carried for just such a purpose. It took less than five minutes to throw up a
wall of large snow bricks six feet high to protect them all from the lethal
wind. During the rare calms, Uchitel had gazed back, trying to spot any sign of
pursuit. Away to the north, he could make out the smoke-tipped cone of one of
the many new volcanoes that had appeared at the time of the wars. The snow
around it was tinted gold from the sulfur fumes, and there was no sign of any
living thing in all that dreadful wilderness. Nothing except the huge mutated
white bears that occasionally loomed from the blizzard, threatening the column.
The bears…and the wolves—lean gray shapes with slavering jaws and thrusting
muzzles, slinking at the corners of a man’s vision. Several times over the years
they had lost men to the wolves. It was one of the reasons that everyone feared
becoming a straggler.
Only the day before a man had gotten left behind. It had happened to Nul, a
quiet, gray-haired man whose nickname was Zero because it often seemed as though
he wasn’t there. His pony had stumbled over a twisted piece of metal; it was a
large mortar shell with tail fins intact, a relic of the missile testing that
had once occurred in that area, which was just across the frozen expanse of the
Bering Strait from North America. A deep gash in the pony’s right foreleg had
exposed the tendons, making the pony limp badly. Nul knew the rules as well as
anyone. Move slower than the group, and you stayed behind. But there was always
a chance of catching up. A man riding alone moved farther and faster than a
party.
There was always a chance of catching up again. All he’d have to do was stay
alive.
“FUCKING BASTARD! Cocksucking shit-swallowing bastard fucker!”
Nul punched the stumbling pony on the side of the head, making it stagger and
nearly fall again. Blood was drying on the streaked flanks where he’d lashed the
pony with the buckle end of his belt. He’d hoped that by now he’d be rejoining
the band. But the shaggy animal seemed to go slower and slower. Now darkness was
less than an hour off, and the band was at least five kilometers ahead. If
Uchitel persisted with his plan to cross the ice and invade what had once been
America, they could begin crossing the strait in less than a week, maybe in only
four or five days. At this rate, Nul figured he’d be more than a day behind by
the time they reached the strait.
It was time to stop, build a shelter and get a fire going. Their pyrotabs were
often the difference between living and dying. Once lit, one of them would
generate enough heat to burn brightly for three hours. Nul had about forty of
them in his saddlebags.
That should be enough. If he didn’t catch up with the others before they crossed
the ice, then he might as well kiss the barrel of the 9 mm Makarov goodbye.
URACH SQUATTED BY HIS LEADER in the lee of the big snow wall. The flames of the
fires fought bravely against the swirling sleet. From beyond the circle of
light, they heard the keening of the wolves.
“Feedin’ on Nul?” he said.
“That’s the cry of hunger. When that stops, then maybe they will have found
Nul.”
“Britva will lose toes after falling through that pool this morning.”
“He can use his own razor. It’ll teach the imbecile a lesson. Trying to gallop
when there is no trail! There may even be live mines this close to the ocean. I
have read how they sowed these hills. MZDs and AKSs all over the place.”
“What if the Americans are waiting for us, Uchitel? Then…?”
The reply was a silent smile.
“You think there is no danger?” asked Urach, holding out his hands to the
flames.
“I know there is no danger. If they were a powerful country, do you not think
they would have overrun this land by now?”
“I suppose…”
“Of course. Brother, go and fetch me some of that fine meat we took from that