The teenager shrugged. “Done before. Bayou, jungle, same thing.”
As the companions trudged on, they cut the fat vines and caught the initial flow into their canteens until the containers were full, then drank directly from the gushing vines.
“Gaia, I needed that,” Krysty said with a sigh, releasing a vine, the end dripping onto the ground below. Insects scurried over top of one another to gather the precious fluid, and a violent battle erupted into being beneath the tramping boots of the towering humans.
“Tasted kind of sweet,” Dean commented, wiping his mouth on a forearm. “Really good.”
“Lots of food, clean water,” J.B. said, wiping the inside his fedora with a damp handkerchief. “We could do worse for a home than this if we can’t leave.”
Concentrating at his work, Ryan didn’t reply. His shirt was drenched, but his arm never slowed in its machinelike destruction of the limbs and bushes. Lots of food growing wild always meant lots of predators eating the animals that ate the plants. He could think of no reason why this tropical island should be any different from a desert or the forests of the Shens. Just because they hadn’t been attacked by an animal yet didn’t mean they weren’t close by.
The vines got fewer, the weeds thinner, easier to chop, and unexpectedly Ryan stepped out of the dense growth onto a grassy field.
“There they are,” he said, lowering his throbbing arm. His fingers felt loose, the corded muscles in his arms moving under his bronzed skin, and the edge of the panga dripped green sap as if it were fresh mutie blood.
The rest of the companions walked from the greenery and spread out to savor the cool wafting over the grassy savanna. The flat field extended in every direction, only a few individual trees scattered about to break the monotony. There was a faint hint of salt in the air, and they drank in the refreshing breeze.
Directly ahead, just beyond a few low ground swells, stood the shining towers of a predark city, monoliths of glass and steel rising majestically above the rolling fields. The windows were all milky white from accumulated dirt and the sheer passage of time. But the buildings appeared intact, without nuke or fire damage.
“There’s going to be more than just copper pipe to loot there,” Dean said happily, then the smile faded away to be replaced by his usual serious countenance. “Canned food, new shoes, all sorts of stuff.”
“We shall find out soon enough, lad,” Doc said, smiling, as the group started to head that way.
But within a few yards, Ryan raised a clenched fist and the companions froze in midstep. They looked around for any possible danger and saw nothing but the grass and the distant ruins.
Ryan took another step forward, and the rad counter on his shirt began to click again. He walked a few yards more toward the rains, and the clicking became louder and faster.
“Fireblast,” he cursed, returning to the others until the noise slowed to the usual background tick, as steady as a human heartbeat. “It’s hotter than Washington Hole. That was probably the glow we saw at night.”
Grimacing, J.B. checked his own rad counter. The results were the same. “Not torchlight, but rad glow reflected off the glass. Aw, hell.”
“Mebbe there’s just a rad pit between us and the city,” Krysty suggested. “We could try circling around.”
Ryan shook his head. “Not with readings like this. That whole end of the island is a death zone.”
“The jungle is too thick to search,” Doc rambled, twirling his stick thoughtfully.
“Take us years to even check a small section,” Mildred agreed.
“Which leaves east or west,” J.B. said, reaching into his backpack. Finding the longeyes, he extended the brass to its full length. Found in an antique shop, the ancient device still worked perfectly.
Finding a piece of wood on the ground, Ryan used it to clean the sticky sap off the panga before sheathing the blade.
“Okay,” the Armorer said, sweeping the horizon. “I can see waves hitting breakers to our right, and some sort of rusted railroad bridge going to what seems to be another island on our left.”