hyperventilate.
'John—my God. I was afraid of this. You aren't supposed to— Here.' She began massaging his chest, then started to give him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He felt her lips against his, felt the rush of air making him choke. He coughed and felt her rolling his head to the side. He vomited again, but nothing came out.
'I'm going to give you this.' She reached into a small black leather case and extracted a hypodermic. 'This will block the effect of the muscle relaxant I gave you. It'll take effect almost immediately.'
He felt the needle, closing his eyes against it and the pain in his already sore arm. 'I'll wait with you beforel give you more morphine—once the muscle relaxant is
Sarah Rourke shivered, despite the warmth from the truck's heater, despite the fact the children, wrapped in their blankets, were warm now.
She had found an M-under the seat; it said M-on the side. It looked identical to the rifle she had lost so she now adopted it as her own.
She shivered because of what she was doing. She drove the main roads, passing into Tennessee now, and the main roads could mean Soviet troops or Brigands. She knew.that Chattanooga had been neutron-bombed; by now it would be safe to drive near or through.
The ground dropped sharply as she saw Chattanooga for the first time—no smoke from its chimneys, no cars. The road angled sharply left and she cut her speed slightly as she made the curve; the pickup's steering was not the world's best, she had decided.
As she started out of the curve, she glanced across at Michael and Annie.
They slept in each other's arms.
She looked back at the road. She sucked in her breaib, almost screaming.
A hundred yards ahead, perhaps—judging distance accurately had never been her strong point, she knew—
and the road was flanked on the right by the end of a long-reaching column of trucks and other vehicles, motorcycles parked near them. The men standing near the trucks and motorcycles were Soviet troops.
She glanced at the children. They were asleep and she'd let them stay that way.
She slipped the M-under the seat, then pulled her . and cocked the hammer, locking up the thumb safety catch, then sliding it under her right thigh. She kept driving, not speeding her pace, not slowing. She noticed the quizzical expressions on the faces of some of the Soviet soldiers who turned toward her as she passed.
One young man waved and she waved back, suddenly glancing in the mirror at her hair. It was greasy- looking from being wet so long. She ran her right hand through it. She kept driving.
She made a mental count of the vehicles—in case she reached the Mulliner farm. She could tell Mary's son and he could pass the information Jo U.S.
Intelligence through the Resistance group he worked with.
'Eighty-one, eight-two, eight-three—' She stomped on the brake pedal, almost forgetting the clutch, not knowing what else to do when six soldiers with rifles stepped in front of her truck. The one who seemed the oldest raised his right hand in a gesture for her to stop.
Her blood froze.
Glancing into the rear-view, she saw, through the bullet-holed window, men closing ranks behind her.
The older man approached her truck on the driver's side.
She rolled down the window.
His English was heavily accented but perfectly understandable to her.
Your papers—travel permits.'
'They are lovely children there. I must see your papers, madam.'
She glanced at Michael and Annie, still sleeping. 'Thank you—rny son and daughter.'
'Your papers, madam.' He smiled, his right hand outstretched.
She could shoot him, she thought—but then, Michael and Annie would be killed when all the others with their rifles and handguns would shoot back.
'I—I don't—'
'What is the problem, Sergeant?'
She looked away from the sergeant's face, in the same direction the sergeant, the older man with the smile, turned and looked.
A tall officer, perhaps in his late thirties. Good-looking. She knew the face.
'Major—' she gasped, feeling like a fool—and feeling trapped.
'Comrade Major Borozeni, I stopped this truck to request papers of this woman. She apparently has no travel permit.'
'I, ah—' She started to lie, but saw the look of recognition in the major's eyes—and the eyes, the face, they were all familiar. She had last seen him, hatless, wei, swearing after her in the rain outside of Savannah, after she had held him at gunpoint and forced him to help her effect the release of the Resistance fighters.
'I will handle this, Krasny,' the major said. 'Take your men aside.'
The major approached the truck cab. Standing just a yard or so from (he side of the door, his height was
