After a subdued meal, they all sat around an economical fire as they had the previous night, and talked quietly before Cornell suddenly hushed them to silence and cocked his head to listen. Justin stood up and cast about and the faint sounds of distant gunfire, muted cracks, came to his ears.
“Is that shooting?” asked Cass. “As in gunshots?”
“Sure is,” said Cornell, staring off into the darkness. “But it’s some ways off.”
“How far off?” asked Justin. “Because it sounds more than close enough for me.”
“Couple miles, I’d say,” Cornell said, his casual tones reassuring. “Give or take.”
“But what is it?” asked Bowler. “I mean, gunshots, sure, but who’s doing the shooting?”
“Who knows?” shrugged Cornell. “Could be one of a half-dozen gangs, marking turf, or it could just be some survie wacko out playin’ with his guns. We’re in the Big Wide Open, now, it could be anybody. All I know is, we better douse the fire and keep our eyes open tonight.”
Cornell paused to listen, but presently the gunfire trailed off and then stopped entirely. They listened some more, but there was nothing.
“Huh,” said Cornell speculatively. “I guess they’s done for now, whoever they are.”
“Perhaps,” said Justin, “but whoever it is, it sounds as if they’re ahead of us. That is, somewhere up this road we’re on, or am I mistaken?”
“No, you’re right,” said Cornell, scowling. “It does sound that way. But then again, noises are weird out here, ‘specially since the Fall. They bounce around, sometimes they carry real far, like that. Just means we gotta be real careful, keep our eyes peeled. And put out that fire.”
Bowler, after a moment’s hesitation, did as told and kicked dirt and rocks onto the small blaze. The campsite went dark, and Cornell produced a small flashlight and escorted everyone over to the tent, saying that he’d take the first watch. Justin, neither unaware nor particularly put out about Cornell’s leading the group and making decisions, at least in this situation, followed the others into the tent, unrolled his sleeping bag, and lay down. Cass helped the Old Man to get comfortable, and then they all lay there in the dark.
Justin listened to the night for a while, but there was almost nothing to hear, just the breathing and rustling of the others, and his restless mind turned to the matter at hand. That is to say, the Mission. Back at Zero’s house, studying the map, he’d made some quick calculations (forty miles per hour, six hours per day for a distance of about 1300 miles) and had decided that, under optimal conditions and with no major delays, it would take about six days to get to California. Their route, pretty much a straight shot across the panhandle of Oklahoma, northern New Mexico and Arizona, had been carefully determined and entailed using state highways so as to avoid major population centers, which almost always meant trouble in the form of whatever gang or gangs had taken control. They’d already passed what remained of several towns, including Bartlesville, Ponca City, and a couple of others, but they’d all seemed completely deserted and thus had posed no threat or source of delay. But Justin knew that they’d been lucky so far, and that he couldn’t begin to count on the streak continuing. Sooner or later, they’d run afoul of somebody or something.
Frustrated by the uncertainty, he rolled onto his side and tried to hope for the best, but really he was irritated that he should even be placed in such a position; what did he know about things like logistics and transportation? How could he be expected, even with all the help they’d received, to actually plan and execute this crazy trek? When they’d all been together, with their vehicles and gear and all, there had been two different people—experts—who’d directed their travels. Now it was his job and, as far as he was concerned, the mere idea was ludicrous at best.
But then, he’d been forced into all kinds of impossible positions of late and most of them had been just as absurd, so what the hell? He’d come through everything else so far; maybe he could make it through this as well. He finally decided that tomorrow was another day and he’d just have to wait and see what developed. At least he wasn’t hung-over anymore. He lay there for a while longer, waiting for more gunshots, but nothing happened and he slowly drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-One
There were exactly three things happening that the Kid didn’t like at all. First, some Big People had come, riding in a big shining spiky thing which, unlike most of these things he’d seen, made hardly any noise at all. There were six of them in all, and from what he could see at this distance, of a variety when it came to appearance. Some were taller than others, some had lighter or darker skin, and some moved quickly and efficiently, while others were much slower or more deliberate. In fact, they were like no other Big People he’d ever encountered.
So far, they hadn’t come anywhere near his new home. They’d rolled up, piled out of the shiny thing, had set up some kind of huge, brightly-colored shelter, and had then made some fire. This always fascinated the Kid; he knew what fire was and how it could be used, but he had no way of making his own. But that wasn’t all; the Big People had also made food for themselves and the smell of it, even this distance, made his mouth fill with saliva and nearly coaxed him out of his home. But he was strong; no Big Person was going to trick him into revealing himself!
After they ate, they sat around the fire and did something else that intrigued him, as they made all kinds of noises at each other and waved their hands as they did. He took this for some kind of communication, that they were telling each other things, but the actual sound of it, so unlike the sounds of birds or Rippers or even Howlers, was so foreign to his ears that he could only shake his head in bewilderment and wonder how they made any sense of each other.
The second thing he didn’t like was that he was pretty sure that these Big People were not alone. Something else was out there in the night, something that was hunting these people. He hadn’t seen or even heard anyone or anything, but a sixth sense for danger, inculcated over years of experience, told him that there was someone or something deadlier than even the meanest Ripper or the craziest Howler he’d ever seen lurking somewhere nearby. Maybe it was some new kind of threat, some kind of animal that he’d never met in the Woods, but then, he got the feeling that this was no animal; this deadly thing was a Big Person. Luckily, he was still reasonably sure that this new threat, whatever it was, had not become aware of him.
And so the Kid hunkered down. He hid himself so well that not even a Ripper could have spotted him, kept a sharp eye on everything that the six Big People did (which was not much), listened attentively for anything moving nearby, and waited to see what, if anything, might happen.
The third and final thing that he didn’t like was the look of the sky to the west, as huge banks of towering storm clouds were rolling towards them. The Kid had seen plenty of weather in his few years, including more than a few nasty thunderstorms, but this seemed different, somehow, bigger and more imposing than any he’d ever seen. Even now, as sun-up approached, faint jagged lines of bright white-blue shot through the clouds and, faintly, he could hear the first grumbles of thunder.
Chapter Thirty-Two
This week on Historical Crime Busters, Mother Teresa goes undercover to stop a prostitution ring and General Omar Bradley breaks up a Satanic cult! Don’t miss the excitement!