The old woman watched the exchange. “Least you got the right sort of wag for that place of death. Right pretty chill rig it is, too.”
J.B. lowered the reins into his lap, looking at Ryan. “What do you figure?”
“Why ask him?” Trader snapped. Ryan stared at his old leader, locked eye to eye with him. “Not the time or place,” he said. “But you have to know that the wheel’s turned. Things are different. Different rules. Time was you said to us to jump, and we just asked you how high. That’s long down the pike, Trader.”
“Is it? Is it?”
“Yeah.”
Ryan turned to the old woman. “Get your wag started again and move on. Thanks for your help.”
“Welcome, outlander. If I was a mite closer to my grave, I’d hitch a ride with you.” She paused with one foot on the step up into the cab of the camper. “One thing.”
“What?”
“There’s things that move at night in Seattle ville. Things like nothin’ I heard of or seen. Things that don’t seem to take to the sunlight.”
“Hey, what kind of things?” Abe shouted, his face showing his alarm at her warning.
But he was too late. She was behind the wheel, the ignition grating over, the engine finally kicking tiredly into clattering life.
She waved a hand to them and engaged something between first and second gear. The wag kicked up a shower of muddy slush as it lurched forward again, its sliding rear end narrowly missing the near side leader on the hearse.
One of the pack animals reared and whinnied in fright, but Trader moved his mount in close and fisted it on the side of the head, quieting it.
The backfiring engine echoed off down the hill, heading in a roughly southeasterly direction.
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Finally it was J.B. who broke the uncomfortable silence. “What Ryan said was right, Trader.”
“What did he say? Don’t remember.”
Ryan flicked a tumbled lock of hair from his face. “You can remember real fine when you want to. The bottom line is that you aren’t in charge of a hundred men and women and two big war wags anymore.”
J.B. interrupted him. “Fact is that you aren’t in charge of anything, anymore, Trader.”
“Just what the fuck does that mean?”
“What I said. All of us are equal.”
Trader snorted, genuinely amused. “Mebbe. Mebbe not. But some of us are more fucking equal than others.”
THEY HAD PICKED their way around the outskirts. Breasting yet another ridge in the winding highway, they finally found themselves within four or five miles of the rotted heart of the old city.
“Best we don’t take the wag in,” J.B. said. “I could stay with it and the rest of the animals. Rest of you go into the ville on foot.”
“I’ll stay, if you like.” Abe blinked nervously as his sudden outburst brought everyone’s attention on him. “Be happy to stay. Not that interested in ruins.”
“Not all that long to dark,” Ryan said. “Camp out here and go in at first light,” the Armorer suggested.
“We’ll go right” Trader stopped, shaking his head. “Shit up a pole!” He made a great effort to change the sour tone of his voice. “If we went in now, leaving Abe and the livestock, we could pick a good safe house for the black hours. Then, come dawn, we’d be where we want to be.” Ryan nodded. “Makes good sense, Trader.”
“Glad you agree with something I say.” The note of bitterness rang loud and clear.
“Cut the crap.” Ryan swung off the back of the bay mare. “Self-pity is for stupes, Trader. You know damned well that there haven’t ever been many things you said that I didn’t agree with. You know that.”
“Sure.” He climbed slowly off his horse, straightened his back and sighed. He patted the steaming animal on the side of the neck. “Got out of the way of riding.” Trader sniffed. “I know what you and J.B. are telling me. Yesterday’s man.”
“That isn’t it.”
“Oh, yeah, Ryan? It surely is. Just remember that one day you’ll get old.”
THE HEARSE STOOD in the lee of what could’ve once been a garage. It only had two walls and one roof, so it was hard to tell. But it gave cover from anyone passing along the blacktop two hundred yards down the hillside. There was even a primitive corral for the horses.