looped rig inside his coat. The girl stood by him, running a hand through her
mane of dazzling hair, and Ryan watched her. In the flickering light of the
campfire he had the momentary illusion that the red hair had a life of its own.
That it had some odd sentience. It was almost as if it responded to her hand,
moving in long fronds about her fingers.
“Got to check the guards.”
“I’ll come.”
“Yeah. Be company.”
They moved away from the circle of light and into the damp coolness of the
forest. Normally Ryan did not like the woods. Man couldn’t see far enough. Man
was vulnerable among these trees, their trunks and branches tortured and twisted
from years of growing in wild weather and the extremes of toxic foulness. All
sorts of muties, human and animal—and something in between—lived among these
trees. But now they were moving north, into the high mountains.
“Be in the Darks in a few days.”
“Peter Maritza had some old maps,” Krysty said. “Back before the Fire. This was
called Montana.”
“I heard that. Time was I knew the names of almost all of ’em. The old States.
Now I forgot ’em, don’t need ’em no more.”
He stopped and whistled. A low, insistent sound that carried through the
darkness. After a moment they both heard a whistle in reply, from their left,
close in. And then another, from the right, farther away. Ryan put his hand to
his mouth and whistled once more, a double trill that faded away.
“They’ll be here soon. It’s Jim and Meg. Wait here and don’t move around, or you
might get shot. End of a sentry spell and the finger gets white on the trigger.”
The girl appeared first, a rifle under her arm. She was tall and skinny, with a
gray forage cap pulled low over her eyes. Ryan knew she wore it that way to help
conceal her baldness. She nodded to him and to Krysty and went silently past,
heading for the camp. Jim was on the outlying patrol and he came in at an easy
lope, rifle at the high port.
“Near shit meself, Ryan,” he said.
“What’s up?”
“Heard somethin’ over there, thought it was a bastard sec man of that bastard
Strasser. Then I heard it again, in the brush. I was just goin’ to rake it apart
with this babe here, and out it comes this bastard wolverine, big as a shepherd
dog, mutie teeth all curled in its lip like tusks. Thought it was goin’ to
gut-rip me.”
“Send Henn and Lint out for the next spell,” Ryan told him. “If Strasser’s on
the trail, he could be here before dawn.”
“When do we leave?” Krysty asked as she and Ryan watched the gray-clad figure of
Jim disappear into the darkness.
“False dawn, that’s when. We’ll put some more distance between us and Strasser!”
The girl moved to stand closer to Ryan, her hand reaching out into the gloom and
resting for a brief moment on his right arm. “What do you think we’ll find up
there?”
“Fog. That’s the only thing that’s sure. Only thing they all talk of is the
fog.” He stared out through the trees, listening to the faint but insistent
sound of fast-running water. “My guess is the fog hides somethin’ from the old
times. Somethin’ they wanted kept hid, so they set this fog like a dog to guard
it. Whoever ‘they’ are, they’re long burned. Or chilled. But their dog’s still
there. I seen what it can do. I saw Kurt. He was like a man that’s been through
a mincer and then set on fire.”
“Can we make it?”
“War wag holds plenty of gas. Food’s fine. Touch short on men. And women.”
“The Trader?”
“Soon. I just wish J.B. was here. And Sam and Hun and Koll. All good people to
have at your back.”
The wind was rising again. Off to the east Ryan saw something flare high in the
sky, a vivid purple, crimson at its edges. One more piece of nuclear junk
sliding back into the earth’s atmosphere, burning up on reentry.
“Listen,” said Krysty.
“What?”