“Gotcha,” Dean replied, packing the M-16 combo into the saddlebags strapped over the rear fender, along with their extra food and spare ammo. The plastic stock stuck almost straight up alongside the roll bar.
“Pressure is good,” Ryan said, checking the dials and igniting the preburner in the vented muzzle.
“You sure that thing will work?” Mildred asked, making room in her med kit for the one spare clip for her M-16. The single 40 mm round was already in the M-203 launcher, primed and ready to fire.
“Time to find out,” Ryan said, hefting the weapon and walking away from the others. “Stay clear in case she blows.”
“Got you covered,” J.B. said, raised a small C02 fire extinguisher from the Harley’s repair kit.
Bracing for the expected recoil, Ryan triggered the spray. The weapon bucked in his grip, sending a fiery lance of burning chems thirty feet down the old pavement.
After a full count of three seconds, Ryan released the trigger and closely watched as the flame collapsed, then checked the dials. Pressure was good, no blockage in the jets, an even dispersal.
“Trigger sticks,” he said, resting the hot barrel on a shoulder. “But other than that, works fine.”
Placing away her own C02 extinguisher, Krysty walked to a railing, her cowboy boots crunching on the loose gravel.
“Food, ammo, fuel,” she said, looking out over the expanse of the predark metropolis. An acrid breeze from the distant volcanoes ruffled her long crimson hair, the filaments recoiling from the traces of sulfur in the wind.
“Now we just have to find the gateway,” she finished grimly.
“Gonna be tough,” J.B. agreed, extending his Navy telescope and studying the tall buildings on the jagged horizon. The gateway could be hidden anywhere in the city. The basement of a store, a second-story bedroom, inside a bank vault. Anywhere.
“Needle in fucking haystack,” Jak grunted, thumbing fresh rounds into his Colt Python. The Ruger was packed into the saddlebags, where it was going to stay. Having too many weapons, was almost as dangerous as having not enough. Almost.
“Indeed, my young friend, what we ardently need is a native guide,” Doc stated, standing on the berm, pressing loose rounds into an empty clip for the M-16. When finished, he slipped the mag into the receiver and worked the bolt. “But where can we locate a Chingachgook for us to play Hawkeye?”
“Are you sure it was science and philosophy you taught,” Mildred demanded in irritation, “and not classic literature?”
“Quite definite, madam,” Doc replied. “But there is no more noble a pursuit for both heart and mind than spending time with a book.”
“Fireblast, we have a guide!” Ryan said suddenly, returning to the group of bikes. “We’re looking for a gateway, and there’s sec droids in the city.”
“They’re the guards,” J.B. realized aloud. “Shit-fire, that’s got to be right. Why else would they be here?”
As she turned away from the cityscape, a smile crept onto Krysty’s face. “You’re going to use the droids,” she said, “to find the gateway.”
“Tell me a better plan,” Ryan asked, turning off the preburner. The tiny blue propane flame winked out immediately.
Removing his glasses, J.B. polished off the bugs dotting the lenses. “Wish I could,” he said, sliding the frames back on his face. “Sure as hell don’t want to drive along every street and look in each building. That’d take months, years mebbe.”
“A robotic stalking goat,” Mildred muttered, tucking a lock of beaded hair behind an ear. “Could just work.”
“Count on it.” Briefly, Ryan cast a glance at the clouds overhead. The descending sun filled the fiery clouds with a profusion of colored lights, the sheet lightning slashing tortured rainbows across the polluted sky.
“Let’s get moving,” he said, climbing onto his Harley. “There’s still a couple hours of daylight left. That can work in our favor.”
“Going to the department store,” Dean stated confidently, getting on the saddle behind his father.
“Pawnshop,” Ryan corrected, pressing the ignition button. “That’s where we know the droids were waiting to ambush us. But instead, we’re going to hit them. Hard and fast.”
“Just hope we don’t chill all of them,” J.B. said, starting his own bike. “That would ruin everything.”