By James Axler
A nuclear apocalypse nearly destroyed Western civilization in 2001, leaving instead the forbidding global of Deathlands. even though the human spirit has no longer been damaged, the nuw principles of survival are harsh and barbaric. As barons struggle for strength in a savage new the USA, energy is alleged with the salvaged arsenals of a predark global: guns, fuel and people prepared to kill.
The Marshall Islands, as soon as the checking out grounds for twentieth-century guns olf mass destruction, is still perversely attractive. however the infested waters develop into the battleground for looting pirates and sec males in still-functional military PT boats, all pushed by way of greed and insanity to plunder the predark caches of technological know-how and know-how hidden within the islands. Ryan Cawdor and his warrior band emerge during this perilous waterworld, stuck in a grim struggle to unencumber the secrets and techniques of the previous.
within the Deathlands, the associated fee for survival is excessive.
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Extra resources for Deathlands 53 Savage Armada
B. said, standing at the fence. " Dean asked, furrowing his brow. " The Armorer smiled. "Most things look that way after getting blown apart. " "We're going to have a bitch of a job carving a path through," Ryan said, releasing the redhead and going to the fence. But not too close. " Just then, Krysty jerked her weapon free and glanced upward. " Jak asked, raising his hand cannon and following her gaze. But the sky was clear. Just the usual stormy clouds full of acid, sheet lightning and fiery rads.
Every passing moment was pouring new strength into his body, but that odd smell was still lingering about them like flies over a corpse. "Bad? " Sitting with his back to a wall of the unit, John Barrymore Dix rubbed his pale face with both hands. He covered his features for a moment, massaging his temples. A compact Uzi lay at his side, while a S&W 12-gauge shotgun was draped across his shoulder. On the floor alongside was a canvas bag with a dull red stick of dynamite and length of bright yellow fuse peeking from under the loose flap.
A frag hidden in the light fixture. " "Good," Dean said in approval, slapping at a skeeter on his neck. He pulled away his hand and saw a tiny smear of blood on the palm. " "I thought you were down to your last gren? Where did you get the plas? Never mind," Krysty said, glancing at the smooth path leading from the hole in the fence to the edge of the mesa. " Going to the hole in the fence, she saw a pathway of churned earth wandering through the piles of rubbish and rusted metal going all the way to the edge of the mesa.