Resting the stock of the AK-47 on a hip, Ryan knelt in the sand. “How’s it look?” he asked.
“Found a busted axle,” J.B. replied, “and we’re definitely losing oil and hydraulic fluid. Dark night, this thing is a mess!”
“What are the chances it’ll carry us to the next Shiloh?”
“Considering what was done to this wag, it’s a wonder the thing got us here.”
“Fireblast.” Ryan glanced around. They were trapped with a dead wag in the middle of nowhere. Not good. “Can you fix it?”
“Don’t know, but I’ll try. Only need four wheels to stay mobile.”
“Good thing we have eight.”
“Seven, but that should be enough.”
“Need anything?” Ryan had great belief in the talents of the Armorer. The man was a master gunsmith, an expert at booby traps and could fix anything made of steel that rolled or floated.
“Some light would be great.”
From a box strapped to the hull, Ryan retrieved an oil lantern. The reservoir was half-full, more than enough. Igniting the wick with a butane lighter, he trimmed the flame to something manageable and passed the lantern under the APC.
“Thanks.”
“No prob.”
“My dear Ryan, would you suppose it safe enough for us to chance a campfire?” Doc asked, passing a fuel can to Dean. “I fear we shall be here through the night, and nobody could possibly notice our small column of smoke amid that Dantean conflagration.”
“Nights get cold. Be nice to have hot food,” the boy added, hugging the container with both arms. Setting the bottom of the can on his belt buckle to help with the weight, Dean waddled around the wag with his precious cargo.
Ryan nodded. “Keep it small.”
An explosion sounded from the east, and Ryan spun about, his weapon ready. A fireball rose skyward from the blanket of black clouds masking the wildfire. Then the Deathlands warrior felt his heart race as a small mushroom cloud formed above the cornfield, the sea winds dissolving the eerie sight almost as soon as it formed.
Backing closer to the wag, Ryan listened to the crackle of static on the radio, waiting to hear voices, but minutes passed in silence. It had to have been some ammo cooking off from the heat. The way that Hummer was bouncing around, the blues could have dropped any number of weapon or grens.
“Gaia’s demise,” Krysty said unexpectedly from the turret Ryan stared up at her. She seemed strangely tense and nervous. “What was that you said?”
“Gaia’s demise,” she repeated. “The end of the world.”
“Just rising smoke, lover,” he said. “Any hot explosion will make a mushroom cloud. Nothing special.”
Staring at the distant fields of fire, Krysty made no reply, her hands poised on the rapid-fire cannon, long hair billowing in the sea breeze.
“Lend me a hand,” Mildred called, climbing from the APC with an arm load of boxes.
Shouldering his longblaster, Ryan took the top crate and found it full of pots and pans. “The fire is just for warmth,” he said gruffly. “We shouldn’t stay here longer than necessary.”
“I’m not making dinner,” Mildred replied, placing the box on the ground and removing some glass jars. “Going to brew some coffee. Help us stay sharp. Been a long day, and it’s not over yet.”
“Sounds good,” he said, relenting, feeling his stomach respond to the possibility of eating. Damn, he was a lot hungrier than he wanted to admit.
“Mebbe we can break open a few of the MRE packs.” he added. “Hunting would be pointless. The fire will have scared away any game for miles.”
Mildred lifted a silvery foil envelope into view. “Way ahead of you.”
Taking a seat on a rock, Ryan balanced the AK-47 on his lap and watched as she ripped open a package and spread out its contents, carefully inspecting the smaller envelope of beef stew, another of coffee, sugar, a log of processed cheese, crackers, salt, pepper, chewing gum. The MRE food packs were Meals Ready to Eat, military rations from long before skydark. The Mylar foil was chem proof and airtight. If the packs were stored carefully, the condensed food would last forever. But the tiniest pinhole could turn the chow into deadly poison. They occasionally found a few MRE packs or self-heats in the redoubts, and sometimes they were edible, but more often they weren’t. These came from Overton, and the foil was in perfect condition, almost brand-new.