An hour later, the companions reached the topmost level of the base. Pausing at the stairwell door, Doc cocked the hammer of his LeMat, then eased the door open a crack and poked his sword through. The tiny scrap of metallic paper fluttered slightly in the breeze of the life-support system, nothing more. Withdrawing the sword, he widened the crack and glanced around the garage. Nobody was in sight.
“Clear,” Doc whispered, flicking the piece of chewing-gum wrapper off the tip of his sword and sheathing the blade.
Ryan replaced the old man at the door, listening for the sounds of movement beyond. The silence was thick and heavy. Gesturing to the others to stay, and with Krysty and J.B. standing by the door ready to give cover fire, the one-eyed warrior slipped into the next room. Keeping low, Ryan darted from worktable to empty barrel, grease pit to stack of tires, never fully exposing himself until completing a full circle of the cavernous garage.
A hundred wags should have been parked here in storageHummers, APCs, trucks and even tanks, with drums of fuel and oil stacked in the storage bins behind wire gates. Workbenches lined the walls, the pegs above them empty of tools. Only the taped outlines of what should be there remained. Nothing was in sight, not a spare wrench or wiper blade.
“All clear,” Ryan announced, standing in plain view and bolstering his piece. “You can still see our bloody footprints on the floor. The tracks go straight to the stairwell door, nowhere else. None of them have been smudged. We’re alone.”
“Good,” Krysty stated, tucking away her weapon and nudging Mildred. “What’s with the chewing-gum wrapper?”
“Sort of an early-warning system,” Mildred said, looking over the garage. “It wouldn’t give us much advance notice of microwaves, but some is better than none.”
“How does it work?” J.B. asked, easing off the bolt of the Uzi. The blaster had been under undue tension for days while they were unconscious. He only hoped the spring was okay and the rapidfire would still function properly.
Taking a seat on a pile of tires, Doc answered. “If there is a strong magnetic field, or the presence of microwaves, the foil will receive an identical charge across its entire surface and the two flaps will naturally repel each other, separating wide and fast. As long as they stay closed, we were not near any strong electromagnetic fields.”
“Pretty good trick,” Ryan grunted. “The white-coats in your day knew about microwaves and sats, huh?”
Doc started to reply, then his features contorted in confusion. Conflicting emotions played across the time traveler’s face, bordering on blind panic. The companions said nothing and turned their backs on the old man to continue exploring the garage. After what the whitecoats of Overproject Whisper had done to Doc, his friends understood if his mind wandered sometimes. He always came back, and he had never let them down in a fight. At least, not yet.
“Doesn’t matter,” Krysty said softly to Doc. “As long as it works.”
Her voice seemed to calm the old man, and Doc faced the redhead, reason returning to his eyes. “Oh, most assuredly, dear lady,” he said, displaying his oddly perfect white teeth. “The laws of magnetics are most adamantine. It works. Trust me.”
“I always have.”
Jak gestured with his blaster. “Check outside?”
Nodding, Ryan led the way along the zigzagging corridor to the front door. The passageway was wide enough to accommodate a semi-truck, and clusters of fluorescent lights hung from the high, curved ceiling.
“Dad, I always meant to ask, why does this zigzag?” Dean probed.
“Rads can only travel straight,” Ryan said, slowing his pace. “They go right through stone or metal, but lead stops them. That’s what these walls are lined with yards of lead. So one step out of the way and you’re safe. All these extra sharp angles are just to be sure. One would do just as good a job.”
Pursing his lips, the boy said nothing, filing the information away. Then, stooping to one knee, he inspected an object on the floor. “Hey, J.B., over here!”
The Armorer turned from the hip, the Uzi poised for action. “Trouble?” he demanded.