“Blue heron,” Jak said. “Used to be rare. Christina had predark book on birds. Saw it there.”
NOW THEY WERE CLOSING in to the timberline.
Doc had paused and was staring back at the top of the mountain, shading his eyes with his hand. “It is impossible to make out the entrance to the redoubt, even from here,” he said. “Such cunning concealment.”
J.B. pushed back his fedora. “I reckon I once read that this place, this Cadillac Mountain, was about the first place in the whole of the predark States to see the rising sun. Guess it could well be true.”
“Everyone’s so full of fucking useless facts,” Trader exploded. “Blue heron! It’s just a big bird, and if we’d been close enough, it would make good eating.” His voice became more sarcastic. “And who gives a splash of flying bat shit what place sees the sun first. You see it when you see it.”
Doc pointed a bony forefinger at him. “Listen to me, if you will.”
“What is it now? More words, Doc?”
“During the time that I have ridden, unbidden, hidden in the midden Damnation! That I have ridden with Ryan and the estimable John Dix, your name has come up in conversation on countless occasions. Nearly always in circumstances that reflect favorably on you.”
“So I’d fucking hope.” Trader grinned.
“Wait before you allow smugness to advance too far. I was more than happy to meet with someone who had played such a vital part in the lives of two of my best friends. We have now only spent a few hours in each other’s company and” Doc hesitated. “And I am disappointed in you, Trader.”
“That so? My heart is weeping, Doc.”
“I am sure it is. You are an arrogant and bitter man who appears to have lost sight of humanity and humor. I do not know whether that condition is irredeemable. I hope not. But I hold out little faith in your changing. And for that I am deeply sorry.”
Doc turned on his heel and strode off down the highway, the ferrule of his sword stick rapping out a merry tattoo.
Nobody spoke.
Trader looked around, finding that most of the group wouldn’t meet his eyes. He settled on Ryan. “You got anything to say about that?”
“Some. Doc may seem like he’s sometimes missing a few cards from the deck, but he’s one of the wisest, truest men I ever met. Proud to call him my friend. I’m not saying he’s all the way right. But there’s a lot of truth in it. All I say, Trader, is to give it some thought.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll do that all right.”
He stalked off after Doc, shoulders hunched, the Armalite trailing in his right hand. Ryan glanced at J.B., who simply shrugged.
“HEMLOCK, SPRUCE, half a dozen different types of pine and three or four kinds of fir.” Mildred had been ticking them off on her fingers as the blacktop entered the massive stands of timber on both sides.
“Never seen so many squirrels.” Dean drew his huge Browning Hi-Power and aimed it at a group of the tree rats that were gamboling around the base of a lightning-scarred spruce. “Bang,” he said. “Get us some dinner.”
“Squeeze the trigger on that and you’d be picking up bits of fluff and gristle and a few splinters of bone,” Trader said, his good humor seemingly restored. “Apart from bringing everyone running for miles around.”
“Yeah.” Dean looked rueful. “Wish I hadn’t left that .22 back at the ranch.”
“The Remington 580?” said the Armorer. “Nice little rifle. Would’ve been fine for those squirrels, Dean. Not an awful lot of use against bears or stickies. Just get them riled up. The Browning’s a real stopper.”
“Should think about getting us some meat,” Ryan said. “Find a camp for the night.”
“Along the side of that big lake could be good.” Abe pointed below them, where the water glittered, blue-gray in the sunlight.
“Be plenty dry wood. Broken branches. Get smokeless fire going.” Jak blinked in the bright sun. “Saw deer tracks side road back ways. Must be plenty game.”
THE SMOKE FROM THE FIRE was almost colorless, rising in a narrow pillar between the trees, dissipated by the light westerly breeze that was blowing off the land, toward the nearby ocean.