Read Back From the Dead for Free Online

moving. One groans and starts to stir. Another lies unmoving. He kicks her again, harder.
    “One down already. Might have to put another bet in the pool.”
    He walks back to the ramp and hops on. “Welcome to Hell,” he says, with malevolent relish. “You can sit here and die, but that’s no fun. For us, that is. Or, you can walk that way,” he points down a valley between two mesas, “for a few days to get to the prison mine. Those that live that long will dig ’lonium there ’til you work off your debt. In the meantime, how many of you die on the march there will entertain us. I’m betting the pool that only eleven of you make it. My friend here is betting on eight, ’cause of all the weak ones he sees. But I’m an optimist.”
    One of the younger men rises unsteadily to his feet. “You can’t DO this to us! WHAT debt? When we get there, I’ll rip out your–”
    Slaver Two draws a pistol and shoots him. He drops to the dirt without a twitch. “No, you won’t,” he sneers. “One less tough guy!”
    Dopestick chuckles and kicks a stack of one-liter water bottles off the ramp. “One each. You can fight over ’em now or later, your choice. We got bets on that, too,” he says with an evil grin. “See some of you soon!” The transport lifts up and speeds away.
    The passengers are unsteady as they recover from the effects of the sleeping gas. Some start walking or crawling toward the water bottles. Next to Helton is a bearded Sikh in his late forties, adjusting his turban. He looks at the retreating flier, then at Helton. He speaks quietly, in a one-meter voice, “Name?”
    “Helton. Can’t say I’m glad to meet you.”
    “Harbin. The same.” He starts to flex and loosen up, looks at the dead passenger, shakes his head. “Stupid.”
    “What the hell happened?” Helton asks, as they both move carefully to their knees.
    “Pirates. They can sell the ship and cargo. People are harder. Inside guys put knockout gas in the air, but they get skittish about just spacing everyone. So, entertainment, then slavery in a prison mine where there isn’t a lot of paperwork filed, I expect.”
    Helton glances around at the terrain. “Sssshhhhiiiiit.” He looks back at Harbin, then behind him. “ That doesn’t look good,” he says, nodding at a small group of tough-looking, young punks. Some of the other passengers have noticed the gathering as well.
    Harbin rises to his knees, casually glancing back out of the corner of one eye, then bending as if stretching, he surreptitiously picks up an oblong rock. “Good call. Can you move okay?” Helton stretches carefully, grimaces, and nods. “Right. Follow my lead.”
    Harbin slowly stands up, flexes, and moves toward the six punks. They look at him suspiciously, also stretching, flexing, and making fist-into-palm motions. He pauses to leer at one of the ladies, then grins a wicked grin and approaches the men. They spread out, preparing to fight him all at once, but when he’s almost within striking range, Harbin says in a harsh whisper, “Kill the other men, then rape and kill the women and kids, take all the water? Make for an easy walk to the mine.”
    “Shit, yeah!” one says. The others smile.
    “Kill ’em, then rape ’em,” says another. “Can’t hurt you that way, and it’s faster.”
    “I like the way you think!” says a third.
    “Thought so,” Harbin replies, with an evil smirk. “Here’s how.”
    He steps closer, waving them in to huddle for a quick plan. Then in a whirl of kicks, chops, lunges, rock-smashes, a head butt and a neck twist, five of the thugs lay dead, or at least out cold and bloody. He looks around to see Helton still struggling with the sixth and biggest. Harbin steps in and strikes the thug in the back of the head with casual, efficient precision, laying him out quite effectively.
    “Thanks,” Helton says, panting slightly.
    Harbin, not the least bit out-of-breath, answers, “Thank you. Four isn’t a problem; six