Jim shook his head at the bodies of Dave Bradley and his wife, their clothes soaking up the ocean of spilled blood. He sighed, seeing the shattered radio set. “Poor souls, they survived so far, and we brought death to them.”
He turned to Nanci. “Any idea who the Bradleys were in touch with?”
“Have to be on the side of right and light,” said Nanci, reloading the gun and holstering it. “Otherwise, Jefferson wouldn’t have taken them out. I heard a voice and I came out. My guess is that he’s blown the whistle on us to the Hunters of the Sun. Shouted out to them over an open line who we all are and precisely where we are.”
“You mean he was a traitor all along?” exclaimed Carrie. “How can that be?”
Nanci stood by Jim, looking in at the ruination of the neat attic room. “I doubt he was a traitor in the way you mean, Carrie. I don’t believe that he was turned when he was a prisoner. I’d have known. But Jeff was always only interested in looking after himself. Pathologically self-centered. Classic psychotic mix of coward and bully. He must have worked out that the Bradleys had this shortwave transmitter and come after them.” She punched her right fist hard into her left palm. “Of course, that’s it. The big antenna. What a damn fool I’ve been over this.”
“Can’t the radio be used?” asked Paul McGill, joining them in the doorway.
“No. He has, to coin a phrase, fucked it.” Nanci Simms bit her lip. “Tabor knows where we are, and how many. Zelig probably picked it up, as well. Jeff must have heard something to convince him that one or both groups are on the move. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that they’re both seeking us. Now they know.”
“Then we move,” said Jim Hilton.
“Sooner rather than later,” agreed Nanci.
“How about the bodies?” Carrie was looking between the rails of the banisters.
“We have to leave them,” said Jim.
“Couldn’t we burn them?” suggested Mac but immediately changed his mind. “No. It’d just bring trouble that much quicker, draw attention to us that we don’t need. Fine. I’ll go down and help Jeanne get the girls ready.”
Nanci caught Jim’s eye. “Bad news,” she said. “When I was at the Hunters’ base I saw a couple of choppers. Big Chinooks. If they send those up here after us, we could find ourselves in some rather deep ordure.”
THE HELICOPTERS were in the air, moving at well below their top speed of one hundred and ninety miles per hour, keeping at an altitude of less than two hundred feet.
Both of the Hunters’ pilots were at the ragged edge of concentration, worried by the banks of low gray cloud that pressed down all around them, sometimes dropping the visibility well below one hundred yards.
The senior one had cautiously warned Margaret Tabor of the very real danger of running unexpectedly into electricity pylons or a tall church tower, or simply a sheer cliff looming up out of the dawn murk.
She’d nodded. “I hear you,” she’d replied. “But I don’t want to hear you anymore.”
They kept flying, trying to follow the highways, many of which were lined with the rusted wrecks of abandoned cars. They plotted their hesitant way toward the black dot on their maps that was the little township of Rilkeville while their Chief sat with her eyes closed, humming contentedly along to the Carpenters’ version of “Jambalaya.”
“ARE YOU SURE?”
“Yes, General. Radio is deader than a stone. That Thomas guy must have wrecked it after he finished that message. Probably came close to blowing out their power source, he had it on such a high gain.”
Zelig was in the navigator’s seat of the leading vehicle. It had only taken a minute or so to locate Rilkeville on their maps, but getting through the melting snow on the twisting back roads toward it was going to be a different matter.
Particularly with the possibility of having two armed choppers roaring over the horizon at any moment.
“WHAT’S in the bag, Dad?”
“Blasting powder. Sort of a crude explosive. While Paul and Mac got the tractors started and warmed up, I had a quick look around the barn and found this on a shelf. Never know when it might come in useful.”