“I’m on point,” he said.
“Maybe we should just leave,” Mildred suggested.
“No. What’s on the other side could be more valuable to us than it was to the coldhearts.”
“Why?”
“Because we can use it.” Easing open the door, he waited a moment for a reaction, then slipped through, J.B. at his heels, Krysty close behind.
Dean waited for the others to get a bit ahead of him before following. Then on an impulse, he hurried back, retrieved the Ruger from the floor and tucked it into his belt. Whet he planned to do with the weapon, Dean had no idea. But he felt angered over the girl’s death, and was determined to find somebody or something to blame it on and get revenge.
The next room proved to be the top floor of the redoubt, a single cavernous expanse stretching off for hundreds of yards ahead of them. Broken military machines of a dozen different sizes and shapes dotted the floor in rows upon rows. It was the motor pool. Dean’s hopes soared at the sight. His father had told him how many were the times they found working APCs or Hummers, some even with caches of stored fuel and ammo. None of the vehicles ever lasted long, but while they did the team rode in style and safety.
Dodging past a row of vehicles he had once heard. Mildred refer to as jeeps, Dean slowed and scowled. The rest of the garage resembled a junkyard, with most of the machines in various stages of being totally disassembled: engines taken out, wheels off, axles bare of brakes and bearings, armor sheeting removed entirely, doom gone, weapon mounts empty.
“Fuel pump!” Jak called, and Dean hurried in that direction. The rest of the group was clustered around a stainless-steel pair of pumps set near the massive ruin of an APC. Dean watched as J.B. worked the priming controls and Jak held a hose hopefully over a bucket. Only vapor belched out.
“Did you prime the pump?” Dean asked.
“This type doesn’t need it,” Ryan said dourly. “No, the storage tanks have already been drained. Too bad.”
“Any sign of that fancy condensed fuel?” Doc asked hopefully.
“Wish to hell I knew what it was,” Mildred grumped. “It doesn’t have the odor of regular gas or leave a spectrum pattern on water like any normal petroleum product. Yet regular combustion engines rim on it for hundreds of miles a gallon. It’s something brand-new.”
“Not that there’s anything here to fuel,” Krysty said bluntly, glancing around. “The place is a machine graveyard. Nothing but bits and pieces remaining.”
Turning off the wheezing pump, J.B. removed his fedora and scratched his head. “Which makes no sense. Why rip apart every machine? Were they searching for a special part?”
“Mebbe they had no idea what they were doing,” Dean suggested.
“Doesn’t appear so,” Ryan said, walking over to a tracked vehicle. The hood was completely gone, the engine compartment exposed to the bare overhead lights. “I spotted it as we passed. See? The engine’s been removed, but the nuts on the mounting bolts were screwed back on. A trained mechanic Does that so as not to lose a nut, not looters.”
“Probably taking p>arts from one to fix another,” Krysty observed. “If so, then there could easily be a Hummer intact somewhere in a corner.”
Raking fingers through his hair, Ryan exhaled slowly. “Highly doubtful, but we’ll check.”
“I saw a big canvas lump over there,” Dean said, motioning behind them. “Really huge. Could be anything.”
“Show us,” Ryan said.
Dodging debris on the floor with the agility of youth, Dean retraced his steps. The neat rows of vehicles became a jumbled array, and finally a barricade of metal parked end to end. Clambering over the impromptu wall, Dean disappeared from view.
The others moved quickly, but with far more care, and found an opening in the ring of steel. Here there was a clear section of floor, and partially covered with a large canvas was the biggest tank any of them had ever seen. A tank of unknown design, but apparently in absolutely perfect condition.
“By the Three Kennedys!” Doc whispered.
J.B. swallowed hard. “The mother lode.”