'But—'
Rourke cut her off. 'U.S. II headquarters was moving out so your people wouldn't make a raid and catch Chambers. And Sarah and the children couldn't make it across the Mississippi valley anyway—the radiation. So I've gotta stop them—before they get into the fallout zone.'
'If somehow we learn anything in Chicago, I will or my uncle will—we'll get word to you, somehow.'
'I know that,' Rourke answered.
'I hope you find them, John—and that they are well, and whole, and that you can make a life for them. Somewhere.'
'The Retreat,' Rourke said emotionlessly. 'The Retreat—only place safe.
It's safe against anything except a direct hit, enough supplies to live for years, growing lights for the plants to replenish the oxygen—and that stream gives me electrical power. I can seal the place to make it airtight. But Sarah was right in a way; it is a cave. I don't know if I can see raising two children in a cave—even a cave with all the conveniences.'
'You don't have any choice—you didn't start the war,' she said, her voice suddenly guilt-tinged he thought.
'Neither did you, Natalia—neither did you,' he murmured. She leaned tighter against him and he held her tighter.
'If I close my eyes, I can imagine it.'
'What?' he asked, feeling dumb for saying it.
'That things were different and we could he—' She didn't finish the thought.
Rourke touched his lips to her forehead as he leaned back, her head on his shoulder. As he closed his eyes, he murmured the word that she hadn't said—'lovers.' He listened to the evenness of her breathing long past the time he should have fallen asleep. ...
Using the rope—all of it—Rourke and Natalia had engineered a pulley system for getting the bikes up onto the highway. And he was committed now, he knew: The storm showed no signs of abating, but the longer he delayed taking up the search, the closer Sarah and the children might get to the irradiated zone, the rnore chance there was that they would slip through his fingers. He wanted to catch up with them in the Carolinas—it was the only chance now.
It was the only chance now, because without the plane, it would be impossible to drop Natalia safely near Russian-dominated territory—northern Indiana. Rourke's original plan had been to leave Natalia where she would be safe, then to drop Paul in Tennessee. He would have flown then as close to Savannah as possible—he and Paul catching Sarah and the children between them.
The very act of starting one motorcycle toward the road was a commitment to abandon the shelter of the aircraft fuselage, for one man by himself could not control the bike and get the bike elevated—even with Natalia helping him. And now, as Rourke coiled the last of the ropes, hisownHarley and Paul's bike as well on the road surface, he glanced back down to the shelter of the fuselage. He was already chilled, despite the fact that he wore fwo pairs oi jeans, three shirts, his crew-necked
sweater, and jacket. Using spare bootlaces, he had secured Natalia's sleeping bag over her coat, to give her added warmth. She would ride behind Paul on his bike.
The plan was simple—the only one possible under the circumstances. The heart of the storm seemed to be to the south and west. With luck, Paul and Natalia would be driving out of the storm while he, Rourke, drove into it.
With its intensity, Rourke assumed it couldn't last much longer at any event.
Rourke would start from Tennessee and cut down into Georgia, perhaps as far down as the massive craters that had once been metropolitan Atlanta; he still had a Geiger counter, as did Paut. Then he would zigzag back and forth with his farthest range being the lower Carolinas. Paul, after leaving Natalia in safe territory, would travel back, retracing the route down from northern Indiana to Tennessee, then strike straight for Savannah from there. With luck one of them would intercept Sarah and Michael and Annie. In two weeks, he and Paul would rendezvous at the Retreat—hopefully one of them with Rourke s family in tow.
The Metalifed and Mag-Na-Ported six-inch Colt Python in the flap holster at his waist, Rourke began making a last minute check of his gear. The Python and his other guns had been freshly lubricated with Break-Free CLP
which would resist the sub-freezing temperatures. The Lowe Alpine Systems Loco pack was secure behind the seat of the Low Rider, the CAR-wrapped in plastic and secured to the pack, a blanket under the plastic to protect the gun in the event of a skid. He glanced along the icy road surface; a skid was highly likely.
He started his bike, letting the engine warm up as he walked back toward Natalia and Paul. Rubenstein's bike
was already loaded and started.
Rubenstein started to say something, but Rourke cut him off. He wasn't certain why, but an urgency seemed now to obsess him. 'You memorized those strategic fuel supply locations so you can get gasoline?'
'Yes—yeah, I did,' the younger man said, looking strange without his glasses; but with the snow falling, it would have been impossible to see through them.
'And (ake it real slow—really slow until you start getting out of this.
Just be careful all the way, even after you've gotten through the weather—a sudden temperature—'
'John—I'll do all right. Take it easy.' Rubenstein extended his gloved right hand, then pulled the glove away.
Rourke hesitated a moment, then pulled off his own glove. 'I know you will Paui—I know. I just—ahh . . .' Rourke simply shook his head, clamping his jaw tight and wishing he had a cigar there to chew on.
'I'll walk you back to your motorcycle,' Natalia said quietly, taking Rourke's bare right hand as soon as he
