“That would explain it,” she relented.
Just then, Ryan gave a sharp whistle and pointed to the north. “We got company,” Ryan said gruffly, brushing back his black hair. “The Core just arrived.”
Facing that way, the companions could see small figures moving along the edge of the rocky cliff.
“Bet they’re triple angry over this,” Dean said, pulling his Browning Hi-Power and briefly checking the blaster. It was dusted with salt, but the rack worked fine and the clip slid in and out without hindrance.
“They had told us not to enter the forbidden zone,” Doc rumbled, then he hawked and spit the salt dust from his mouth. “Their chief must be insane with rage over this transgression.”
As if in reply, one of the Core threw a spear, but it traveled less than a block, then arched down into the street and out of sight.
“Think that’s Alar?” Dean asked, hitching up his belt.
Krysty frowned. “Sure as hell isn’t Kalr,” she stated.
On impulse, Ryan brought up his Steyr and worked the arming bolt. Almost immediately, the Core scattered, diving into the loose sand and out of sight.
“Think they read my mind?” Ryan asked, still looking through the crosshair scope of the Steyr. The walnut stock felt gritty beneath his cheek, and his view of the desert was misty from the still rising salt mist. He could taste the air, and it was thick and foul as swamp water.
“I think they just saw the sunlight glint off the longblaster and figured out lead was headed their way,” J.B. said. “Any doomie able to read thoughts at this range would have known we were planning on escaping and have stopped us.”
“Fair enough,” Ryan said, then fired twice at a movement below the sands. “But now they’re not so sure, and that could buy us some time to get off the roof.”
Heading to the door of the rooftop kiosk, J.B. checked the lock and found it was open. The stairwell beyond was pitch black, and the air carried a stale, almost metallic, odor.
Readying their weapons, the companions lit candles and entered the kiosk to start descending into the bowels of the dark skyscraper.
Chapter Seven
With Ryan in the lead, the companions started down the stairs in single file, the flickering candles throwing distorted shadows in the walls. Almost immediately they encountered another dried corpse, this one wearing a silk suit with a Palm Pilot personal computer still clutched in its hand.
Kicking aside the body, Ryan kept onward, the SIG-Sauer steadily searching for targets. Just because everybody in the city was long chilled sure as hell didn’t mean the place was safe. Mebbe the bodies weren’t desiccated from the radiation and salt, but from some mutie that sucked them dry.
A soft moaning could be heard, and Ryan froze in the darkness as his combat instincts flared. Then he felt the gentle breeze moving against his face and realized it was only the desert wind moving through the city, and blowing into the broken windows. What glass hadn’t been broken when the nuke quake dropped the city down a couple of hundred feet had to have sure as shit broken when the dome collapsed.
Reaching the tenth floor, the door to that level was propped open by a woman in a flower print dress. Beyond they could see an office with cubicles and desks. A rustling noise, very reminiscent of bats, could faintly be heard.
At the noise, J.B. swung his Uzi machine pistol out of the way and pulled out his S&W scattergun, racking the shotgun for immediate action. The Uzi threw a lot of lead, but bats were small and fast, often carrying rabies or the black cough. The only cure for that was a bullet from a friend.
Quickly passing Dean her candle, Mildred pulled out her flashlight and pumped the leverlike handle on the survival device a few times to charge the battery inside, then clicked the switch. A pale yellow beam came from the flashlight, but it was still stronger than the dancing flames of the tallow candles.
Playing the beam about, the woman saw the papers on the desks fluttering from the breeze coming through the smashed windows.