“Ryan!” she exclaimed.
“You all lost your jack, lover? What’s all this about…?”
“About your name, you double-stupe,” she said, voice raised. “Tomorrow we’ll be within range of the ville.”
“And?”
“And if anyone hears the name of Ryan Cawdor, then they’ll…”
“Go running to Harvey,” Ryan finished, slapping his own forehead with exasperation. “Sorry, friends. Better go and throw myself in that pool to try and get my damned brain working. Yeah, of course. Got to change my name.”
“Upon my soul, but I admire a man who likes to speak his mind. Indeed I do,” Doc said, grinning. “That’s my impersonation of… of someone or other from some old vid.”
“I don’t know what to call myself,” Ryan said.
“John Doe,” Krysty suggested. “Used to be the name for chills they couldn’t put a name to.”
164
“Thanks, lover,” Ryan said dryly.
“Floyd Thursby,” Doc offered.
The suggestion was greeted with total silence by every-one. Ryan tried the name on his tongue, finding it felt fa-miliar. “Not bad.”
“Like it.” Lori smiled. “Floyd Thursby. I can remem-ber that.”
Krysty leaned over and kissed Ryan on the lips. “Hey, Floyd, you kiss just like a guy I used to know.”
“You enjoy it?” Ryan grinned and pulled her to him, kissing her long and hard.
“Even better when you help,” she replied, face flushed, sentient hair coiling and uncoiling on her shoulders.
“Floyd Thursby.” J.B. tried the name. “Why not? Where did you pick that one from, Doc?”
The old-timer looked puzzled. “I think… No, it’s vanished. Perhaps we shall never know who the real Mr. Floyd Thursby was. It will remain a mystery shrouded in an enigma.”
they finally ran out of gas a little before noon. For-tunately the rebuilt wag had been giving them plenty of warning, the engine stalling and backfiring repeatedly. Jak, who was at the wheel, had ample time to pick a se-cluded spot off the deserted blacktop. He eventually parked the truck in a grove of trees, completely out of sight of any casual passersby. They hadn’t seen a soul since crossing the Susquehanna, so it looked like a good place to safely store some of their clothes and blasters.
“We go and we look. Find a way-if there is a way-to take out Harvey and his woman. And his bastard son. We need more power, we come back here and collect the rest of the blasters.”
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The Armorer sighed at Ryan’s words. “Surely like to have the Uzi in my hand, going into a hostile ville like this.”
“Sec men’d chill us ‘fore we got ten paces over the moat.”
“Sure, Ryan, sure.”
Their secluded grove was a place of quietness and muted grays and greens. A small, furry animal scuttled amid the rustling leaves, darting out of sight behind the wheels of the wag.
“Nice forest,” Krysty said. “Any mutie critters around here?”
“Some humans,” Ryan replied. “There’s still some black bear in the hills, and mebbe some cougar. Pa used to breed wild boars. Big mothers, six feet at the shoulder, with curved tusks that’d rip your belly open ‘fore you even saw ’em coming.”
“Nice, lover. I’ll stay close to you. This all the woods from the Front Royal ville?”
“Used to be. When I was a kid it seemed like we owned half the Shens. Now… I don’t know. Just know that we gotta step careful.”
“When do we move?” Doc asked. “There’s ample daylight left for us to continue with our odyssey, is there not?”
Ryan put his hands to his chin, as if he were praying, trying to decide what’d be best. It was nearly twenty years since he’d been in Virginia. There could have been lots of changes-probably had been. In fact, in the year since there’d been any reliable, fresh news, much might have altered at the ville. Harvey could be dead. So could his wife and son. There could have been a rebellion. It was widely known that precious few barons ever died peace-fully in their own beds.
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“Wait for dusk,” he finally decided.
Most of them slept through that long afternoon.
They all dreamed, locked in their own private memo-ries and thoughts.