The voice from above was strained and tense. “Wrong, buddy. Moving.” There was the dry squeaking of metal, then a faint hissing as the rubber seal around the round cover was broken. Fresh warm air came flooding in, with jagged blades of bright Nevada sunlight.
“Forgot it was morning,” said Kyle. “Been in the dark so long.”
Mac was standing on the top of the ladder, peering out under the rim of the manhole. “Nobody around,” he said.
He threw it all the way open, and the tunnel filled with the dazzling sun.
“I’ll get out. One of you pass up all the packs. Save blocking the ladder.”
Jim backtracked a little along the tunnel, toward the main living quarters, but there was no sound of pursuit.
It took less than a minute for their packs to be handed out, followed by the other six men and Carrie. Jim Hilton took the captain’s privilege of coming out last, still holding on to the Ruger.
“We can jam the lock,” said Mac.
“How?”
“One of those boulders. Smash it in so they can’t follow us out.”
“Do it, Mac.”
They were on top of a small bluff, with higher ground rising behind them. Beyond that was the main part of the Stevenson Air Base, with its damaged runways and its burned-out buildings.
Ahead of them the land was gray desert, bare except for patches of sagebrush and mesquite. Away to the far east, about eighteen miles off, was Chimney Wells, the nearest community, small but with a highway that eventually led toward something that had once been civilization.
Jed Herne touched Jim on the sleeve as they watched Mac pounding the top of the metal lock with a granite rock.
“You really kill four of them, Skipper?”
“Yeah. Think so.”
Then he knelt down in the dusty earth and threw up.
Chapter Sixteen
At Jim’s suggestion they had crawled up to the top of the slope, careful not to show themselves against the skyline.
From there they could see all the way around, with no risk of anyone sneaking up on them. The Air Force base lay out to the west, like a damaged map, covered in burned smears.
“No sign of those bastards,” said Kyle Lynch. “Think they’re still trying to get out and follow us?”
“Maybe they’ve given up,” replied Jim Hilton.
“Shame you didn’t get any of their guns, Captain,” said Pete Turner.
“Yeah…mind, I was sort of busy there.” Mentally he cursed himself for not having the presence of mind in the darkness, the confusion and the urgent need to get away to think of it.
Carrie asked, “Now what?” and every face turned toward her. “Well, we heard the tape… most of it. Know that a disaster’s wiped out most of the world while we were up there sleeping.”
Steve Romero whistled through his teeth. “Just before they blew in the doors, it seemed like Zelig was giving us some sort of message.”
Jed was massaging his knee, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. “Said that we should get together some place.”
“Middle of November,” said Pete.
“Zelig named a place.” Mac glanced round at the others. “Anyone remember it? The explosion’s blown it out of my memory.”
“Calico,” said Jeff Thomas.
“Where’s that?” asked Jim. “Isn’t it a ghost town in Colorado?”
“California.” He lay back and closed his eyes. “Wish I’d brought my shades. Yeah, it’s just off I-15, few miles east of Barstow. Old mining township, done up in the late part of the twentieth century as a tourist attraction.”
“You know it?” asked Jim.
“Sure. Did an interview there once with a senator.”
“We got around nine weeks to the middle of November.” Mac rubbed the inside of his arm where he’d been burned in the crash landing. “Fact is, I’d like to try and find what’s happened to Jeanne, Angel and the kids.” He stared at Jim Hilton. “You got any objections to that, Captain?”
“If he has, he’ll shoot you, so watch your step, Mac,” Jeff said with a grin.
“I told you. Calling me by my rank’s pointless now, Mac. I can’t order you to do anything. Not anymore.”