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With the gathering clouds, the dusk came creeping across the hills at uncanny
speed. The road that Strasser had picked to take them away from their
unrelentless pursuers was an old tourist trail that snaked across the face of
the cliffs, down toward the misty crystal glitter of the spray. Over the years
it had suffered badly from earth slips and rainwash. Now its surface varied
from barely adequate to razor-edge dangerous. Gil Mendoza, barely recovered
from his flirtation with death, gripped the small steering wheel, his foot
permanently on the brake, peering out through the ob-slit at the narrow track.
"Can't you go any faster?"
"No, boss. Not without turning us over the side of the trail."
"All right, all right. Once we get to the bottom we should make better time."
"But, boss, there's "
Strasser leaned forward and gripped the driver by the back of his scrawny
neck, fingers biting in like steel claws. "Just drive."
"Soon be full dark."
"No lights showing anyplace," Jak said. "Can't see nobody."
Ryan glanced automatically across to Krysty who half smiled, but held her
peace.
Once they'd come to within the mile, they'd all filtered off to the right,
keeping close to the fringe of trees in case Strasser's narrow eyes were
squinting at them along the barrel of his SVD PSO-1 with its telescopic sight.
Now the ville was less than a quarter mile away from them.
"You hear the wag?" Ryan asked Krysty.
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"No. Not for a half hour or more. Must be long gone by now."
Strasser looked out the side ob-slit, seeing that they'd finally descended to
within a couple hundred feet of the river. Below lay the gorge with the
tumbled ruins of the beautiful train, its inlaid walnut paneling and Waterford
mirrors in splintered fragments.
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"It's near dark," he said.
"Doing my best, boss, but you see what the trail's like."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Strasser nibbled at the ragged corner of a nail. "Will
Cawdor come after us? And how close can he get?"
"No other serviceable wags in that shit ville," Rafe replied.
"True, comrade, true." The skull-faced man sighed deeply. "But I just got a
feeling that he's going to come anyway. Like a shadow you can't shake off your
shoulder. Like seeds in a melon. Like warm blood on your hand when you gut
some bastard. You can't get away from it." There was a long silence, and the
wag lurched slowly onward. Strasser suddenly leaned in his seat and clipped
Mendoza hard across the back of the head. "Put your fucking foot to the metal,
you triple-
stupe bastard!"
The town was deserted. The sickle moon peered over the surrounding mountains
as the six friends walked slowly among the ghostly hulks of the ruined,
tumbling buildings. The township had suffered far greater damage than
Salvation.
There was no evidence that it had been occupied for many years, and Ryan's
hope of finding some sort of transport plunged. J.B. picked up the tracks of
Strasser's arma wag, leaving the ville and turning south at the crossroads,
heading down a winding trail that looked as if it were going to plunge
straight into the river, way below,
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"Think we'll ever see him again, lover?" Krysty asked.
Ryan rested the flat of his hand gently against the carved plane of her cheek,
looking deep into her eyes. "What d'you think? What d'you see, lover?"
Her fingers, strong and capable, tangled with his. "Can't see. See only dark,
lover.
That's about all."
"Same here. I know he's got clear away, but I just have a feeling, like a
shadow that sits at your shoulder."
"They don't work, boss." A tremor of naked terror shook the man's voice.
"Ah."
Rafe risked his own well-being again. "There was no way of knowing we'd want
to use the wag so soon, or at night."
Strasser coughed. "And the bitching exhaust doesn't work. All right. The
lights don't work and we're on a narrow trail, right by the river. What do we
do? The slut here could get out and walk in front of us. How about that,
Rosa?"
"Don't like walking, Cort, baby. Like sitting. You know that. Like the way I
sit on your "
He touched her soft lips with the muzzle of the Stechkin. "Take care, Rosa. Be
real careful what you say."
"Could camp here. No way they can get around us, and there's only this track.
Be easy to guard it. What d'you say, boss?"
"I didn't say a thing, Rafe. Let's go a mite farther." He nudged Rosa. "Out,
bitch."
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Mildred spotted the sign on the top floor of a row of weather-beaten stores.
"Look," she said, pointing. "There."
Doc read the faded sign. Trail Riders. Off-Trail Bikes.
"Two-wheel wags you push with pedals," Ryan said. "Seen them around a couple
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of villes. Hard work. That what they are?"
"Let's go see." Mildred led the way up a dangerous, rotting flight of stairs,
the treads painted in alternate strips of red, gold and green.
The door was gone, and the interior gaped silently in the semidarkness. Night
had almost come, but they could still see the piles of tangled metal.
"Well, I'll be& "Doc said.
"Stop here for the night," Ryan decided. "If Strasser's gone, then he's gone.
Be up at first light and then we can see what we got here."
Mendoza was dead.
When Rosa had come out of the night, tottering on her high heels, to announce
that the road ahead was irrevocably blocked by a huge slide of red earth, the
driver had turned to announce to his boss that he'd known that all along.
"You didn't let me tell you," the man had complained.
Strasser snapped his neck with a single, savage blow to his nape.
"Throw that in the river. And we'll camp here."
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Chapter Thirty-Four
FROM THE PILES of bicycles that were cluttered together, it took well over an
hour to come up with enough serviceable machines for all six of them. Even
then, to their mutual disgust, there were only four solo bikes, which left
Mildred and
Doc as the reluctant collaborators on an electric-blue tandem.
Breakfast had been some strips of tough jerky, washed down with water. Ryan
was still worried that the devious Strasser might appear from some dark hole
and strike at them. He couldn't believe that his enemy had truly gotten clear
away.
Fortunately the tires on the bikes were a rot-proof plastic material and stood
being pumped up without more than a couple going stubbornly flat. The store
held a display of service manuals for the machines, so readying them presented
few problems. Riding them was a different matter.
Jak took to the new skill with his customary ease, quickly discovering the
excitement of wheelies. Ryan, Krysty and J.B. coped without too much
difficulty.
Back in Harmony ville, as a young girl, Krysty had ridden a beat-up old
bicycle.
The old truth held good. "Once you've done it, you never really forget how,"
she said.
The bikes had sixteen gears, and that took some mastering. But within a half
hour all four could ride up and down the main street of the settlement, and
turn, without falling.
Doc and Mildred didn't find it so easy.
First off there was the problem of who was going to ride up front and steer,
and who would sit at the back and just provide the pedal power.
"I'm going at the front," Doc insisted. "As the senior partner "
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"No way, Doc. I'm younger, so I should be doing the steering."
Doc considered that. "Then I provide all of the power& Perhaps that is the
best idea after all. Very well, madam, I agree." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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