“My recollection, dear friend, is that the hero ended up with a real bad flys head, when the actual jump went more than a little awry. The inevitable cinematic consequence of trying to tamper with the works of the Almighty.”
Dean’s face, the stark planes like polished ivory, peered over Doc’s shoulder at his father. His voice sounded hoarse. “How’s it going, Dad?”
“Better by the minute, son. You ready to go and start a look around this redoubt?”
“Sure. Just as long as we don’t have to go anywhere near a gateway for for at least another hundred years.”
Ryan grinned at the boy. “You and me both, Dean. Yeah, you and me both.”
THE PONDEROUS SEC DOOR rose smoothly into the air as J.B. threw the green lever up. He stopped it when it was only a scant few inches off the concrete floor, so that Jak could flatten himself and peer beneath it with his shrewd ruby eyes.
“Nothing.”
The door continued its upward progress, almost silently.
Ryan leaned his hand against the wall while he waited, aware of his own weakness. Krysty saw the movement and moved closer. “Want a shoulder to lean on, lover?” she asked.
“All the time,” he replied, then lifted a hand. “No. I can make my way. Tell you what, though.”
“What?”
“Wouldn’t mind if you took the Steyr for a while.”
“Sure.” Ryan unslung the rifle, taking care not to knock the Starlite night scope and laser image enhancer against the wall. He handed it to Krysty, who took it and put the strap across her own back.
Trader glanced around him. “Ready to go?”
“Sure. J.B. take point, and you cover our asses, Trader. I’ll just sort of stumble along somewhere in the middle.”
There was a biting, nagging headache at the back of his skull, but Ryan pushed it away and joined in the skirmish line with the others, Dean walking at his side.
“SMELL,” Jak said.
Everyone stopped, sniffing the air.
“I fear that I have my usual snuffling cold,” Doc announced after a few moments.
“Sulfur,” Mildred said.
They’d gone only a few dozen paces along a typical redoubt corridor. To the left of the gateway entrance had been a blank wall of concrete. The corridor to the right was about twenty-five feet wide, with walls that sloped slightly until they became the arched roof. Strip neon lighting kept it well illuminated, though some of the tubes had, not surprisingly, burned out over the past century. Miniature vid sec cameras placed near the tops of the walls kept their ceaseless vigil, tiny red lights showing when they were actually functioning.
Ryan could smell it now, faint, at the back of consciousnessthe smell of rotten eggs.
“Hot springs?” Trader suggested. “Could mean we’re near that place north of the Shoshone Forest. Damn, but my memory gets worse every damn day!”
“Yellowstone?” Abe suggested cautiously, knowing that Trader got even more angry if an attempt to prompt turned out to be inaccurate.
“Yeah!” Trader slapped Abe on the back. “Ace on the fucking line, buddy. Yellowstone. All those bubbling pools and steam and shit.”
“Could be.” Ryan sniffed again. “But there’s another smell, as well. Kind of salt. I reckon we might be out in the western islands. Hot springs and volcanoes and every kind of wrong thing you can think of.”
“What’re the western islands?” Mildred asked. “I don’t think I’ve heard that name before.”
Ryan answered her. “Probably because we’ve never jumped out that way since you’ve been with us. Which, in its turn, is probably because it was worst hit during the nukecaust and I doubt that many redoubts survived.”
“Not close to the coast, anyway,” J.B. agreed. “What was California in your day, Mildred.”
“Oh, right. I know you told me some of the changes in the old U.S. of A. during the last war. You said that the West Coast was particularly badly hit by the missiles.”
“Nearly wiped clean away,” Trader said. “Couldn’t find a speck of beach for a thousand miles.”
Doc coughed. “My belief is that the San Andreas and all the other associated tectonic fault lines were struck and opened up. All of their energy was released, and the consequent quakes stretched out far beyond the coast. Is that not the correct scenario, John Barrymore?”