Terminator Salvation - From the Ashes

and I will go get it. You brought your own containers, I trust?”

“Yes, we have some collapsible plastic ones,” Nguyen said. “If you’d like, I or some of my men can come with you and give you a hand.”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Orozco assured him, gesturing to Kyle. Like he was naive enough to show a group of perfect strangers where their stash of gasoline was hidden. “Kyle, go check out the Colt from the weapons locker and put it on. Mr. Nguyen, just bring the burro to the front entrance, if you would.”

Five minutes later, Orozco and Kyle left the archway, crossed the street, and headed down the somewhat narrower cross street that ran along the north side of their sniper nest building. A container-laden burro led by a frayed rope walked beside Orozco. Star, as always, walked beside Kyle.

“Keep your eyes open,” Orozco warned quietly as they reached the first corner and turned south.

He glanced back, checking to make sure none of Nguyen’s men were following. “We should be okay, but one of the gangs could be out trying for an early-bird special.”

“What’s an early-bird special?” Kyle asked.

Orozco grimaced. “Something restaurants and stores used to use to draw in customers. People who got there early could snatch up the easiest pickings. We don’t want those easy pickings to be us.”

“Oh,” Kyle said. “Speaking of stores, the blanket that’s supposed to be stored at the southeast sentry post is missing.”

“I know,” Orozco said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Did Ellis take it?” Kyle persisted. “I checked, and he was the one on shift before Star and me.”

Orozco sighed.

“Yes, he took it,” he said. “He also took some food and one of the .22s.”

Kyle stared at him.

“He left?”

“So it would seem,” Orozco said. “Keep that to yourself, please. I haven’t told the chief yet, and there’s going to be hell to pay when he finds out. Might as well wait until our visitors leave and we can hash it out in private.”

“Okay,” Kyle said, still sounding confused. “Why would he just leave like that?”

“Probably just got tired of the place,” Orozco told him. “Or got tired of the people, or the food, or the work. Or he’s just one of those kids who can’t stand to stay in one place very long. I’ve known some like that.”

Their gasoline stash, the underground fiberglass storage tank from a long-demolished service station, was located three blocks from the main Moldering Lost Ashes building. There had been hundreds of such stations in the L.A. area, and Orozco suspected that a large percentage of that supply was still down there, just waiting to be found.

The trick, as always, was to make sure that once you found something valuable, it stayed yours.

The passageway Grimaldi and his people had created leading to the tank went a long way toward accomplishing that, with the main entrance disguised as just another section of demolished building and a couple of decoy tunnels leading off the main route to guide any casual visitors harmlessly back to the surface.

But Grimaldi’s real genius was the hidden door he’d constructed that led into the storage tank chamber. He’d rigged a sliding door that would only open far enough for a child of ten or younger to squeeze through. Once inside, it was a simple matter of shifting a couple of two-by-fours to allow the door to open the rest of the way. Until that was done, though, adults and teens were out of luck.

The door was strong enough to stand up against all but the most determined physical attacks, and even if someone managed to force it open all he would get for his trouble would be a booby-trapped ceiling collapsing on top of him.

Orozco’s personal contribution to that genius was in tapping Kyle for this particular duty whenever possible. Very few people in the Ashes even knew where the gasoline was located, and of those only Orozco, Grimaldi, and a couple of others knew about the special door and how it operated. Star was so much a part of Kyle’s every movement that no one gave her a second thought anymore as she wandered around in the boy’s shadow.

Certainly no one would ever dream that her presence on a gasoline run had anything to do with the operation itself, let alone provided a vital key to it.

Which was exactly the way Orozco and Grimaldi wanted it. The gasoline was used almost exclusively as a trade good, and then only sparingly, with virtually none of it going to the building’s own activities. As a result, after five years of gradually drawing down the supply the tank was probably still half full.

Orozco had every intention of making sure that it was Moldering Lost Ashes—and only Moldering Lost Ashes—that finally drew down the last drop.

Unlike some of the beasts of burden Orozco had dealt with over the years, this particular burro had no problem letting itself be led into the cramped tunnel beyond the disguised entryway. Orozco kept a firm hand on the animal’s lead, alert to any sign that it might suddenly bolt. They reached the door, Star slipped inside, and two minutes later Orozco was carefully filling Nguyen’s canisters from the tap they’d drilled into the gasoline tank.

The tap had been specifically designed for low flow in order to minimize the chance of spillage, and drawing the promised ten gallons took over fifteen minutes. Orozco made sure the tap was securely closed, reset the backup safety system that would hopefully prevent a catastrophic spill if the tap’s seals somehow failed, then led the way out of the chamber back to the tunnel.

Star closed the door back down to its usual crack, reset the two-by-fours, and rejoined them.

Turning the burro around would have been difficult, so Orozco opted instead to leave via one of the decoy tunnels. It brought them back to street level a block from where they’d entered; getting his bearings, Orozco turned them back toward home.

They still had two blocks to go when a pair of gaunt and filthy teenaged boys suddenly appeared from broken doorways on opposite sides of the street five meters ahead.

“Freeze or bleed,” one of them ordered, hefting a long-barreled revolver in both hands and pointing it at Orozco’s chest.

Orozco felt his stomach tighten. Neither of the kids was a local, or at least not a local he recognized. Was this the vanguard of the gang Nguyen and his people had spotted on their way in?

“Take it easy,” he said soothingly. “I’m sure we can make a deal.”

“Well, would ya look at that?” another voice came from the right. Orozco turned, to see six more youths file out of a long ganghouse shack that seemed to be built mostly from cracked pieces of drywall. The boy in front was gripping an even bigger revolver than the sentry, the others sporting knives or clubs made from pieces of broken rebar. “We’ve hit the jackpot tonight, kiddies,” the teen with the revolver went on. He pointed the gun at the burro. “We got dinner—” he shifted his aim to Orozco’s holstered Beretta—“we got more guns—”

He leveled the gun at Star.

“And we even got ourselves some entertainment.”

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Never panic.

Orozco’s frequently repeated warning echoed through Kyle’s mind as the six teens spread out into a loose semicircle and started toward the three of them. Never, ever panic.

But it was very hard not to. He and Orozco had guns of their own, but they were still holstered at their sides. The teens’ two guns were already out and aimed.

“Take it easy,” Orozco called again. “There’s no need for trouble.”

“Maybe we like trouble,” the leader retorted. He had pulled a couple of paces ahead of the rest of his pack, his revolver pointed at Orozco’s stomach as he strode toward his victims.

“Maybe so, but I’ll bet your buddies would rather have goodies than broken bones,” Orozco countered, reaching behind him to give Kyle a gentle but imperative push backward and a little to the right.

Star plucked at Kyle’s sleeve.

“Not now,” Kyle muttered, trying desperately to come up with a plan. If he took a long step to his right, the