“Lightening the load to save fuel,” Krysty muttered. “Idiot.”
“What’s wrong with the wag?” Ryan asked, joining his friend at the hole in the floor.
Tilting back his fedora, J.B. looked up from the exposed engine. “Primary ignition wire harness is gone,” he stated. “Somebody ripped it out hard. Repairs have been tried and failed.”
“Sounds internecine to me,” Doc rumbled softly from the rear of the wag.
Checking over an AK-47 assault rifle, Mildred gave the silver haired scholar a stern look, but said nothing in reply. The crazy old coot was right. This did seem like some sort of a rebellion in the ranks.
“I’d say Gaza is in the city,” Ryan announced in sudden understanding. “He’s down there trying to get parts to fix this wag.”
“A bold move,” Doc said in grudging respect. “What else this baron may be, he is no coward.”
“That’s just self preservation,” Mildred replied, slinging the Kalashnikov across her back. “Got nothing to do with bravery.”
Retrieving the self-heat from under the seat where it had rolled, Jak tucked it safely away into his leather jacket. Ammo they had; food was short. “Release cable and let rot down there,” he suggested, zipping the pocket shut.
“Leave it alone,” J.B. countered harshly, looking up from the cramped engine compartment toward the turret with its two huge blasters. “That way Gaza comes to us, and as he steps into sight we can blow him off the cliff with his own blasters!”
Ryan nodded and started for the turret. “Sounds good.”
But then the big man paused and scowled at a plastic seat bolted to the wall. There were some words scratched deep into the resilient material in big block letters. Stroking the surface with his fingertips, they came back flecked with tiny bits of plastic dust and curls. The writing was brand new. Anybody sitting in the chair would have wiped it clean with their clothing.
“Mother Gaia,” Krysty whispered, trying to control her pounding heart. “Is that a message for Gaza or for us?” Turning, the woman glanced at the dead blonde lying on the floor and had a flashback to their escape from Rockpoint ville when she had been looking at the keep and felt somebody look right back at her from behind a thick stone wall.
“This was written by her,” Krysty said, staring at the corpse. “The baron’s first wife was a doomie.”
“What hell mean?” Jak drawled, frowning was he read the words again. ‘”The seven will become six.’ Bah, heat-crazy dreck.”
“There are seven of us,” Ryan muttered, and oddly felt a shiver ran down his spine as if he had just pronounced the death sentence of somebody present.
“Just some mystic nonsense,” Mildred said in false bravado. “Besides, it doesn’t say die. Maybe one of us leaves. If Doc was to find some to go way back home, that would be good news!”
“Indeed, it would, madam,” Doc said, from the open doorway, his arms crossed and the massive LeMat resting on a shoulder. “But enemies rarely leave messages of gladful tidings for their rivals to discover.”
She scowled. “You think it’s psychological warfare? That’s not really Gaza’s style. He is more of a hammer-breaking-your-bones kind of guy.”
True words, and Doc started to say more, when the sound of a broiling steak came to him riding on the desert wind. Feeling a touch of panic, the old man grew confused for a moment, thinking he was slipping into a delirium again, when the sound returned stronger and louder. No by gadfrey, not meat on a grill, but hard rain on dry ground!
“The acid rain is here!” Doc cried, hurriedly backing into the war wag, nearly tripping on the jamb.
Stretching across the desert, a faintly yellow wall was sweeping toward the APC like a curtain. Rushing to the rear doors, Ryan and J.B. pulled them shut and dogged the locks tight while the rest of the companions closed every blaster port, louvered ob port and hatch. The companions knew from reading some old documents found in the redoubts that the LAV 25 was an NBC-rated vehicle, designed to withstand nuclear, bacteriological and chemical attacks. But that was way back when it was new and fully operational, the seals firm and solid. Nobody had ever expected the bastard machine to still be in service a hundred years later.