Chapter Twenty-Seven
The inferno of Helskel smeared the dark sky with a glow that could be seen for miles. Even after the dune buggy had dipped down into a gulley, the orange stain could still be seen, like the aurora borealis.
Jak, standing and holding on to the roll bar, had been checking their backtrack. “Whole ville going up.”
“What about pursuit?” asked J.B., crouched behind the wheel.
“No sign, yet. Too busy fighting fire.”
J.B. switched on the headlights. The dune buggy had peen running without headlights for the past hour, relying on the tracker instincts and night vision of Jak to find and follow the AMAC’s trail.
Doc, Krysty and Fleur were still crammed shoulder to shoulder in the back seat. Krysty’s head rested on Doc’s shoulder in a sleep so deep it was almost a coma. The jarring and jouncing of the wag over the rutted, uneven ground had failed to stir her.
J.B. figured to follow the AMAC’s tire tracks to a certain point, then cut over in the general direction of the cave. Trouble was, he wasn’t sure how to find that certain point.
Worries swirled through his mind like a tornado. Though he hadn’t seen one, the AMAC could be outfitted with a shortwave comm unit, and Hellstrom could have already been apprised of their escape. The closer they rolled to Mount Rushmore, the greater the odds of rolling into an ambush.
He wasn’t sure if they could find the cave in the darkness, since he had only glimpsed its general location on Hellstrom’s hand-drawn map. Fleur had never been allowed to visit the pickup point. According to her, it was a trip Hellstrom always reserved for himself and a couple of sec men. The closest she had been to the cave was the mouth of a canyon that led to it.
Consulting his chron, then the position of the stars and the moon overhead, he judged they had about seven hours of sheltering darkness left to them, seven hours to navigate ravines, hills and dry creek beds to locate a cave none of them had ever seen. Hell, they only had the word of a maniac the place even existed.
The dune buggy raced across the rugged terrain, and they made good time, much better time than the AMAC during their initial trip into the area.
Around midnight, J.B. stopped the vehicle briefly so everyone could stretch their legs and drink from the canteens they’d taken from a room off the armory. Krysty slept on in the back seat. Only Fleur thought her near-comatose state was unusual. The wag’s fuel tank was half drained, so Jak refilled it from one of the gas cans. After half an hour they were underway again, Doc trading places with Jak in the shotgun seat.
They rode far into the night until they recognized the mouth of the valley that had been the site of their battle with the Lakota. It was about an eighth of a mile away J.B. quickly switched off the headlights and silenced the engine. Half to himself, he said, “If Hellstrom’s anywhere about, that’s where he’s laying.”
Doc nodded. “I concur. He appears to be a creature of habit, and probably intends to camp in familiar surroundings, at least until morning. I suggest we reverse our course.”
Jak leaned forward, his white hair shining like a tangle of silver threads in the moonlight. “Need recce, find out if there, if know we escaped.”
J.B. agreed with the albino teenager. There was a chance Hellstrom and his party might be watching for them.
Getting out of the dune buggy, J.B. said softly, “We’ll take a stroll in that direction. Doc, stay here with Krysty and Fleur. If you hear any shooting, and when you think you’ve waited long enough, haul ass out of here. Stay on triple red. Jak, since it was your idea, you can lead the way.”
The two men walked toward the mouth of the valley but angled their path toward one sloping wall of the arroyo. The moon dropped a ghostly light on the rocky, brush-studded ground. Wind brought the faraway howl of a wolf, and the answering yelp of a coyote. At least, J.B. hoped it was a wolf and a coyote.