“Looks like a gun emplacement,” said Eric. “That’s some kind of heavy machine gun they’re putting together.”
“It’s the Gone Time sickness coming back,” said Ripple. “The head has died, but the body still twitches.”
“What do you mean?” asked Eric.
“The guns and technology are irreplaceable. They can’t be remanufactured. Their ammo fires now, but even stored in perfect conditions, it will become inert.”
“Why can’t they make new shells? All the equipment exists.” Annoyed, Eric rolled to his side so he could face her. “The Gone Time is not gone, just forgotten. If the children will learn, then the machines will run again. Our great-grandchildren could live in cities under the lights. We aren’t starting from scratch you know.”
Below, the men had nearly finished their work. A black, swiss-cheese-looking sleeve covered the barrel, and twin, heavy kegs rested at the butt end. One of the soldiers reached into a keg and pulled out a bullet-lined strap. The leading end he clamped into the gun.
Ripple said, “The delivery system is gone. No more mining. It’s high tech and there are too many missing pieces. We’ll never be able to do what the Gone Timers did. Their ancestors had it easy. Metal ore was easy to find. It was on the surface. As they made better tools from the easy metals they mined, they could dig deeper, work less productive ore, extract using more complicated processes…” Eric could hardly believe that a person as young as Ripple could talk the way she did. She’s not just a prodigy, he thought, she’s a genius.
“…but now the knowledge and tools are gone. We can’t start from scratch again.”
“What about the metals that are already out, cars, buildings, all the stuff that won’t work but are already processed? Wouldn’t it be easy to use them as our raw material, even easier than the easiest mines for primitive man?”
Ripple glanced at him. “They’re not raw. Even if you could melt them, they’re blends. I’ll bet we couldn’t find pure iron anywhere, and the more time passes, the more difficult it will be. But even if we could do it, we shouldn’t. We’d start the sickness all over again. What would be the point?” The soldiers at the gun flurried into motion. One picked up an M-16 and strode across the road into a tent. The others swung the gun around so it pointed at a large boulder thirty feet from them. Then, from the tent, the soldier backed out. A older man followed him, not in uniform, his light hair catching the sunlight. Then a second man came out, a younger one with the exact shade of hair. They could have been father and son. The soldier gestured with his gun and the two men walked across the road. As they approached the machine gun, Eric realized their hands were tied.
“They’re prisoners!” said Eric. “Do you know them?”
Teach said, “No, but Federal has all the roads into Boulder blocked. They could be from the city.” The soldier said something to the men. From this distance, Eric couldn’t tell what it was, but the tone was angry, commanding. The older man held his head high and said something back. The young one looked frightened and defiant.
“Does he take a lot of prisoners?”
“I don’t know,” said Teach. “This is the first I’ve seen them on this side of the blockade. They’re moving up canyon, that’s for sure. Maybe they’re trying to get into south Denver.”
“I could go down and talk to them,” Eric said, “and find out what they want.” But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn’t. Something felt bad about the men. His urge was to run.
The soldier pointed to the boulder. The older man sagged. His head dropped, as if all the life had been taken from him. He turned and walked toward the rock. The younger man hung back until the soldier prodded him with his M-16.
“What are they doing?” repeated Dodge.
A swell of sickness rose in Eric. He could feel it pushing against his ribs. “Oh, god,” he said. Teach said, “They wouldn’t.”
Keeping his M-16 trained on the two men, the soldier directed them to stand with their faces to the boulder, their backs to the machine gun. One of the soldiers manning the gun put his shoulders into a yoke on the gun and aimed the barrel at the men.
Eric’s jaw dropped. Even as he watched, horror filling him up like ice water, he thought, I’m not going to see this. I can’t, and he reached out to cover Dodge’s eyes. In the distance, crows cawed loudly. Someone yelled, “No!” The soldier beside the gun buckled to the ground, his limbs loose. “No!” yelled the voice again. In the bushes at the base of the cliff, Rabbit stepped forward and threw a baseball-sized rock. It zinged off the barrel of the gun. The other soldier swung around his gun and let fly an angry rip of sound. A line of dirt jumped up in front of Rabbit, and he ducked into the bushes. Firing stopped. The soldier pounded on the clip of his gun, cursing. Rabbit burst from the bushes, running low away from the men. Eric could see the cleft he must have climbed down to get into the valley. Ponderously, the muzzle of the big gun swung around toward Rabbit.
“Run!” shouted Eric. He was standing. He didn’t remember getting up. A hand grabbed him and yanked him back.
“Don’t be a fool,” said Teach.
The big gun opened up, slamming explosions. Eric scrambled to the ridge and looked over. Dust hid the base of the cliff. He couldn’t see Rabbit.
The gun quit firing. Smoke obscured it for an instant, then cleared. The soldier Rabbit had hit still lay on the ground. Gesturing angrily, the soldier with the M-16 directed the two civilians back to the boulder. A minute later, the big gun fired again, briefly, a short burst. Eric watched the execution, dry-eyed. Then Rabbit joined him, a long scratch across the non-scarred side of his face, but otherwise unharmed. Ripple lay next to him. Long after the smoke had cleared and the blood had quit running off the deeply pocked boulder she said, “The Gone Time is gone, but it’s not forgiven.”
Chapter Fourteen
LOOTING
The four lanes of Hampden Avenue stretched before them, empty and still. To their left, a tall chain link fence separated them from a deserted cross-street lined by long rows of brick tract houses. A waft of smoke burned Eric’s eyes as he strained to see through the haze. He had this vision that at any moment a lone figure would resolve itself out of the distance. His father. Eric almost whistled with the relief of it. He wiped wetness from his cheeks with the back of his wrist. Like a pall of wispy ghosts, smoke drifted between the houses. On all sides, up and down Hampden, at each side road, gray swirls floated over the lawns, among the houses and above them.
We’re finding Dad, he thought. Leda’s wrong about him. I can feel it. He’s out there, just ahead, looking for me. I know I’ll find my dad.
Leda said, “Whoops. We’re in trouble.”
Before Eric could answer, he glimpsed a shadow rushing through the air above the street, then it slammed over them and was gone. He was sprawled on the pavement. “What was that!”
“Maybe he didn’t see us,” she said, voice steely calm, her face a foot from him. “It’s a gunship.” Eric could see it now, maybe a half-mile down the road and a hundred feet up, a beige and brown camouflage-painted helicopter. It turned nimbly and headed back.
“What does he want?” Roaring past, the copter’s prop wash kicked up dust. Eric tried to melt into the asphalt.
“I’d heard that some of the pilots went crazy in the last days— this was a couple of weeks ago—and that they were strafing people on the streets.” The copter turned again. Eric watched, amazed. It was so fast!
Leda continued, “A rumor said a copter pilot shot up St. Joseph hospital. Went back and forth pumping bullets into the building. Lots of people dead.”