too much. You come with us.”
“How about taking Lori?”
“No. If we meet trouble ahead, I’d rather have you along, providin’ you don’t
smoke one of your bastard cheroots in here.”
So the transfer was made, and the ailing buggy was left in the charge of Henn
and Finnegan, who were both now recovered from the effects of the drugged punch.
Despite intermittent snow flurries, visibility was generally fair.
“We should be near that valley,” said J.B., holding a handgrip to steady himself
against the rocking and lurching of the buggy.
“How far’ll we go?” asked Krysty.
“Far as it takes. Looks like what’s left up here is a big round zero,” said
Ryan. “Mebbe go back to the redoubt in a day or so and try movin’ to warmer
places. That the way you figure it, J.B.?”
“Sure.”
The bazooka shell exploded near enough to the vehicle that it stopped dead,
tipping up and over. The concussion was shocking, sending the three occupants
toppling into instant darkness.
RYAN CAWDOR WAS FIRST to recover. He blinked and opened his eye, aware of a
shattering ache in his head. He could feel blood crusted around his ears from
the force of the shell.
Someone was looming over him; a man, well built. He wore some sort of silver
band around his forehead, with a large red stone at its center. And his eyes
were a peculiar golden color.
“Has the agony somewhat abated?” asked Uchitel, pronouncing the words carefully.
Chapter Fifteen
THE TRADER’S RULES had been simple. If you got caught by hostiles, you played it
close and careful. That meant saying nothing and acting dumb.
The Narodniki hadn’t bothered to tie Ryan, J.B. and Krysty. While the trio were
unconscious, the Narodniki had taken their weapons, leaving them helpless in the
camp of heavily armed guerrillas.
Uchitel still believed that this desolate land must have its legendary wealth
somewhere. It couldn’t possibly be this poor. Not after all he’d read and seen
in the old books. Somewhere, there were towering buildings that scraped the sky;
beautiful women who offered themselves to every man. All of that and more, was
here in America.
Uchitel’s more robust approach to questioning prisoners hadn’t worked,
so—fortunately for Ryan, J.B. and Krysty—this time, he was trying a more
friendly approach, for a while. And this trio was utterly different from any of
the shit-eating peasants he’d seen so far in America.
They wore clean clothes that were almost like uniforms and were made of
excellent material, Utchitel observed; and they were physically in good
condition, particularly the tall man who’d lost an eye. He was honed like a fine
blade. The woman with the scarlet hair was also in marvelous condition: it had
taken all of Uchitel’s persuasiveness to prevent some of his followers from
immediately raping her. The short skinny man with the spectacles didn’t seem so
powerful, but when they’d searched him they’d found he was a walking arsenal,
carrying concealed guns, knives and explosives.
Their guns—modern, well greased, with no shortage of ammo for them—were better
than anything that the Narodniki had ever seen. Most of the blasters looked as
if they’d just come from an armaments factory.
While the trio was unconscious, the band had gathered around them,
“Did I not tell you?” Uchitel had said to his followers. “Here is wealth beyond
reckoning! They drive a truck that can move over ice and snow! They must have
fuel for it! Who has seen such, things?” Nobody answered. “And where there are
three, then must there not be more? Da there must. And their guns… their
clothes… We are close, brothers and sisters, so close to more power and wealth
than we have ever dreamed of.”
“What if they are too powerful for us?” Urach had asked.
“We have seen these Americans—need the Narodniki fear such folk? Here are three
of their best, at our mercy!”
And the Narodniki roared their approval of Uchitel’s words.
Had his agony abated somewhat? The question confounded Ryan Cawdor… as did this
stranger with the ornate headband and the golden eyes. Had that bang on the head
made him delirious? Ryan remembered that O’Mara, the machine gunner from War Wag