And then someone told them about the radiation.
The Old Man looked at the dosimeter.
It’s very high here.
Kyle knows I am worried about the right tread. I hope he doesn’t ask me to drive over those fire engines. Besides, we must be getting near Ground Zero, and it should be time to go around the actual bomb site.
Ground Zero.
I have not used those words… since I cannot remember when.
The Old Man marveled at the thought.
Those words were once a common part of my vocabulary. Of all our vocabularies. I remember entire conversations, courses of action, fears that were based on those two simple little words. Ground Zero.
As if listening in on the Old Man’s thoughts, the four torches veered to the left, heading into the gray and dusty ruins of a darkened casino. It loomed high above the tiny tank and the three figures like some scavenger bird of the wasteland. The wings of the two towers almost enveloped the street and all within it like a hunched and greedy eater of carrion.
We’ve passed the unmanned defenses of this Army of Crazy. If they’re anywhere, they’ll be hunkered down from this storm, inside one of these old places. Waiting for us.
And…
I don’t want to go in there. I don’t want anyone, any of these children, to have to go into that dilapidated and evil pile of ruin.
But we must, my friend. There is no other way through this city. No other way to stay on the road and keep the tank from throwing a tread, which we could never fix. If we take our chances on the side streets we could end up caught in one of their traps. Trust these children, my friend.
But why would they help us like this?
And the Old Man thought of his own journey and General Watt. Natalie.
When the Old Man didn’t follow immediately, Kyle, masked and armored, turned back in the thundering wind and waved both torches toward the tank and then back toward himself.
Are you sure?
He must be.
The Old Man pivoted the tank, once again feeling the weakness in the right tread, wondering if it wasn’t the control mechanisms that were responsible for his suspicions.
They attacked at that moment.
They came gushing out of the casino’s open mouth.
The Old Man watched through the hazy green optics of night vision as wild figures surged downward upon the three torchbearers.
At once, bright flashes erupted from the rifles of Grayson and Trash.
A bare-chested man waving an iron pipe studded with spikes was flung backward onto the rotting shreds of carpet that once dressed the steps of the palace.
A one-armed giant hurled a heavy stone, nearly crushing Grayson who batted it away with his arm. The Old Man saw the arm go limp, but Grayson continued to fire into the onslaught with the other.
Lumbering men in armor that shimmered in small points of white fuzz by the green light of night vision raced forward, leaping over downed comrades, waving machetes and nail-studded clubs. They wore turbans that wrapped their faces.
With her machine gun, Trash stitched a bright line of death across their charge, flinging some sideways as others stumbled forward waving their blades halfheartedly while blood pumped out darkly onto the dusty steps and shredded carpet. They fell before they reached her.
Now she was reloading, and the Old Man could see that the shimmering armor of the crazies was made up of coins. Coins that had been hole punched and stitched together into coats of mail.
Their coin-mail armor must be good against hand weapons but guns are another story.
He felt the Boy at his side.
“Sit down in there.” He pointed toward the gunner’s seat. “Look through this and you’ll see what’s going on.”
The Boy slithered past him.
When the Old Man looked into the night-vision scope, he saw Kyle moving forward, while Grayson covered him holding his rifle with his good arm. Trash seemed to be intent on fixing her battered rifle while still walking forward.
Her weapon is jammed.
The attackers were retreating now, disappearing into the dark gray of the casino halls beyond the once- grand entrance of marble and arch.
Kyle mounted the steps, waving his torches forward over his shoulders, indicating the tank should follow them in.
The Old Man gently pushed forward on the sticks and the tank began to mount the steps.
The attackers were all gone now.
Trash turned and waved at him with her torch, showing him how much room he had to thread the opening into the casino.
The Old Man gave it more gas, hearing the top of the archway leading to the casino scrape against the turret and then give way in a stony crumble of dust and metal that bounced off the armor above their heads.
Inside, a large dust-covered marble lobby vaulted toward a high domed ceiling of broken glass and blackened ironwork. Kyle waved both torches into an X and laid them on the debris-littered marble floor. He ran to the back of the tank, out of sight, and the Old Man knew he would hear from him on the small telephone attached to the rear of the tank.
“We can’t make it any farther down the street,” yelled Kyle over the internal hum of the communications system and the howling wind outside. “Follow us through this casino. On the other side of the machines there’s another entrance back onto the street on the far side of Ground Zero.”
“Okay,” said the Old Man.
“Oh,” said Kyle almost as an afterthought. “Does this thing have any ammo for its gun? Ours did a long time ago but we used that up.”
“There are eleven rounds left.”
“Don’t fire in here! It’s too dangerous. These buildings are barely standing up.”
The line went dead, and shortly after, Kyle reappeared in the fuzzy gray optics, picking up his torches and waving them forward over his shoulders in bright white blurs of light and shadowy smoke toward a long hallway that stretched off into the depths of the casino.
When it became so dark inside the long hallway that the Old Man could see nothing but gray, green, and ash, he switched on the tank’s high beams and turned off the night vision.
They followed a wide way of rotting red carpet and dust-covered advertising. Signs that had once held meaning remained embedded in graffiti-gouged wood paneling. Beautiful girls, faded and long dead, promised wealth untold. Thrilling spectacles dully offered entertainments that were sure to dazzle. There were even peeling pictures of unending amounts of food.
Lobster.
I had forgotten about lobster!
Concentrate, Old Man!
They entered a massive room of slot machines and overturned gaming tables. Silvery coins lay heaped in piles. Large torches guttered from makeshift holders along the walls. Campfires burned intermittently among the arranged stockades of slot machines.
The Old Man could see the three guides talking among themselves as they moved slowly forward.
They’re worried. They didn’t expect this.
We’ve walked into a hornets’ nest.
Sudden dark shadows arched through the upper atmosphere of the room and began to fall among the tank and the three guides.
They’re firing arrows at us!
