James Axler – The Mars Arena

KRYSTY AND THE OTHERS waited almost an hour after the sec teams left before coming down out of the mountains. The muties had left, too, going back to wherever they’d come from.

They split up, reccing the area to see what the sec men had left behind. Bernsen went with Doc, since the two of them were more mechanically inclined.

Bodies lay everywhere, muties and sec men. Hardcoe and LeMarck hadn’t bothered with their dead.

Krysty and Jak prowled through the interior of the overturned wag. She kept her mind occupied on what she could find and off what might be happening to Ryan, J.B. and Mildred.

“Got gas in outside tank,” Jak said. “Slapped it. Sounded full. Got four tires still whole that side, too. Take lot of work to dig out.”

Krysty found two boxes of .38 ammunition and a box of 9 mm in the sliding drawer under the driver’s seat. Sand had spilled in through the open window, and she had to dig to get at it, then pry it open with a crowbar Jak dug out of the toolbox in the back.

“Got shovels,” Jak said, holding up one of the folding trenching tools. “Some other things.”

“Keep it in mind.” Krysty put the ammo in her backpack. “Mebbe we’ll find a use for them.” Netting caught her attention, hanging from a hook above the door and disappearing under the mound of loose sand. She dug patiently, following the netting, getting to the bottom and finding a half-dozen self-heats in the bag. She took them out and stored them, too. They’d lost some of their food when Ryan and J.B. were taken. Mildred had been carrying half of the medicine Krysty had turned up in the helicopter.

“Krysty!” Doc bellowed.

Standing up awkwardly between the seats, Krysty looked through the shattered passenger-side window. Doc and Bernsen were under the raised hood of the burned wag. It had still been burning in places when the companions had arrived. They’d thrown handfuls of sand onto the flames until they died away.

“What’s wrong, Doc?” she asked.

“Actually, my dear,” the old man replied with a white-toothed grin, “things have the appearance of being very right.” He turned to Bernsen. “Hit it.”

The scientist leaned under the wag’s raised hood with a screwdriver. Sparks flashed, then the wag’s engine started with a throaty snort. It ran for only a few seconds before dying.

“The good news,” Doc said, “is that this engine is capable of running in spite of the fire. The bad news is one tank was ruptured by an explosion and the other was drained of fuel.”

“We’ve got fuel over here,” Krysty replied. “It’ll take some digging to get to it.”

“By the Three Kennedys, then we shall give this the proverbial old college try. Repairs also necessitate replacing some of the fuel lines, but that appears possible, as well.”

“Get on it,” Krysty said. “Jak and I will get the fuel.”

“Capital!”

She walked to the rear of the wag, sliding around the seat.

Jak waited for her, handing her one of the trenching tools he held. “Got can, too.” He pointed at the empty jerrican in the back. “Looks usable. Get under tank, puncture mebbe with knife, drain into can and carry to Doc.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Krysty took the shovel and walked out the back of the wag. Rounding the vehicle, stepping over two muties who’d almost been eviscerated by heavy-caliber rounds, she scanned the ridges, wary of anyone who might be waiting.

“Nobody,” Jak said. “Animals starting creep back into area. They feel safe, we feel safe.”

Krysty took the youth’s word for it. Her senses weren’t as sharp as Jak’s, but they registered no threats waiting in the shadows. She put her foot on the rolled shoulder of the shovel blade and rammed it deeply into the sand. The sand moved easily, but there was a lot of it. She kept working as Jak fell in beside her, concentrating on the effort, knowing every shovelful put her that much closer to Ryan.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

“Welcome to Las Vegas,” Mildred said, pressing her face against the bars covering the sides and back of the wag. The sun was going down, setting in ocher and amber behind them as they traveled east.