“And he was only technically deceased, not quite all the way there,” she continued, easing the pressure off the bolt. “There were no wounds, or physical trauma, just had his heart stopped. Sometimes a doctor can fix that, if we get there soon enough.”
“Teach me,” Jak asked.
“Yeah, happy to.” Mildred smiled. “Might need it myself someday.”
Krysty touched the physician on the shoulder, her hair cascading in crimson waves. “That’s two I owe you.”
“You’re my family now,” the physician started, then turned away, unable to finish the thought.
Walking stiffly to the still running bike, Ryan climbed on and revved the 1450cc engine a few times to clear the carb. As expected, dark exhaust blew out of the mufflers, slowly clearing away to white fumes.
“Let’s find that bank,” Ryan said, a flutter in his voice. The man hawked and spit. “I’m on”
“I’m on point,” Krysty stated as a fact, pulling her bike alongside. “Stay in the middle of the street. Dim the headlights to low. Dean, with your father. J.B., cover the flanks. Mildred, the rear. That Tommy working again?”
“Last clip,” she answered, rigging the sling so the rapidfire hung across her chest. “But the breech is clear.”
“Good.”
“And I, dear lady,” Doc espoused dramatically, “shall watch the windows above. Where once it rained a foe, again that can occur.”
Krysty started rolling forward. “Be sure to use that fast-firing trick again,” she said.
“That is indeed my full intention,” Doc replied, tucking the mammoth blaster behind his belt buckle for a faster draw while astride the motorcycle.
In tight formation, the companions pulled away from the littered street, watching Ryan as closely as they did the surrounding darkness. The man was hunched over the handlebars, but operated the bike without any problem. Dwindling in their wake, the burning wreckage of the Walker flared brightly as something flammable ignited, then died away completely.
Heading for the downtown area, they found several banks and chose the financial institution set between two buildings whose roofs were lower than the bank’s. This gave some degree of safety from above, and allowed them an escape route by jumping from the bank’s roof to the lower structures. Not perfect, but it was acceptable.
Easily opening the locks, J.B. closed and locked the doors behind them, then drew the shades and lowered the Venetian blinds to hide their presence. A brief recce showed the bank was empty of any hidden machines, the windows standard bulletproof Plexiglas.
The companions drove the bikes up the stairs and made camp on the second floor. Two of the pressurized lanterns were turned off to save fuel, the last lowered to a soft glow, barely enough to illuminate the office. Bookcases were moved in front of the windows, and the desk shoved against the door. Nothing could gain entrance without alerting them.
Taking a seat in the corner, Jak stood guard with the Thompson, while Doc formed a simple Bunsen burner from a bottle of vodka, the blue flame giving off little light or smoke to betray their position. It was Ryan’s turn to cook a meal, but Dean assumed the duty over his father’s objections, and started making coffee and stew, the contents of the MRE packs augmented with some beef jerky from the store.
While the food cooked, the companions took turns washing in the bathroom, the water tank on the roof giving only a tiny trickle of warm water before running dry. But it filled the sink and that was enough. Then they tended to their assorted cuts and bruises and cleaned their weaponsbut with one of them always standing guard holding a loaded blaster.
The food was passable, and during the coffee wild animal screams sounded from the streets below. Briefly, something heavy strode across the roof, then was gone into the night.
“Good meal,” Ryan said, placing aside his tin plate when finished. “I’ll do double meals tomorrow.”
“Fair enough,” Krysty said, stacking the dirty metal plates for scrubbing later. “You want U.S. Army nut cake or a granola bar for dessert?”
“A cigar,” J.B. said wistfully, tucking a toothpick into his mouth.
Knowing how difficult his struggle to quit smoking was for the man, Mildred patted him on the arm in solace and whispered a different suggestion.