broader-sided valley, and the bottom did seem to be trampled flatter. He knelt and examined the earth closely, seeing marks of some kind of wags. J.B. and Jak knelt beside him.

"Two wheel wags," the Armorer observed. "Look at the pattern. Not four-wheelers."

"Watch your step," Krysty warned. "Good place for an ambush."

"Can we rest?" Rick panted. His neat jacket and pants had been torn by the thorns of the innumerable cactuses and covered in a patina of orange dust. Blood dappled the man's hands where he'd fallen, and his face beneath the mask of dirt was pale and lined. He seemed to have aged ten years in the past twenty-four hours, and Ryan yet again pondered on their wisdom in reviving him.

Everyone looked at Ryan, who shook his head. "No. Got to keep moving. This place has taken us the better part of a damned day already. Sun's getting low. Don't want to get caught out by night. By the signs we're not far off where this ville might be. We'll keep going on."

Rick shrugged wearily. "For this I slept a hundred years? Momma was right. I should have stayed home and become a doctor. Very well..." he waved a hand to Ryan "...lay on, my trusty thane of Cawdor. And cursed be him that first shall cry..."

He was interrupted by a piercing scream from Lori, who had ignored Ryan's instructions and gone ahead around the corner. Overlaying the scream was a noise that sounded like a dozen raging chain saws.

Ryan's reactions were the quickest, and he burst through the narrowing rocks, around the bend in the trail.

He faltered as his eye took in the horrific scene of a heart-stopping nightmare.

A diamondback rattlesnake lay coiled in the desert sand, its layered rattle vibrating furiously. The reptile's forked tongue flicked in and out of its mouth, tasting the air around it. The long teeth, angled back, emerged from just below the maxillary bone of the upper jaw. Its slitted eyes remained motionless on either side of the flattened skull. It was well over twenty feet long, its body as thick as the thigh of a grown man.

It was, without the least shadow of a doubt, the largest mutie snake that Ryan Cawdor had ever seen.

The setting sun glinted off some sort of metal strip around the creature's throat, like a silvery collar. It caught Ryan's eye, but his instant preoccupation was the girl sprawled helplessly in the dirt in front of the rearing creature.

In her haste to be first, Lori must have almost run over the top of the giant rattler, stumbling across the bony tail.

The snake's gaping jaws were wide enough to engulf Lori's entire skull, and a tiny glistening bead of poison hung from the needle points of the fangs. It had reared up, at least six feet high, above the screaming girl, its shadow across her body.

Ryan's H&K G-12 was up and ready, braced against his hip, aimed at the spade-shaped head of the reptile. But his finger held still on the trigger of the powerful blaster.

"No!" Doc shrieked from just behind him, his voice so unexpectedly loud that Ryan nearly let rip with the automatic.

"Why not?"

"It'll fall on her and the child'll be instant grave fodder."

It was unmistakably true. The rattler was so gigantic that it hung over Lori, menacing her, its head weaving slowly to and fro. The warning rattle of its tail continued unabated.

The girl seemed almost paralyzed, like a rabbit in the lights of a night wag. She was on her back, legs drawn up, one hand lifted as though she could simply push away the monster snake. Her mouth was open and she was crying out, a string of pleading, helpless words.

"Could try and take its head off?" J.B. suggested.

The rattler was about thirty yards away from the group, its eyes registering their presence. But most of its attention was fixed on the blond girl beneath it.

"Hell of a chance it'd chill her before we could chill it," Ryan replied.

Rick Ginsberg had joined them, panting hard, one hand clamped to his side. His eyes were round with disbelief. "Is that?.. You never said a word about sci-fi monsters, Ryan. It's a dream. A nightmare! It'll kill the girl, unless..."

"Shut fuck up!" Jak snapped, hefting one of his throwing knives, gripping it by the weighted hilt. "Could hit eye, Ryan?"

"No," Doc said despairingly. "A clean kill or drive it away."

For several racing heartbeats nobody moved or spoke. The snake's head kept up its hypnotic swaying, and Lori began to weep uncontrollably.

Ryan, keeping his voice low, spoke to the others. "Got to go for the head with blasters. All at once. Should manage to splatter it apart."

"I forbid it, Ryan," Doc whispered, his left hand playing nervously with an errant strand of hair. "The risk is too great."

"You got a better idea? If not, then we'll do it like..."

"Help me, please," Lori called, her voice barely audible above the harsh noise of the snake's rattle.

"Yes," Doc said suddenly. "Distraction. I'll distract the beast and you can then do the shooting part."