Part of him was deeply unhappy that little Abe had managed to track him through his self-imposed exile, deep into the Cascades. While another, smaller, part of him was sort of flattered and pleased.
And it might be good to meet up once more with Ryan and John Dix.
There was a faint sound out in the blackness, and Trader picked up the Armalite. Cause and effect blurred in the lightning speed of his combat reflexes, reacting so fast that he didn’t even realize that he’d moved.
“Come on then,” he breathed.
Nothing happened and the noise wasn’t repeated. But he still cradled his beloved blaster.
“Seen us some days, friend,” Trader whispered, patting the butt of the Armalite very gently with the flat of his right hand. “Never let each other down, have we?”
The dreams were continuing.
Last night he’d been running desperately, arms pumping, along a winding path, between impenetrable walls of damp, dripping pine trees, trying to make it to a certain agreed rendezvous before the war wags pulled out.
It wasn’t like some other nightmares, where one of the faceless, nameless things was pursuing him along dusty corridors through ruined shopping malls.
This time there was no pursuit.
Just racing against time.
Trader had somehow known, in his dream, that he was impelled to run beyond his breaking point. Yet it was all totally futile. However fast he sprinted, on his burning feet of fire, the war wags would always pull out a minute or so before he reached them, leaving him to stand and shout, emptying the blaster into the sullen sky, seeing the blue gray of their exhausts as they lumbered off along the deserted blacktop.
It would all be for nothing.
“Waste of fucking time,” he said, looking down at the Armalite. “Waste of fucking time, friend.”
He slowly lay down, wincing at the multiplicity of pains that ran through him. Mentally he ticked off where each one came from, each blade and bullet, each fall and fight. More years of blood and toil than anyone could imagine.
The pain in his lower stomach was particularly bad that evening, and he hoped that Abe wouldn’t be too long with his kill. Even a rabbit or a squirrel would be welcome to ease the sharp discomfort he felt.
Trader closed his eyes, resting for a few moments, keeping all his fighting senses alert.
ABE HAD NARROWLY MISSED a clear shot at a resting roe deer, at the side of a stream noisy enough to cover the sounds of his own tracking.
Then he’d seen the light of another fire, in an abandoned line shack up near the top of the next hill along. It seemed safer to wait it out and not run the risk of attracting attention.
When he eventually returned to his campsite the fire was almost out, with just a thin column of watery smoke rising into the air. As Abe dropped the rabbit in the dirt, he noticed that Trader was sleeping like a baby.
Chapter Thirty-Two
J.B. pointed with the Uzi at the notice above the doors that led to the service area of the caverns Private. Positively No Entry to Any Members of the Public. Service, Staff, Stores and Company Parking. All Passes Must Be Shown.
“We get the message,” Mildred said.
Ryan glanced around at the Navaho. “We all ready for this?” he asked.
Sleeps In Day answered for the eight warriors. “We are ready,” he said solemnly.
Ryan and the Armorer slid back the bolts and turned the keys in the powerful locks. There was a faint feeling of resistance, and a distant grinding sound, but everything seemed to be working.
“Slow and easy,” Jak whispered, so eager to get through that he was pushing against Ryan.
There was a deeper darkness on the far side, but some of the weak, golden light from the emergency system spilled through the gap between the doors.
Ryan was first to peer into the tunnel beyond. It wasn’t unlike looking into the heart of one of the passages that lay at the heart of most redoubtsa roughly curved roof, the walls hewed from living rock.
There were no lights in that section, so that it was possible to see only for about a dozen yards.
“Beware the Minotaur.”
Doc’s voice, low and sonorous, made Ryan jump. “Fireblast! My nerves are tight enough without you coming whispering in my ear, you double stupe!”
“My dear fellow, I am so sorry. It was just that the scene beyond yon portals put me most fearfully in mind of artists’ representations of the great maze of Crete. Controlled by the followers of Minos. Wherein did dwell the fabled and murderous Minotaur.”
“What was that?” Krysty asked,
“It had the body of a man, but the head of a ferocious bull, my dear. And it slew the poor souls who became lost within that dread labyrinth.”
The Navaho had half heard what Doc had been saying and they now drew back, gathering together and whispering urgently in their own tongue.
“The old one tells of this monster,” Sleeps In Day said. “Is it true?”
Doc laughed. “It might perchance have been true once. Legend tells that the labyrinth was built by Let me see. By Daedelus, I believe. And the monster was eventually slain by the brave hero, Theseus.”
“So the bull is dead?” Two Dogs Fighting asked.
“My goodness, yes. We may find other monsters in these pitchy depths, but I can guarantee that none of them is likely to be the Minotaur.”
“Come on.” Ryan was losing patience with all the time-wasting. “Follow close. We’ll stop every thirty steps or so to listen for danger.”
THE STONE WAS COLD to the touch, slick in places with damp. A couple of times Ryan found his hand brushing against some sort of fungus, sticky against his skin, disintegrating into a stinking cloud of spores.
After going about a hundred paces, stopping a couple of times, he called for Jak to come to the front.
“What, Ryan?”
“I can feel some fresh air from way ahead. Taste sagebrush, so it’s coming from outside.”
“Can smell it. There’s triple-dim light as well. Want me go first?”
“Sure. But take it slow. Can’t all see in the dark like you can, Jak.”
The albino took the lead, Ryan close behind. Then came Krysty and Mildred, followed by Doc, with J.B. bringing up his favorite rearguard position for the Anglos.
The Navaho huddled along a few paces behind.
“Think they’re frightened of the General, lover?” Krysty whispered.
“No. What I know about them, it’d take a lot more than the General to chicken them out. No, it’s the dark and the fear that there might be hostile spirits that are bothering them. If we can get through to the action, then they’ll be fine.”
“Getting lighter,” Mildred said quietly, her voice swallowed by the confining vastness of the tunnels. “I can see Jak’s hair ahead.”
“Getting wider, too.” Krysty stopped, shaking her head. “Feel someone close, lover.” Her voice sounded troubled. “Can’t tell where they are, but close.”
Ryan hissed out a warning to Jak, telling him of Krysty’s feeling of danger. Looking ahead to the teenager, he was aware that it was considerably lighter. The roof glistened now, and he could see how the tunnel curved to the right.
Jak held up a pale hand, stopping everyone. He beckoned Ryan forward to stand with him at the start of the bend in the passage.
“Voices,” he said quietly.
Ryan could hear them now that everyone was still.
“Close,” he mouthed.
Jak nodded, making a delicate, almost-feminine gesture with his right hand to indicate that he thought they were just around the corner.
The time for hiding and waiting was nearly over.
Trader used to insist that when you had to go in against a hostile ville, you went in with everything, as hard and fast as you possibly could. No point in holding anything back in reserve for the next day.
Because the next day might never come.
Ryan knelt and eased himself forward, pressing his face flat against the slippery walls of the tunnel until he could squint around with his good right eye and see what was farther along the passage;
It was an open space, about forty feet across, that looked, from the ingrained oil stains on the stone floor, like it might once have been used as a motor pool.
Now it was brightly lighted. From somewhere farther in, Ryan could catch the pounding roar of an electrical generator, possibly powered by the water that flowed through the caverns.
There were shelves lining the sides of the room, half-filled with cans and bottles. Ryan’s guess was that they’d stumbled upon a section of the General’s larder.
Jak tugged at his jacket. “Who?” he asked.
“Nobody in sight. But I can hear voices and a gen, and there’s a wag engine going. Reckon we must be inside the defensive perimeter for the base.”