Ryan organized the group into pairs for guard duty, and with help from J.B. and Krysty, arranged a rotation of shifts. They decided that since they could easily lock one of the doors to the games room, only the other one had to be guarded. After some consideration, Ryan said, “We need another guard farther down the corridor that leads to that place where we first came in. What’s it called? The” He glanced surreptitiously at Doc.
The old man responded as Ryan hoped he would. He was evidently recovering from his earlier gloom.
“The lobby , Mr. Cawdor.”
“Thanks. We’ll split up like this.” He stopped. “Doc, I don’t want any shit from you. I know you want to be with Lori. But we’ve got only three trained guns nowme, J.B. and Finn here. So, Doc, you go with Finn; Lori with J.B.; and Krysty with me.”
“All right” was all the old man said, removing his dented stovepipe hat and dropping Ryan a low courtly bow.
During their first break from guard duty, Ryan and Krysty found themselves a room down the corridor from the games area, one with no heaps of bones in it. Tugging back the covers on the king-size bed, they cosily snuggled into it. Wary of intrusions or disturbances, they removed only a minimum of clothing.
Ryan had deliberately split the bottoms of his dark gray pants so that he could pull them off over his high combat boots. He kept on the brown shirt, still stained with mud and with Henn’s blood. The G-12 went on the floor beside the bed, the SIG-Sauer P-226 9 mm pistol beneath one of the two pillows.
Krysty kicked off the magnificent cowboy boots she’d found in the cold redoubt only days back. The chiseled silver points of the toes gleamed in the pale moonlight that filtered through the rotting drapes; the moon also brought the silver spread-wing falcons on the sides to a cold sheen. Krysty rolled down, the khaki coveralls, sliding her thin panties to her knees.
Entwined, they abandoned themselves to their passion. She sighed once as he entered her, her eyes wide open, looking directly into his face. In the moonglow the hooked nose and narrow cheeks made him look almost like some ferocious bird of prey, hovering above her, about to tend her. It was an exciting thought.
THEY WERE AWAKENED during, the night by a brief, vicious thunderstorm. Only Doc Tanner slept through it. He lay on his back on the floor of the games room, his mouth hanging open, snoring stentoriously, almost drowning out the howling wind, and the pounding rain.
All of them were awake, up, and dressed by six in the morning.
“What the fuck is there to eat?” asked Finnegan. “Not more of that doomie shit! I look at it in the fucking bowl, and I can’t recall if’n I’m just going to eat it, or if I’ve already eaten it and barfed it back up.”
“I farted all night,” said Lori, smiling in her simple way.
“Ryan, me and the girls’ll go explore some of the houses we passed. Didn’t seem too badly damaged or nothing. Got to be tins and bottles. Anything’s better than this stuff.”
Seeing that both Lori and Krysty were willing, Ryan nodded his approval. “Sure. Take care. Watch out for any gangs and the baron’s sec men. He sounds a mean mother.” Ryan consulted the chron on his left wrist. “It’s nearly six and a half. Leave at seven. Be back by by eleven. If you run into trouble, fire three spaced shots, and we’ll come running.”
JUST BEFORE SEVEN, Ryan found Krysty in the suite where they’d made love the night before. She was pulling the sheets across the rumpled bed.
“Fireblast it, lover! No one’s going to complain that we’ve messed up their room!”
Krysty smiled, shaking her head to tumble the unique hair out of her eyes. “Guess not, Ryan. But Mother Sonja brought her daughter up proper.”
Slumping into a well-padded armchair, he watched her gracefully move and his eye was caught by something white beneath the bed. He knelt down, peering at it, giving a sudden, barking laugh. “What is it?”