I was a little annoyed. Ray should have been waiting for us; Jason said that most people didn't take punctuality seriously, as if being late wasn't the same as breaking your word. He could get real angry about people not being on time or completing a job when they said it would be done.
Jason said that integrity starts with the littlest things, because that's what you build the big integrity out of.
So, for someone to be even ten minutes late was unusual. Ray wouldn't have been late unless it was important. He'd explain to me when he got here.
At 7:00, I started to get annoyed.
They could have at least sent one of the kids up here to tell me what was going on.
At 7:10 I got worried.
I had the paranoid thought first.
Maybe they'd decided to kill me. Maybe I was supposed to wait here with Falstaff until he got hungry.
No, that was stupid. I knew better. Worms didn't need meat every day. Once a week was fine. A healthy worm could go several days without eating, and could last indefinitely just grazing on the countryside, eating nothing but trees.
No. Maybe something else had happened.
Maybe Jinko and Gregory-Ann had returned; maybe they were packing the camp to move. In that case, Ray wouldn't need to come and relieve me until the last truck was ready to roll.
But still, somebody should have come to let me know.
By 7:20, I'd made up my mind. If no one came by 7:30, I'd head over the hill and find out why they'd forgotten about us. Me. At 7:35, I left my post. I broke my word, I abandoned my responsibility and I headed over the hill. "You better wait here, Falstaff. "
The worm chirruped and disappeared into his hole.
The old motel looked quiet as I approached. Just as I thought. Everything was normal. I could hear them partying frorn here. They'd forgotten all about me. I had the right to be annoyed. Jason put such high emphasis on people keeping their word to each other, and nobody remembered to tell Ray he had to come and relieve me.
One of the bunnydogs came scampering up to meet me. He flubbered his lips and goggled at me with big silly eyes. "Hi, Bozo. Did you leave me any dinner?"
Bozo made gobbling noises and fell into step beside me. He picked up a stick and carried it like I was carrying my gun.
I sighed and slung my rifle over my shoulder; I came around the corner of the garage and-
-nearly tripped over Ray's body. His head had been blown open. A pool of dark red blood stained the ground.
Army reflexes took over and I was back behind the corner, with my back to the wall and my rifle cocked and ready, before I had even finished registering the fact that Ray was lying on the ground dead. Bozo imitated me, flinging himself back too.
I listened to the noises. Partying?
The sounds were motorcycles, and men hooting and whooping. I could hear children screaming. And women too.
I peeked cautiously around the corner. Just a quick glance. Bozo started to peek too, I kicked him back.
No one was in sight.
A longer look. A dead bunnyman. Some scattered clothing. A motorcycle roared past, circled and headed back. The rider was laughing.
I pulled back. I took a deep breath. There wasn't time to go back for Falstaff. I was going to have to do something now.
I needed to know more about what was happening.
I edged around the garage and up to the next corner. Bozo followed along behind me, tiptoeing in exaggerated parody. "Keep it up," I muttered. "That's how people get elected president."
Bozo stopped and gave me a hurt, sulky look. I didn't care. Where was Orrie? Where was Orson? They wouldn't have let the camp be overrun.
Were they dead?
I could hear the motorcycles louder now. And the screams were more definite. And the laughter. And the crying.
I peeked around the next corner of the garage. Just the quickest glance, and then pulled back again.
Just enough to catch a fast glimpse of the bikes, roaring and circling around a small huddle of frightened women and children. I kicked Bozo away and took another peek.
I thought so. There were only a few of the Tribe members in that huddle. Where was everybody else?
There were a few dead bodies on the ground, mostly men. I recognized Jinko's body, and Gregory-Ann's as well. Well, that explained how the bikers had found us.
Bikers. Big and ugly and dangerous. The gangs had been roaring up and down the coast for months. The army had ignored them; they weren't worth the trouble. The official position was: Let the worms take care of them.
Now, I saw how stupid that policy had been.
The bikers must have been here a while. Most of the girls had been stripped naked; they were trying to cover themselves with their hands or they stood shamefacedly hanging their heads and made no attempt to cover themselves.
I wondered how many of them had already been raped. Damn me for being so cautious.
All right, I'd make up for it now. I had two advantages.
I had the element of surprise.
And I had an AM-280 and plenty of ammunition. Mr. Mayhem. I didn't have the helmet, but I didn't need it here. This was going to be point and shoot.
But I'd have to be fast; there were at least twenty of them and there was only one of me.
I wasn't going to give myself time to think about it.
I stepped around the garage and started firing toward the oncoming edge of the circling bikes. Bozo ran out behind me and made gobbling noises, pointing his stick. Three of the bikers went down almost immediately, and it was a couple of seconds before any of the others realized what was going on. Two bikers skidded into the toppled ones and went crashing and tumbling. They were dirty, hairy, broad-chested animals.
Two more bikers came around the far edge, saw me, and charged. Their bikes were armed with missile launchers. I didn't wait to give them a target. Bozo was bouncing up and down, but he followed after as I ran back to the first corner of the garage and waited until they came skidding around-knocked one off his bike and took the other's head off; then whirled around to fire at the three who were coming at me from around the other side of the garage. The gun buzzed and burped and the belly of one of them erupted in red. One of the others skidded sideways and crashed; I hadn't shot him, he'd just lost control. The third guy was trying to turn around-I got him in the back.
Dropped and rolled and came up firing; took down the one who had just come around the corner of the garage behind me-whirled again and went after the one who'd skidded out of control. Got him before he could get up. Bozo was already bouncing up and down on one of the fallen bikes.
And then there was silence.
No, not quite. There was the sound of motorcycle engines running unattended. There were six bikes lying on their sides in the dirt.
The thought crossed my mind. Grab a bike. Get the one with the missiles. Counterattack. I started for the bike Bozo was pretending to ride
It blew up.
Knocked me flat on my ass. Skidding backward, I had a quick glimpse of orange flame, a wall of heat, a tower of greasy smoke. It had been booby-trapped.
It flung little pieces of Bozo the bunnydog in all directions. The dirt was still pattering down around me.
That could have been me. My head was still ringing. Never mind. There were still bikers.
No, I didn't know how many there were; but if there were any still alive, I had to take care of them now.
Headed around the other side of the garage at a run--came skidding around the corner ready to fire.
And stopped.
My help wasn't needed.
Valerie was just slicing open the throat of the last biker.
She stood there, naked and grinning and covered with his blood. She looked triumphant.