Carefully sliding through the split top of an armored bank truck, Harold maneuvered up the wall shelves and into the front seats. Unlocking the passenger side door, he swung out and dropped the full yard to the concrete apron outside the ville.
Directly before him was the dead river, the stink of sulfur hurting his nose and eyes. On the other side of the stained concrete banks were the ruins of the predark city that he had been named after. Holding his breath, Harold listened for any movement on the wall above. But the world was still asleep; not even the sting-wings or the lizards were up and moving yet.
However, the clouds seemed more yellowish than normal, and panic seized the man as he wondered if the deadly acid rain was coming early this year. But in spite of his proximity to the polluted river, the smell in the morning air was wrong, not strong enough. He gratefully relaxed his powerful shoulders. No storm was forthcoming, and it would be safe for him to leave the ville and do what had to be done to save his poor wife.
Closely following the rusted wrecks composing the wall, Harold watched the searchlights crisscross the brightening sky. Dawn was when the night crew went home to sleep, and the day crew turned off the colossal lights and did maintenance on the alcohol-driven generators, transformers and jennies.
Shivering slightly from a damp chill in the air, Harold waited until the beams winked out. Moving fast, he dashed forward a dozen yards and dropped to the rough ground. Prying off the grate of a storm drain with his bare hands, Harold scrambled inside and eased the hundred pounds of rusty iron gently back into place.
He was halfway there.
WITH A SMOOTH hydraulic hiss, the black metal door to the redoubt moved aside and the sputtering Hummer rolled through the opening, bluish smoke coughing from the muffler. At the steering wheel, Ryan gave it some gas and worked the choke until the engine smoothed somewhat.
“You sure the timing is right?” he asked gruffly, studying the gauges on the dashboard. Plenty of fuel, and the battery was charged, oil pressure and water temp at acceptable levels.
“Sounds like bad piston rings,” J.B. told him, standing in the cargo area, an arm resting on the long M-60 machine rifle attached to an upright gimbal, a linked belt of ammo traveling from its breech to a big box attached to the stand.
There was another sputtering cough, and a small explosion of blue smoke.
“Is this going to make it to the ruins?” Krysty asked from the front passenger seat, the Steyr SSG-70 cradled in her arms. With Ryan doing the driving, she was the point guard for the journey. “Be a long walk back.”
“Especially, sir, conveying the rest of us on your back,” Doc added from his perch on top of a stack of weapons crates. The Hummer was much larger than a military-style jeep, but not quite of sufficient size to comfortably hold seven people and a load of supplies. Doc had lost the coin toss, and so was resigned to the cargo area with the water barrel and bazookas. A folded towel offered his bony hindquarters some comfort, but not much.
“Be okay, just old,” Jak said from the back seat, jammed between Dean and Mildred, with boxes of supplies at their feet.
“The engine is just burning off the excess oil buildup. We flushed it twice, but there’s always a bit left over,” Dean explained as the engine suddenly smoothed into a powerful hum. “See? Told you.”
“Better,” Ryan agreed, gunning the gas a few times to check the response. The big Detroit engine obeyed promptly, so the Deathlands warrior put the Hummer into gear and started following the tunnel to the exit.
Krysty bobbed her head about to see where they were going. The damn snorkel for the power plant was next to her window, partially blocking her view, but they hadn’t been able to get the thing to retract, so she was stuck. At least it was only the air intake and wasn’t blowing exhaust into the wag. The snorkel was designed to automatically cut in if the vehicle went into water deeper than a few feet. Jeeps were faster, and APCs offered serious protection, but for general work, Krysty thought the Hummer was damn near perfect. It did everything well, even if the only armor it had was in the floorboards to protect the crew from land mines. The doors were only stretched canvas and wouldn’t stop a newborn sting-wing.