INTEGRITY LOST
After the Megacull, the weak died off, so that a century later, the living have descended from only the toughest stock. Still, it takes more than strength to survive Deathlands. It takes skill, cunning and a warriorâs heart. But for Ryan Cawdor, staying alive isnât just about living. In this nuke-transformed America, it helps if somewhere, deep inside, thereâs hope of finding something better.
WALKING DEAD
A virulent strain of a predark biowep has been unleashed upon the denizens of northern Kansas, turning them into rotting, flesh-eating monsters. Running from the mindless, soulless rottie hordes, Ryan and his companions arrive in the civil-war-torn ville of Sweetwater Junction. Theyâve got one shot at beating the hungry rotties: turn the bloodlust of the villeâs warring factions away from each other and toward a common enemy. But that means splitting up and hiring on as sec for both sides and surviving the firefightâbefore the real hell is unleashed.
In Deathlands, time is blood.
The rottie yanked the youth against the wire
Other arms reached out to entangle him, their blackened nails clawing at his flesh. Despite his frenzied thrashing, he couldnât break free.
Several of the ville folk darted forward to try to help him.
âDonât get close!â Ryan shouted. âChop their arms off!â
His friends tried pulling the youth away, but it did no good. Then he screamed, and blood spurted from the side of his head as a rottie bit deep into his ear.
Ryan stepped into a Weaver stance, his left arm crooked to support his blaster hand, and fired a single round. The trapped boyâs head jerked, and he slumped.
His friends stared at Ryan in shock and fury.
âIf youâre bit, youâre one of them!â Ryan growled. âNow learn from that stupe and stay back!â
There are more dead people than living. And their numbers are increasing. The living are getting rarer.
âEugene Ionesco
1909-1994 Rhinoceros
THE DEATHLANDS SAGA
This world is their legacy, a world born in the violent nuclear spasm of 2001 that was the bitter outcome of a struggle for global dominance.
There is no real escape from this shockscape where life always hangs in the balance, vulnerable to newly demonic nature, barbarism, lawlessness.
But they are the warrior survivalists, and they endureâin the way of the lion, the hawk and the tiger, true to natureâs heart despite its ruination.
Ryan Cawdor: The privileged son of an East Coast baron. Acquainted with betrayal from a tender age, he is a master of the hard realities.
Krysty Wroth: Harmony villeâs own Titian-haired beauty, a woman with the strength of tempered steel. Her premonitions and Gaia powers have been fostered by her Mother Sonja.
J. B. Dix, the Armorer: Weapons master and Ryanâs close ally, he, too, honed his skills traversing the Deathlands with the legendary Trader.
Doctor Theophilus Tanner: Torn from his family and a gentler life in 1896, Doc has been thrown into a future he couldnât have imagined.
Dr. Mildred Wyeth: Her father was killed by the Ku Klux Klan, but her fate is not much lighter. Restored from predark cryogenic suspension, she brings twentieth-century healing skills to a nightmare.
Jak Lauren: A true child of the wastelands, reared on adversity, loss and danger, the albino teenager is a fierce fighter and loyal friend.
Dean Cawdor: Ryanâs young son by Sharona accepts the only world he knows, and yet he is the seedling bearing the promise of tomorrow.
In a world where all was lost, they are humanityâs last hope.â¦
Prologue
The four of them stood in the darkened vanadium-steel room in the guts of the shattered redoubt: a tall rangy man in a tattered greatcoat; a well-built woman whose hair showed auburn highlights in the backsplash from their lamps off gleaming metal walls; a youth with a mane of long black hair hanging past his shoulders; another youth only a bit older, wearing a patched bomber jacket and glasses.
The woman played the bluish gleam of her solar-charging flash on the walls of what he took to be a hexagonal chamber. To the kid with glasses the walls looked like glass. What feeble illumination the quartet was able to muster wasnât enough to let his weak eyes see anything beyond the glass.
âShit,â the tall man said. âNothing in this place. No food, no ammo, no meds. Itâs been looted out. I feel like smashing those fancy windows.â
âWhat goodâll that do?â the woman asked.
The tall man shrugged. âMake me feel better.â