“Hell of a climb,” Ryan agreed, “so we best try and find something else before we go grabbing bastard rock.”
Walking along the steps, his presence caused a stir among the birds and he worked the bolt action on the Steyr without conscious thought. As if understanding the action, the buzzards moved away from the man to feed on other corpses. Only the vultures stayed, arching their snakelike necks in annoyance as they gobbled down ragged pieces of dried flesh.
The companions were closest to the northern side of the cliff, the smoke thin enough to see the vertical rock wall of the sinkhole. There were a lot of cracks, and even a few ravines, but nothing that would offer a route to the surface. The sinkhole made a hell of a trap and once inside, there was no easy way out. They were like rats in a garbage can, with the open sky directly above, but no way to reach it.
“Buried alive,” Mildred said softly, her words carrying on the morning breeze much farther than she had expected.
Just then, a soft, familiar hooting sounded from the burning city, and the companions turned together, fingers tightening on triggers. A few blocks away, a humanoid figure was clinging to the side of a luxury hotel, holding on to the stonework with one arm while the other was batting at the birds swooping close to feed on the helpless prey. But as one vulture got too near, the humanoid grabbed a flapping wing. As the vulture frantically tried to get free, the manlike being released its grip of the wall but stayed oddly secure to the flat stonework with just bare feet as it tore the screaming vulture apart in an explosion of bloody feathers. Screaming their rage, the other vultures flapped away.
“Stickies.” Krysty cursed, frowning. “Mother Gaia, protect us. Everything in the desert must be heading this way.”
“When the dust dome cracked, it must have been visible for dozens of miles,” Doc stated, both hands resting on the silver head of his ebony stick.
“Hundreds of miles,” Ryan corrected, “We need to recce the rockface, and the top of a building would give the best view. Just need some place the fire hasn’t reached yet.”
“Or stickies,” Jak said, checking the clinking bag at his side. The museum had been full of useful items, and now they had eight Molotovs made from wine bottles, carpet stain cleaner, vodka and some odd chems. Since J.B. was hauling the majority of the lead pipe bombs, Jak had opted to carry the heavy Molotovs. Besides, he was a better aim at throwing things than the Armorer.
“Where we came in looks okay,” Dean said, pointing in that direction.
As J.B. used his Navy scope to check the building, Ryan squinted at the structure. Sure enough, the central office building wasn’t yet on fire, but the flames were close, reflecting on the sides of the structure.
“Too risky,” his father declared. “Once we reached the top, the fire could jump and we’d be trapped for sure.”
J.B. lowered the longeyes and compacted it before tucking it away. “Nothing else looks any better,” he said ruefully. “What ain’t on fire yet is blocked by the buildings that are.”
“So we walk the skirt,” Ryan stated firmly, settling the matter, and the man turned to head toward the section of cliff that was nearest. “It’ll be awhile before the fire reaches the outskirts, so anything there we can use to recce, or as a ladder to climb out.”
“You really think we’re going to find something?” J.B. asked,
The one-eyed man shrugged. “You got a better idea, start talking.”
J.B. merely grunted in reply and fell into step with his friend, the stubby barrel of the 9 mm Uzi regularly sweeping the street and sidewalks before them in a steady pattern.
Crossing the street, the companions put the feeding birds in their wake, and maneuvered through a morass of cars all jammed together in neat rows. The machines had to have been in gear, held in place purely by the pressure of the driver’s foot on the brake when the world ended. As the corpses went limp, the vehicles surged ahead, but only for a few feet before slamming into one another and forming an orderly crash that stretched for blocks.