Jak backed off, dropping the self-light in the damp dirt by his feet, watching, fascinated, as the red-orange flames spread quickly up the rough timber walls, setting the stained plasterboard ceiling on fire.
“Cleansing,” J.B. said, holding Mildred’s hand. “Like I said.”
RYAN PAUSED as they crossed a narrow ridge, looking back down the valley toward Mom’s Place. He saw that the column of smoke, shredded by the northerly wind, was already growing thinner, the building beneath it almost totally consumed by the raging flames.
“Be finished in a few minutes,” he said to Krysty, who was walking at his side.
“You think our story will prove adequate for the Children of the Rock?” Doc asked, the sentence interrupted by another coughing fit. The old man’s cheeks were flushed, his blue eyes watering, his nose constantly running.
Ryan nodded, talking over his shoulder. “Sure. Best kind of lie is the simple one.”
Doc smiled, showing his wonderful teeth. “Mom was having trouble with her stove and said it was overheating. But everything was fine when we left.” He recited the words in a singsong voice.
“Way you said that reminds me of the way the guides talk who showed you around the old houses in Concord,” Mildred said, grinning broadly. “Said it all so many times they can’t speak it in a normal way anymore.”
“Shouldn’t we be reaching the ville soon?” said the Armorer, slinging the Uzi across his right shoulder.
“From what those young guys said, there’ll be sentries.” Ryan looked around them. “Can’t be far. Reckon they’ll probably see us before we see them.”
They had passed another neat sign, only about a hundred yards back: Pilgrims and Seekers After Truth are Nearly at the Golden City.
And a second line added in a different hand: Come in Peace or Not at All.
“That’s us,” Dean said, giggling.
Doc was doubled over, racked, a thread of greenish spittle dangling from his chin. Ryan caught Mildred’s eye, but she only shook her head and shrugged.
J.B. had taken off his fedora, using it to fan away a cloud of persistent small black flies that hung around him. “How come they only pick on me. Dark-nighted little bastards!” He brushed at his chest, pausing and staring carefully at the rad counter pinned to his lapel. “Well into the orange,” he said. “Must be a local hot spot someplace fairly close.”
Ryan checked his own counter, finding the same reading. It was very close to the red of imminent danger. “Shouldn’t hang around here too long,” he said. “And best keep a careful eye on the readings. Real careful.”
THEY SAW A SMALL HERD of deer, with flecked skins, bounding across the trail a little way ahead of them, moving fast and elegant, down the hill toward the west. Ryan automatically unslung the Steyr rifle, picking up the head of a young stag in the laser image enhancer, easing his finger off the trigger as he changed his mind about opening fire. In any case, they didn’t need food.
The track had widened, showing clear evidence of heavier use—hoof marks and furrowed wag wheels, the muddied scars filled with water.
Just as Ryan stopped, the others gathering around him, a blaster fired from the cover of the trees to the right of the old blacktop. The bullet gouged up a gout of spray that splashed over Ryan’s pants and boots, missing him by less than a yard.
The voice from the shadowed pines was flat and unemotional. “Wrong move buys you eternity, outlanders.”
“Keep real still,” Ryan said.
Chapter Eighteen
The echo of the shot was still bouncing off the steep rocks to the left.
“You got a lot of blasters there, outlanders.”
There didn’t seem to be a question, so Ryan chose not to answer.
“You triple stupe, stranger?”
Ryan looked up the hill toward the sound of the voice, trying to detect some sign of movement. But the dense wall of pines was impenetrable.
“You got us cold, brother,” he said. “Not the sort of charitable welcome we were led to expect from the Children of the Rock.”
“Who told you about us?”
“Don’t know their names. There was three of them, eating supper last night at a small place run by a lady called Mom. Made the finest jerky I ever tasted.”