'Don't worry, Mr. Ravensmith, no more trivia about the amazing aqueduct system of California, or should I say former system. Actually, I memorized all that stuff from a magazine I found here in the old man's cabin. One of about a dozen magazines. Everybody here's read them all a couple times each, just for something to do. Too bad he didn't read books.'
'Aren't there any other camps around here like yours?' Rydell asked.
'A couple,' He pointed toward the east. 'A bunch of Vietnamese live about ten miles that way. We trade with them sometimes. Eggs for nails. Milk for water. They're fair enough people, but pretty clannish.'
'Have you thought about asking them to join your group?' Molly said,
Joseph shrugged. 'Incest is one thing, but some attitudes don't change. Half of the people here are afraid of them, afraid they'll get their throats slit in the night. Gil Clyne lost his son in Vietnam and he's convinced the others not to risk it. So we'll go on like this until we're so bored we'll take the chance.'
'Any other settlements?' Eric asked.
'Well, there's one we heard about from a couple men passing through about six weeks ago. Place called Savvytown.'
'Savvytown,' Tracy laughed.
'Yeah, I know. But that's what they called it.'
'What do you know about it?' Eric asked.
'Not much. Just that if you're smart, you'll stay away from it.' Abruptly, Joseph pushed his chair back from the table and started toward the door. 'Sorry we can't give you any food, but we're a little short there ourselves. Let's get those canteens filled.'
Foxworth nudged Toomey. 'What do you think?'
'I think there are more of them than there are of us.'
Foxworth thought about that. 'Yeah. I thought Ravensmith was supposed to be alone.'
'Well he isn't,' Toomey snapped.
'What's eating you?'
'Nothing. Nothing.' But, of course, something was. At thirty-six, Scott Toomey was at least fifteen years older than Foxworth. He was a Vietnam veteran, though he'd never seen any actual combat there, and had always felt a bit ashamed of that fact. When he'd returned from his tour, friends and family were always asking him what it had been like. He'd give them all the same response, a distant look and a mumbled, 'I'd rather not talk about it.' They would all nod, sympathizing with his tortured memories.
Actually, he had no experiences to tell them, except how many paper cuts he got from filing all day long in Saigon. It was the worst humiliation of Scott Toomey's life, to have gone off to war and yet never seen a single battle. When he'd heard a few months before the quake that Colonel Fallows was recruiting some men, he'd thought it was for some mercenary action somewhere in Africa. Finally, combat! He'd tossed in the apron with Toomey's Hardware stitched in red across the pocket and left his father's store for the last time. He'd never had a moment's regret, especially since the quakes. He'd done his share of killing, raping, looting. And it was everything he always hoped it would be. If he did have any regret it was that now that he finally had some real war stories to tell, all of his friends were back in New Jersey.
Now he was crouching here with some punk kid who smelled of dog all the time. He still didn't know why he'd volunteered, he'd been around long enough to know better. But there was something about the way Fallows had looked at him… Well, it was done. This would be just another story to tell them back in Trenton.
'I make out six of them. Two on guard over there, and four down getting water from that camp.'
Foxworth nodded. 'Yeah, I get the same.'
Toomey snorted.
'Well, what's our plan? There are six of them and two of us.'
'Yeah, but they don't know we're here. So we take 'em out one at a time. Hit and run. Starting with those two.' He pointed toward Tag and Season.
'Look at them tits, man. If we got the time, can I fuck her?'
'Before or after we kill her?'
Foxworth shrugged. 'It don't matter.'
'Are we ever going to make it, you think?' Season asked.
'Sure,' Tag said. 'We'll probably catch up to them in-'
'I don't mean that kind of make it. I mean make it, as in make love. You and me.'
'Oh, well, I don't, uh, know. I hadn't really-'
'You hadn't thought about it? Thanks a lot.'
'That's not what I meant. Sure, I've thought of it, but… Christ, what brought this up?'
Season slipped her bandanna off her head, wadded it, wiped the sweat from her face and neck, and tied it back on. 'Let's be realistic. We're human beings, regardless of how Eric treats us, and we have certain, you know, needs. Companionship, love, sex.'
'Right now our needs are limited to food and water.'
'Yeah, but we've been okay there. Hell, look at Molly and Rydell. They've been playing a little slap-and-tickle at night. They haven't actually done the dirty deed yet, but first time they've got five minutes alone they will.' She smiled. 'It's kind of nice. Romantic.'
'What's that have to do with us?'
'Well, besides you, the only other available man for me right now, unless Rydell and Molly have a spat, is Eric. And that's not likely. Not that I wouldn't be interested, but he's too possessed right now. Too many demons in his head. Besides, Tracy's got her eye on him. Not that I couldn't give her a run for her money.'
Tag shook his head. 'Tracy? You're nuts. She hasn't said a thing, done anything to suggest what you're implying.'
'Trust me, Tag,' she said, patting his arm. 'A woman can tell. Not that she'd do anything about it; she's got too much class for that. She's-'
Tag held up his hand for silence. 'Hear that?'
Season tightened the grip on her bow, her fingers tugging slightly on the string. She hunched forward, swiveling her head to listen. Tag saw the intensity on her face, was reminded of African tribeswomen smeared with stripes of colored mud as they hunted, spear in hand. He felt a rush of desire flame down his chest, stomach, flickering through his groin.
They stood without moving or breathing for a full minute, eyes darting through the desert brush, noses unconsciously sniffing for the smell of men. Finally, they looked at each other, shrugged, relaxed a hit.
Tag pointed down at Eric and the others filling their canteens. 'Looks like they were successful. That's the first oasis I've ever seen outside a movie. Somehow it doesn't look as real as in the movies.'
'It's got water. That's real enough.'
'I guess it's a good thing we've been traveling mostly at night. Rydell told me that we each need a gallon of water a day to survive in the desert, but that at night we can cover twice as much mileage on that gallon as during the day. Twenty miles as opposed to ten.'
'Yeah, I saw Beau Geste too. Only trouble is, so did Fallows, and he's been covering the same ground. More, because his men are in better shape.'
Tag nodded, fell silent. He tried to catch a glimpse of Season out of the corner of his eye, see if she was still looking at him. He'd never had much trouble finding girls, but this one overwhelmed him. All the qualities he had to push himself to have-courage, humor, forth-rightness-she displayed easily. 'You know, Season, uh, about what you said before-'
'You understand the Dewey Decimal System?'
'Huh?'
'All those ridiculous numbers. You understand them?'
'Yeah. It's based on a classification formulated by W.T. Harris for the St. Louis Public Library. Melvil Dewey devised it in 1873 for the Amherst College Library. In it, all knowledge is divided into ten groups, with each group assigned a hundred numbers. Then-'
'Okay, okay. I didn't understand it before and you're not making it any easier. I just figure we should get to know each other a bit better since we're kind of like the last two people at a singles bar. Eventually we're going to go home together, so we might as well enjoy each other's company. Make sense?'
