The man began wiping his greasy hands with a rag soaked in fuel. When most of the black was rubbed off, he walked to the campfire and poured a cup of coffee. “This wag has definitely taken the last train west.”
“You sure?” Mildred asked.
J.B. sipped the coffee, holding the tin cup in both hands to savor the warmth. “Oh, yeah.”
“Triple red, people!” Ryan commanded, standing and working the bolt on his AK-47. “The blues would be fools not to sweep this area on a recce first chance they get. They catch us standing here chatting, and it’s the long sleep.”
The tired expressions of the companions vanished in a heartbeat, and they drew weapons.
“Dean, prep a LAW rocket,” Ryan added brusquely.
The boy nodded and raced toward the APC.
Her boots ringing on the metal floor, Krysty walked through the APC and sat in the doorway. Behind her, Jak lay snoring peacefully amid the piles of supplies.
“Okay, so we walk out of here,” Krysty said. “The question is where. Do we continue on to Shiloh, or the closest redoubt?”
“Front Royal,” Dean suggested, climbing into the wag. “We can get another wag there.”
“Doubtful,” his father replied.
“Besides, my young friend, traveling anywhere on foot means we have to leave most of the supplies behind,” Doc stated. “A most dangerous proposition. Too many weapons will slow us and get us chilled just as fast as not enough.”
“Maybe we could rig a litter,” Mildred suggested.
“We’re not leaving anything behind,” Ryan announced. Kneeling by the dying red embers of the campfire, he poured a cup of coffee and drained it in a few gulps.
“And we’re not walking, either,” he stated. “J.B., let me see the map.”
Digging in his bag, the Armorer unearthed the folded plastic sheet and passed it over. Carefully spreading the map on the ground near the remains of the fire, Ryan flicked a butane lighter and read by the tiny flame. Aside from blasters, he considered butane lighters the greatest invention of the predark world. A hundred years later and the things still worked.
“Look at this,” he said, jabbing a finger at the map. “We can travel by water. North Carolina is damn near split in half with this river basin. We’ll build a raft and row inland. Get us halfway to the next Shiloh, and only about sixty miles south of the redoubt in Kentucky. We can get more supplies and ammo there. Not much, but some.”
“And then what?” Krysty asked.
He scratched an ear. “Don’t know. We can try and buy a wag, or some horses, from a local ville. Got more than enough spare blasters. And even if we don’t find anything, the basin will still carry us a week of walking in two days.”
“Upstream,” the redhead stated.
“Flat water,” J.B. corrected. “Easy stuff. No rapids or whitewater falls.”
“A raft,” Doc said hesitantly, rubbing his chin. “Dubious, sir. Most dubious.”
Brushing back her beaded hair, Mildred looked up from the map. “We can do it. We’ve built them before.”
“Indeed, we have, madam. But a raft large enough to hold all of the supplies? It would require two, maybe three, really big ones. Chopping down that many trees will take us a week. Maybe more.”
Suddenly, the chain gun roared into life, shattering the night. The companions dived for cover, digging into the beach, their weapons sweeping for targets, as a stuttering stream of 7.62 mm rounds sliced across the landscape and started tearing apart a tree. Bark flew off the trunk, splinters went everywhere, then there was a crack and the oak dropped heavily to the ground. The chain gun stopped, followed by ringing silence.
The top hatch swung open, and Dean rose into view. “We don’t need axes,” the boy stated confidently. “We can shoot down all the logs we want.”
As he rose from the damp ground, Ryan’s first reaction was fury, until he realized the cold common sense of the matter. “Good work, son. But next time, trim the top first, then cut out the bottom.”
“Sure, Dad!”
“But the noise!” Mildred complained. “No, wait. Skip that. We need to get the cutting done now, before scouts arrive.”