“Light’s going,” Ryan observed.
“Not time for that.” J.B. Dix checked his chron. “Dark night! Where did the time all go? Doesn’t seem all that long since we left Abe, yesterday.”
“Covered some miles.” Trader was showing signs of tiredness, his breathing harsh and ragged. Twice he’d been doubled over with a coughing fit. The second time Ryan was almost certain that he’d seen a spray of scarlet on the older man’s breath.
“Best look for somewhere to hole up.” Ryan had been uncomfortable for the last half hour, the hairs at the back of his neck warning him that they were being shadowed. Twice he’d casually stopped and glanced around, once pretending his bootlace had worked loose.
But he hadn’t seen anything.
“You reckon there’s” Trader began. “Been feeling for a good few minutes now that”
“Me too,” J.B. agreed. “Like an itch you can’t quite get at to scratch.”
“Seen nothing.” Trader looked slowly around, scanning the mountains of rubble.
“One of the first things you taught us was that when you couldn’t see the Apaches, it probably meant they were about to attack you, Trader.”
There came that familiar barking laugh, like a wolf in a thicket. “Glad you remember something I taught you, Ryan.”
THE SUN SEEMED to fall out of the western sky like a boulder off a high cliff. The clouds had finally slipped away, leaving long shadows that stretched up and over the ruins of Seattle. Now they were gone.
Only the few buildings that still remained with more than a half-dozen floors were lighted, a bright golden glow on the dappled walls that faded quickly, the final light of the sinking sun moving upward.
Once it was gone, the darkness became like a potent living force, flowing all around Ryan, J.B. and the Trader like a soft black velvet.
“Need someplace,” Trader said.
“Left it late.” J.B. had the shotgun at his hip, head turning slowly from side to side, as if he could already see an enemy approaching them.
“Some kind of mall ahead there,” Ryan said. “Thought I saw an entrance before the sun moved away.”
“Underground?” Trader shook his head, his face a pale blur in the deepening gloom. “Can’t say I ever cared much for burrowing underground.”
“Me neither.” Ryan heard the faintest quiver in the Armorer’s voice, and remembered that his oldest friend suffered from claustrophobia.
“We don’t have a lot of choice. Seems that this part of the ville is just wasted. No houses. No stores. Nothing much for shelter.”
“Sleep out?” Trader offered.
“In the heart of a ruined ville? Come on,” Ryan said. “We all know better than that.”
THERE WAS some white-painted graffiti, just inside the entrance. “This is a place of God’s carelessness,” it read.
None of them commented on it.
They also saw what might have been a street-gang symbol. Ryan had seen similiar daubs in the heart of old Newyorkskulls or squares or circles of one color or another. This was an inverted cross, in red. “Think this was an underground shopping mall?”
Trader asked, hesitating at the opening, constantly turning to peer back over a shoulder.
“Looks like it.” J.B. sniffed. “Smells like it’s been used as a public outhouse for the last hundred years.”
“Best go in and find us a corner before it gets to be full dark.” Ryan led the way into the noisome chasm, picking his way among the rubble.
Though Ryan’s night sight wasn’t anywhere as good as Jak Lauren’s, it was still adequate to see in the darkening gloom, inside the mall.
The place had been completely stripped. Not a shard of glass or splinter of wood remained. The shelves and signs had gone from all of the individual retail units, and there were no doors or windows, just the bare concrete boxes, looking like the unoccupied stalls in a gigantic stable.
“You still got that feeling, Ryan?”
“Yeah. You, Trader?”
“Strong. I might’ve been out of the way of firefights for a while, but you don’t forget that feeling.”
J.B. nodded, the fading light glinting off his glasses. “Shame we haven’t got Krysty here. She could ‘feel’ if there was any real threat around.”