James Axler – Road Wars

“Now we’ll see.” J.B. checked that the cold hadn’t affected any of his blasters. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

THEY HAD DECIDED that the best place to begin the final stage of their search would be to pick a high spot with a view over Seattle from the east. There was a particular hill that suited their purpose and they had been working their way toward it, occasionally slipping on the icy trail.

Apart from the scattered fires among the ruins, there didn’t seem to be a living soul within fifty miles of them.

There had been a pair of white-pelted hares gamboling in a clearing among the pines, as they climbed higher, who’d totally ignored them.

In a valley to their right they spotted a small herd of deer, picking its way delicately through the frosted grass. J.B. had nudged Ryan and pointed to the Steyr on his shoulder, but he’d shaken his head.

“Bullet on a still, cold morning like this might be heard twenty miles off. Could attract Abe and Trader. If they’re anywhere near. Could attract anyone else.”

It was hard work, and both men were panting as they neared the crest of the small mountain.

“You can make out the sea from here,” Ryan said, pausing for breath.

“Yeah. Look at the Cascades back yonder.”

A few more paces brought them to the top, giving them the ultimate view, all the way around.

Now they could see the far side of the slope, bisected by a narrow hunting path. Two figures were about a hundred yards below them, struggling upward through the deeper snow. The smaller man was sliding and falling, a little way to the rear.

The leader, using the butt of what looked like an old Armalite rifle to help himself, was gray-haired, tall and erect. He spotted the pair on the ridge above him immediately and stopped for a single heartbeat. Then he lifted his blaster above his head in an unmistakable gesture.

“There they are,” Ryan breathed.