“Buzzards,” Dean announced. “About a mile to the east.”
In the process of checking his backpack for additional loose rounds, Ryan spun at that. “Must be feeding on the dead bugs,” he said, holstering the blaster and sliding the Steyr SSG-70 longblaster off his shoulder. “That’s a break for us.”
“How?” Krysty asked, loosening her shirt. Already she was perspiring badly. Maybe it was the presence of the salt, but this was much worse than any desert she had traveled before. Breathing was becoming difficult.
“We give them something else to eat instead of us,” Ryan said, working the bolt on the weapon and adjusting the focus on the scope. Taking careful aim, the man squeezed off a shot, and a second later there was an explosion of feathers in the distance and a buzzard plummeted from the sky.
“One bird won’t stop them,” Krysty said, mopping the sweat off her brow. “But the blood might attract other scavengers, scorpions, lizards, maybe even a few screamwings.”
“Sure hope not,” Jak muttered, rubbing an old scar. Damn muties moved faster than arrows and would attack anything with a ferocity unequaled in the animal kingdom.
“And there they are,” Ryan said pointing as two more buzzards began to circle the fresh kill. Raising the longblaster, he fired twice more in rapid succession and both of the birds fell dead.
“That’ll keep them off our back for a while,” Krysty said in grim satisfaction. “But not for very long.”
“No,” Ryan admitted honestly, “not for long.”
Tense minutes passed as the companions stood guard, watching the ground under their boots for any suspicious activity, while Mildred and J.B. worked diligently on the engine. Their muttered curses from the front of the wag gave no clear indication of how well the job was progressing.
Slowly rising high overhead, the blazing sun filled the desert with tangible waves of heat until a thickening haze of reflected illumination formed over the crystalline landscape. Loosening their clothing, and tying handkerchiefs around their necks to save the sweat, the companions kept the conversation to a minimum, and tried to remember to breathe through their nose and save irreplaceable moisture. However, the brutal combination of the rising temperatures and the salted dust seemed to be leeching the fluids from their flesh. But the companions knew survival tactics for this kind of territory. Sucking pebbles helped folks keep their mouths shut and conserved moisture. Plus, Mildred had long ago taught them to take some grease from the wheel bearings and smear it over lips. That stopped chapping and made a person feel less thirsty. The tricks helped a lot, but if the wag couldn’t be repaired, then the loss of the water barrel was going to prove a serious problem. Quite possibly, a matter of life and death. Aside from what little remained in the canteens, the companions were out of water and standing in the middle of a salt desert.
They heard the yowl of a big cat, possibly a cougar or mountain lion, and then a screech unlike anything they had heard before.
“The other predators have arrived,” Krysty commented calmly. “Too bad the cat didn’t pass this way. We could have sliced its skin into rawhide to fix the wag.”
Adjusting his eye patch, Ryan growled, “The problem with rawhide is that it can get too tight, shrinking so much the bearings burn out and junk the engine permanently.”
Draping a cut piece of blanket over his head as protection from the direct sunlight, Dean nodded at his father’s words as if filing the information away.
“Okay, I think we got it,” J.B. announced, closing the hood. “At least for now.”
“Here’s hoping,” Mildred added.
Careful of touching the metal handle on the door with her bare skin, the woman climbed into the cab, set the choke and tried the ignition. Incredibly, the diesel started at once without the slightest hesitation.
“All right, turn it off!” Ryan shouted, turning his back to the sun. “Let’s grab those fuel cans and get moving while we still can!”
“What you do?” Jak asked curiously, placing socks on his hands before lifting two of the steel fuel cans.
Shrugging out of his leather jacket, J.B. tossed it into the front of the cab and went to help reclaim the containers. Damn, it was hot! “Did the only thing we could,” he said, carefully placing his fingerless leather gloves around the handles of a couple of cans. “I split a fan belt in half lengthwise and used it for both pulleys.”