I swung the starting handle. It made a puttering sound.
“Lightly press the gas pedal,” I called. “The carb’s dry.”
I tried again. This time it made a sharp coughing sound. Only it didn’t fire properly. Instead, the misfire yanked the starting handle from my hand and whipped it backward so the iron handle cracked against my forearm. Pain blistered white hot through the bone. Shit. I whispered a little prayer to my guardian angel that the blow hadn’t snapped a bone.
“Are you OK?”
I glanced up to see Michaela anxiously looking through the windshield. I shook my hand. My fingers tingled like crazy.
“Fine. She misfired, that’s all.”
I wish.
Once again I took a grip of the starting handle. My arm didn’t hurt any more intensely. Come to that, it didn’t hurt any less, either, so I figured I hadn’t broken a bone.
“I reckon you’ve got fifteen seconds to get moving,” Zak called. He cocked the shotgun.
“Fifteen seconds is plenty, buddy.” Gritting my teeth against the pain, I swung the handle again. This time the engine roared. With a thumbs-up to Zak, who sat astride the Harley, I jumped into the passenger seat. Michaela hit the gas and the little ’Nam vet Jeep bulleted out the doorway like it was rocket-powered. The three bikes kept just a little ahead as we swung onto the main road, then powered away. I glanced back to see a dozen or so hornets break away from the pack to run after us. The rear wheels of the Jeep flung dirt into their faces and we were gone.
As soon as we were well clear of the hornets we settled down to around forty. Now I had a chance to sit in the open-topped vehicle and enjoy the breeze shooting through my hair, and to feel a good meaty slice of satisfaction. I’d done good work on that old engine. OK, so it ran with a throaty roar, but everything functioned a hundred percent. Every so often Zak or Tony or Ben would glance back to give a thumbs-up sign. The roads were clear. What debris the Jeep couldn’t ride over it nimbly sidestepped. Beside me, Michaela’s dark eyes locked onto the road. She had the concentration of a hawk. There wasn’t a stone or a bottle on the road she missed. I found myself gazing at the waves of dark hair rippling in the slipstream. In fact it was so wonderful it was hard for me to look away. And here’s the craziest thing: I felt this big, goofy smile on my face. Michaela was something else.
When she realized she was being watched she turned and shot me a warm smile. Once she even reached out to rest her hand on my knee.
For a while I allowed myself my reward: to ride in an open-topped Jeep through a forest wilderness. Beside me, a beautiful woman with raven feather hair and eyes black as onyx. Now that’s a good enough reward for any man. I took that hour’s ride as the sun set and cut it free of a lousy past and a dangerous future. I just wanted to live in that moment.
But here’s the brutal part: I couldn’t for long. Because I knew I’d lured these people into something called hope. At the best of times hope is as fragile as a butterfly’s wings. Sure, I knew we were headed to Sullivan to collect the dynamite. Sure, I knew I planned to bust my way into Phoenix’s concrete fairy castle, with its treasure house of food stocks that would keep our bellies full for years. But by doing that I’d forced this little bunch of hunted teenagers to gamble what little resources they had. They’d use up their gas and their ammo on this scheme of mine. If it failed, at best they’d go hungry. At worst… well, you’ll recall what I said about filling in those blanks…
We camped out on a hill overlooking Sullivan. The town was probably no more than ten minutes’ ride away. There were no hornets in the neighborhood to give us a sleepless night. And no way would we get any surprise callers from Sullivan. That little community was locked down tight. No one went in, no one came out; those were the rules. They were broken on pain of death. After we’d made camp beneath the trees I noticed Ben standing on the edge of a bluff, looking down over the lake toward the town. With the time before midnight, Sullivan’s lights still burned out of that vast sea of darkness. Hell, that darkness had encompassed the whole country. Because make no bones about it, every other town and city that had ever existed had been shattered to their foundations. Only Sullivan had streetlights that lit the roads. Across the black lake water there’d still be some kids in the diner. Or maybe some held a party by a pool, complete with a barbecue and a tubful of cold beers. Maybe a little of Mel’s weed was being smoked, too. Just for a moment I thought I heard music. Any night could be party night in Sullivan. Hypnotized, we stood there in the warm night air and watched
At last I saw Ben shiver like something cold had just crept over his grave. “You wish you were still back there, Ben?”
“Of course I do. I wish I was sipping a beer and listening to Hendrix. That would be enough right now.”
“Sounds like paradise!”
“You can say that again.”
“But you know the place was going rotten, Ben.”
“Maybe it would have held together.”
I shook my head. “The people are so paranoid they’ll wind up burning each other in the streets. Remember what happened to Lynne?”
“They were just scared, Greg.”
“Yeah, so scared they were prepared to murder their own neighbors.”
He still stared out across at the town’s lights. “You can’t go back there. You know that, don’t you?” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “I can dream, buddy. I can dream.”
Lightly, I slapped him on the back. “Come on, buddy. Time to turn in. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
Forty-six
“You’re out of your mind, Valdiva! You’re getting nothing!”
“I need two hundred pounds of dynamite. Detonators. Fuse wire.”
“Valdiva, if you don’t get the hell out of here all you will get is shot. OK?”
“Mike, we need that dynamite. Believe me, we need it to keep people alive out here.”
“Get away from here, Greg. You’re not welcome in Sullivan. Neither are your friends.”
Ben squatted beside me in the ditch that ran within a hundred yards of the high fence that separated Sullivan from the outside world. “See? I told you they wouldn’t give you any dynamite.” His hands shook as he clasped the rifle to his chest. “Did you really think they’d say ‘Oh, welcome back, boys. Here’s what you need’?”
“No, but they’ll give it to us in the end.”
“For crying out loud, how, Greg?”
We squatted low in the ditch with the dirt wall ending just above our heads. Sullivan must have had hornet trouble, because around a dozen hornet corpses with bullet holes in their chests rotted down here with us. The stink felt strong enough to peel the top off your skull.
“Jesus, Greg, I’m gonna throw up if I stay here any longer.”
“Come on, Ben, I need you, buddy. We’ll get the stuff.”
“Some time, never. Aw, Jesus, I’ve been kneeling on a head… what a smell! Christ, it’s full of maggots.”
I let Ben alone as he complained. He had some cause to. This wasn’t going to be easy. OK, so the first part had been simple enough. At sunrise Ben and I had come down here on foot. No way was I going to give any trigger-happy guard on the gate an easy target, so we’d crept as close to the gate as we could along the drainage ditch. I didn’t count on rotting dead men for company, though. I’d recognized the guard on the gate as Mike Richmond. I didn’t figure he’d shoot if he saw us: we were his old beer buddies, after all. But he was vicious enough when he saw our faces. And when I’d asked for the dynamite he turned us down flat. What’s more, he must have called out the Guard. Coming up the road rolled a fleet of trucks and police cars, sirens whooping.
Ben looked over the top of the ditch. “Oh, fuck, Greg, he’s invited a shooting party.”
“Perfect. It gives us chance to talk to the boss.”
“They won’t talk, they’ll fire… Jesus, this stinks. I can’t breathe.”
When the dust raised by the tires had blown aside I eased my head up above the ditch top. The townspeople weren’t tossing caution to the wind either. I saw a line of heads just above the vehicles. In the morning sun I could
