“That’s not what I meant,” J.B. said. “They let you live with them without them hurting you?”
“Yes.”
“And even now, they aren’t attacking us.”
“That’s because I don’t want them to. You see, I feed them whatever I can spare.” She threw the cores of her apples and pears off into the bushes. “They consider me a sort of savior.” She threw back her head and ran her fingers through her dirty blond hair. “There isn’t anything they wouldn’t do for me.”
“Do you think if you told them to attack the farm, they’d do it for you?” J.B. asked.
“Attack the farm?”
“We’re not leaving our friends inside,” J.B. stated.
“But that would be crazy. There’s only four of you, and that place is like a fortress.”
“That, my dear girl,” Doc piped up, “is why we can use all the help we can get. Mutie or otherwise.”
“You could help us, too.” J.B. leaned in closer to her. “You know your way around the farm and could lead us to where we want to go.”
Clarissa said nothing but looked to each of the friends in turn.
“We could get your sister out along with our friends,” J.B. suggested.
“You four are serious, aren’t you?”
“I have been a part of this group a long time, young lady,” Doc announced, “and I can assure you beyond a shadow of a doubt that we take such matters very seriously.”
“Okay, but even if I help you and convince the muties to come along for the ride, you’re still going to need more weapons to break in to the place, and to breakout.”
“Some heavier blasters would be nice,” J.B. said.
“A few grens would be useful in causing diversions too,” Doc mused.
“More ammo,” Jak said.
“And a wag,” Dean added.
“Yes, and a wag,” J.B. echoed.
“If you had some of those things, you really think you could free my sister and your friends.”
“Other slaves, too,” Jak muttered.
“Okay.” She nodded, as if she’d just taken a step from which there was no turning back. “I know a place where we can find some of the things you need.”
Chapter Sixteen
The crew broke for lunch, which was served in the orchard off the back of a rebuilt electric wag that had burners and coolers and all sorts of things to help prepare food and keep it hot or cold as required. Ryan was given the choice of vegetable soup or some sort of meat stew. He decided on the soup, since he knew that the vegetables were grown on the farm but he couldn’t be sure where the meat for the stew had come from.
The man in the greasy clothes behind the food counter spooned out the soup into Ryan’s oversize mug, then put a large bread roll on the tray beside it. Farther along, an overripe tomato was put on his tray and finally an empty glass, which could be filled up with water from one of the spouts that extended off the end of the wag.
Ryan filled the glass, drank and then filled it a second time. He turned to find Mildred. She was sitting in the shade under one of the peach trees, eating the stew. Ryan joined her.
“How’s the food?” he asked.
“Had better. Had worse,” she answered.
“How’s your back?” Ryan leaned backward to ease the pain in his lower back. He was in terrific physical shape, and his muscles were as taut as iron bands, but nothing could have prepared him for hours of being hunched over and looking for weeds. He’d get used to the work eventually, but he wasn’t planning on being there long enough for that.
“It’s been better.”
Ryan sat beside Mildred and began to eat. The soup was as good as any he’d tasted. When he was done eating it, he broke his roll into chunks and used it to soak up the broth. When he was about to bite into his tomato, a middle-aged dark-haired woman, heavy with child, sat in front of Mildred and Ryan.
“I don’t think Purvis likes you much,” she said.
“Is that his name, Purvis?” Ryan asked.