He watched Rogan ahead of him. Rogan, too, had pulled his parka hood over his
face, but was now shoving it back up again. The gesture, the movement somehow
angered Kurt. He sniffed the air, wondered idly how Rogan would take it if he
suddenly cut loose with his piece and blew his head off. Kurt chuckled darkly to
himself. Not very well, he thought. Not very well at all. It was so nuke-blasted
hot.
He took a bead on Rogan as he silently swore. Rogan’s head filled the sight.
Kurt dropped by a millimeter or so. Now the stupid clown’s neck. A round in
there at this distance would plunge through skin and tissue, shatter the
cervical vertebrae, punch out the thyroid cartilage, send the whole head
spinning off sideways. In his mind’s eye he could clearly see it sailing through
the snowflakes, blood spraying out from the torn underside.
Suddenly there was a flurry of movement in the sight, a yell of outrage
exploding from the target. Kurt let the rifle down slowly as Rogan’s own piece
jerked up.
Rogan screamed, “What the hell you doin’?”
Kurt held his rifle loosely and grinned. “Thought I saw a movement.”
“Where? On my head?” Rogan’s face was red with fury.
“Yeah. Flea or something. Maybe a louse. Who knows?” Kurt was now impassive.
“What’s with this stupe? He out of his mind?”
McCandless glared at Rogan.
“Shut it. You want the whole mountain to hear you?”
“He was tryin’ to kill me!”
Kurt said, “He’s overreacting, McCandless. I think he’s gone wacko.”
Rogan took a step toward him, the rifle jabbing out. There was a crazed
expression on his face. Kurt’s own gun was raised again, aimed at Rogan’s heart.
McCandless jumped forward, banged his left hand down on Rogan’s rifle, clamped
it tightly. He shoved the piece downward.
“Ya both crazy! Do I blast ya both?”
Kurt dropped his rifle and yawned deliberately.
“Dunno what’s eating him. I was just sighting, that’s all. Seems to me,
McCandless, you want to keep an eye on your buddy or he’s liable to do us all
in.”
“Listen—” Rogan’s voice was thick with rage. One gloved hand jerked up,
forefinger stabbing toward Kurt. “You listen to me…”
“You listen!” McCandless heaved himself at the man, swung him around. He now had
his automatic pistol out and was jabbing it at Rogan’s face, the muzzle inches
from the man’s left eye. “Shut it! Just shut it!” McCandless’s eyes bugged and
Kurt’s hands tightened on his own piece. Any moment now, he thought, any moment…
“Hey!”
Reacher. Up front. Kurt’s eyes shifted from the two men in front of him and
refocused on the senser mutie up the trail. Reacher was standing beside a bend
in the road, waving an arm, gesturing frantically. McCandless’s grip on Rogan
loosened. The .45 slowly dropped. Reacher was shouting, “Round here. Quick.”
McCandless lumbered up the road toward him, still gripping the pistol. Rogan
shot Kurt a black look, then followed. On Kurt’s face was a dark smile, the eyes
narrowed, the lips a thin curved line. Kurt shivered slightly, then wiped an arm
across his brow. He was still hot. He moved on up the road, keeping to the left
side even though the wind had dropped and was no longer sweeping across in
violent gusts.
At the bend he stopped. Reacher was now beside the precipice, pointing. Kurt
stepped to his side and stared down.
“Caught sight of ’em,” the mutie said. “I was backing away, thought McCandless
and Rogan were going to go berserk. Then I’m on the edge and I look down.”
“Yeah.” Kurt gazed at what the flickering lightning revealed far down into the
plunging abyss—heaps of twisted wreckage, rusty metal skeletons, parts scattered
far and wide along the narrow rock bank of the raging river. Beside him,
McCandless, on his knees, stared down, too.
“So that’s where they ended up.”
“Yeah.” Kurt swung around, to look at the winding road. It narrowed, curved
around the rock wall to the left. A blind corner. But there was no one, nothing,
no hidden cave mouth from which might erupt a horde of shrieking muties.
He sniffed the air. A strong smell of ozone drifted into his nostrils, sharp and