“Ryan, need stop,” Jak said.
Taking another swallow of the U.S. Army coffee, Ryan asked, “What for?”
“Could use a visit to the bushes myself,” Mildred admitted.
“Sure, but wait till we reach a stream,” Ryan said, draining the cup. “That way the water will wash away our traces from any predators.”
“Long as it’snot too long,” J.B. grumbled, sliding his hat over his face and crossing his arms. Soon, soft snoring sounded.
“Hey! Check over there!” Krysty cried from the front seat. She pointed to their right. “A highway rest stop.”
“It appears to be in good condition,” Doc announced, wiping his chin clean with a moist towelette.
“And check those trucks!”
J.B. jerked upright and shoved his fedora into position at the same time. “Trucks?”
“Dozens of them,” Ryan said, placing his tin cup on the dashboard into a small recess that seemed made for the purpose. “Exactly what we need. Leviathan’s chassis is built on a civilian truck frame.”
“Even if the transmissions were drained,” J.B. said, “a few drops would remain on the gears, and over the years flow to the bottom. We get a couple of spoonfuls from each, and we got us a working tank again.”
“Get hard, people,” Ryan said, checking the SIG-Sauer in his belt. “What we’ve thought of, so will others. This is a natural place for an ambush.”
As weapons were primed, Ryan took the tank out of gear and silently rolled down the gentle incline onto the oil-stained concrete apron, easing the craft to a halt between a couple of tractor trailer combos. The closest was a refrigerator unit, its belly hung with liquid air tanks to chill the cargo. The next was a flatbed fenced with wooden slats.
“For hauling livestock,” Doc stated, opening the cylinder of his .44 LeMat and makng sure the copper nipples for the percussion charges were firmly in place. “There appear to be pig bones in there.”
“I’ve never seen so many cars and trucks,” Dean ventured, his lips moving as he tried to count
“Might even be gas in the storage tanks,” J.B. said, stuffing tools into his clothes. “Dean, check and see if we have a hose to use as a siphon, will you?”
“Sure,” the lad replied, and he was in the center locker rooting about. “Found one!”
“How long?”
“Ten, twelve yards.”
“More than enough.”
“Hilltop is clean,” Krysty said, putting aside her binocs. “If there are sentries or snipers, they’re too well hidden for me to find.”
“Trucks seem okay,” Mildred added, sweeping her vision over the rusting assemblage of vehicles.
“Lots of rats, some stingwings, but no sign of inhabitants.”
Reluctantly killing the engines, Ryan set the
brakes and spun his chair. “This bothers me,” he said bluntly. ” One of the first lessons the Trader ever taught me was, anything that seems too good to be true, is too good to be true.”
“Leave?” Jak asked pointedly. “Or hard and fast?”
Ryan slung his Steyr over a shoulder. “As if we were under attack. J.B., get the juice and nothing else. No side trips. Our fuel is okay for now. Mildred, help him stay on that goal. Doc and Krysty,
guard duty. Dean and I will do a fast perimeter recce for any trouble.”
“Hey,” Jak drawled. Magnum in hand, he was crouched by the door, his long snowy hair masking his pale features.
Resting the stock of his Steyr on a hip, Ryan stared at the teenager. “How’s the arm?”
Sheepishly, the teenager flexed his shoulder.
“Sore,” he admitted.
“That’s why you’re on sentry duty. Stay inside, no matter what happens out here. You remember the codes?”
“Yeah,” he said and took his position at the driver’s seat. “Roger, Adam, Charles.”
“Right. Stay sharp.”
“Codes?” Dean asked, sliding on his bulky vest.
“When you’re on sentry,” explained Ryan. “You stay hidden, doors locked. Gives us an edge having a secret member of the group.”
“So if trouble comes,” J.B. added, “shoot high and we duck.”
“What if somebody drags one of you over with a knife to the throat and says you’re the key?” Dean asked.
Ryan looked at the boy. “That’s where the codes come into use. In a situation like that, we would have more information than the sentry, so he would follow our lead.”