A brisk wind formed little dust devils on the street, the miniature tornadoes twirling madly before slowing into nonexistence.
“Storm coming,” Jak said. “Soon.”
“Yeah, I know. How’s it going, Mildred?” Ryan asked, cradling the Steyr in his arms.
“This is the last,” the black woman replied, running her hands over the corpse of another wolf. Not all of the beasts had that third eye of a mutant, but this was the last one to check. Carefully, she inspected its forehead, teeth, eyes, then legs, bending the joints to observe the configurations.
Satisfied for the moment, she pulled a knife from a sheath inside her boot and began to make incisions in the chest and abdomen, turning the internal organs around to review everything. Ryan and the others waited impatiently, watching her every move.
A tumbleweed rolled across the intersection, traveling with the wind on a endless journey to nowhere.
After a few minutes, Mildred raised her head, smiling. “Clean!” she declared. “This one isn’t a mutie.”
Pushing his hat into a more comfortable position, J.B. smiled. “Hot damn. Steak tonight.”
Jak and Dean stayed at their posts, while Ryan and Krysty joined Mildred at the dead animal. They produced knives and began dressing the stiffening carcass. Incisions were circled around the paws and throat, then down the belly to the tail. The skin was peeled off, the fur carefully kept whole and the meat wrapped in the skin with pieces of bloody ligament used to tie the package closed.
“Time to leave,” Ryan announced, wiping his sticky hands on a rag from the Hummer’s toolbox. “The gunshots and the smell of blood will attract both kinds of animals we don’t want to deal with right now.”
“One additional problem,” Mildred said, shouldering her med kit. “All of these were males. Not one bitch among the pack.”
Passing off the rag, Ryan frowned. “Great. So this was just a hunting party, and the rest are out there somewhere.”
“Probably a whole lot more than fourteen,” Krysty said. “And when their mates don’t come back, the females will come hunting.”
With a guttural cry, Doc spun, drawing his blaster. The rest of the companions copied the action and separated slightly, an automatic reaction learned the hard way from countless ambushes.
“What is it, Doc?” Ryan snapped, the long barrel of the Steyr resting on the hood of the wag, giving him stability and cover.
“Somebody on the roofs?” Krysty asked, her S&W .38 tracking the sky.
Doc didn’t reply for a moment, but just stood there in the street, the Civil War blaster tightly held in both hands while another tiny dust devil danced about his worn shoes. His face was scrunched, head tilted as if concentrating on hearing something.
“Could have sworn I heard a car engine,” Doc said slowly, as if unsure of his words. “Mayhap I was mistaken.”
Jak and Dean exchanged glances, but kept their weapons in a ready stance. Neither had heard a thing, certainly not a working engine, and the Deathlands winds were famous for playing tricks with sound.
“An engine?” J.B. said thoughtfully. “Could be the sec men coming to check out the blaster noise.”
Ryan looked over the group. They were ready to keep going, to negotiate with the sec men right here and now. But he knew they were as tired as he was. Too little food and too many jumps had weakened all of them. And tired people made mistakes, which got them chilled.
“Let’s go and find some place to cook dinner,” he directed, climbing behind the wheel of the vehicle and starting the engine. “We’ll deal with the baron tomorrow after a full stomach and a good night’s sleep.”
“Sounds good to me,” Krysty said, taking the passenger seat with a sigh. The others hesitated, but finally relented, the hunger in their bellies overcoming their impatience to deal with the tricksters from the ville.
LETTING GO of the rotting curtain, Harold stepped away from the second-floor window of the predark hotel. This was where he rested before journeying across the desert to the secret armory of the old baron. But there was no need to make the trip when those people across the street had everything he wanted. Blasters, and a wag that still worked. That alone should buy Laura her freedom.