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Ryan glanced at Krysty, who shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.
"Why, Doc?" he asked.
"Food is in short supply, is it not? Two less aboard will help that."
"No. We stick together, Doc. We won't go far. Sounds like the wag might give
out under us. But if all's well we can be back before dark in the redoubt.
That please you?"
"I suppose it must, Ryan."
THE ROAD WEST, which paralleled the course of the stream, dipped into a tree-
lined valley that was still brimming with early-morning mist.
"Looks like a good place for an ambush," J.B. stated, wrestling with the
gears.
"Be an idea to close the rear doors and man the LMGs."
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The Armorer followed Ryan's suggestion, and the vehicle was sealed against any
attack.
There were sizable pools remaining at the sides of the street from the
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previous night's storm, the water hissing and splashing under the tracks of
the APC.
The road slewed to the right, across a narrow bridge, then straightened again,
going downhill with trees jostling in on both sides.
Ryan peered through the screen, the wipers going to clear away the rain that
dripped from the overhanging branches.
"Doesn't seem to be much life around here," J.B. commented, steering them
along the faded white line toward another bridge.
On the right they could both see the glint of water as they came down to the
stream's level. It was running brown and fast.
"Must've gone through that culvert and come right on out the other side." Ryan
wiped condensation off the inside of the shield. "Wonder where Abe's body
finished up?"
"Probably halfway down the Sippi by now. Dark night!" The gears made a hideous
grinding noise, and J.B. wrestled with the controls.
"Mebbe we ought to turn around and head back toward the lake and the redoubt."
Ryan settled himself in the bucket seat, trying to find a position that was
less uncomfortable.
Their speed had dropped to less than walking pace as they approached a very
sharp corner, with the road narrowed to a single lane.
It crossed Ryan's mind that if the muties were still in the area, then this
would be the time and the place for them to try to spring a trap. A tree
felled in front and one behind, and they could all be in some serious shit.
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He and the Armorer spotted the pale figure emerging slowly from the dense
undergrowth at exactly the same moment.
The brakes slammed on, bringing the wag to an instant shuddering halt. Nearly
everyone was taken by surprise at the stop and both Doc and Mildred actually
fell over.
Ryan had his pistol drawn, the combat reflex cutting in even before he'd
recognized the skinny, naked man standing thirty paces in front of them,
holding up his right hand.
Krysty recognized him from the vid screen. "It's Abe."
ONE OF THE LOCKERS inside the wag contained several items of clothing, and
Abe was soon huddled inside a camouflage jacket and pants, with a pair of
steel-
capped boots on his feet. A stainless-steel Colt Python .357 was bolstered at
his hip.
Using a plug-in heater, Ryan had boiled some water and reconstituted some
packs of insta soup he'd found. Abe was hugging a steaming mug, teeth
chattering, body still trembling. Mildred had given him a onceover, patching
up the superficial wounds with the first-aid kit from underneath the front
passenger seat.
He was a mass of cuts and bruises. Livid patches of purple covered his chest,
where Mildred suspected he might have cracked at least two of the lower ribs.
A
huge bruise marred the temple, and another circled his right thigh. A flap of
skin hung loose off his shoulder, and Mildred had managed to stitch it up.
Dried blood was caked in Abe's hair and around his mouth.
"Want to talk about it?" J.B. asked. "Last we saw was you and the tall mutie
going over the edge into the water."
"Last I remember."
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Dean was sitting next to the gunner, staring intently into his lined face.
"You chill the pig?"
"Wouldn't know, son. Told you. Him and me went in the river a thousand miles
an hour. Dived under. Hit my chest, and that's all she wrote."
"You must've gone into the culvert that carried the stream underground," Ryan
guessed.
Abe nodded slowly, eyes far away. "Seem to remember trying to hang on some
iron bars. Got tugged off. Dark. Fucking dark, friends."
"Still, now you're back safe with us, Abe." Mildred smiled. "Few days to sort
of convalesce and you'll be good as new. Better than new."
"I don't know& "
J.B. patted Abe on the shoulder in a rare display of emotion. "Good to have
you back safe, bro."
"Yeah. Good to& " Again, the words trailed off into the stillness inside the
wag.
Up front, the engine coughed again.
"Screw this," Ryan said. "Turn her around, J.B., and we'll head for the
redoubt.
No point going on any farther."
Abe put down the empty mug and stood, a little shakily, and drew the gleaming
handgun "No," he said. "Not going on."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
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Ryan shook his head. "You must've got a bad knock on the head, Abe."
"Yeah, I did. But that's not all I got. Want to talk to you, Ryan. Outside."
"You need the blaster for that?"
Abe laughed. "Shit, no. Just took it out to sort of show I could look after
myself.
Once I get going on my own again."
"Where?" Dean asked.
"I'll tell your father, kid." He slid the 6-round revolver back into its
holster. "You coming out for a moment, Ryan?"
"Sure."
Outside the air smelled cool and green.
Ryan leaned a hand against the cold, damp metal of the wag, his eye raking the
trees for any sign of life. The Trader used to say that you didn't trust
anyone, especially not yourself. It was possible that Abe was going to betray
them.
Not likely.
But possible.
"Yeah?" Ryan prompted. "So, tell me."
"I got saved."
"I know. You wouldn't be standing here if you were chilled, Abe."
"I mean saved
.."
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"By what?"
"By who."
"What?" Ryan felt his head spinning. The conversation was slipping out of his
control.
Abe sighed. "Look, I mean that someone came along and plucked me from the dark
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night."
"You said you didn't remember anything. So how come you "
Abe rode over him. "Will you fucking shut your trap and listen, Ryan?"
"Sorry, Abe. Go on."
"It was dark. I was drowning. Under for the twentieth time. Sucked down. Ready
to give up." He punched his right fist into his left hand. "No! I'd already
given up."
"And you got saved. Sounds like& No, carry on with it."
"Someone came and grabbed me. Pulled me out. Told me to get my shit together
and stop whining and feeling sorry."
"Who could've "
"Said to me that a man who's ready to give up is ready to buy the farm."
Ryan's good eye opened wide and his jaw dropped. "Trader?"
"Man around his early fifties. Black pants, black shirt. Black boots. Grizzled
hair.
Holding a battered Armalite. Just tell me who the fuck that was, will you,
Ryan?"
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