“That’s the easy way,” Orozco continued. “The hard way is that we make sure you don’t bother us again by killing all of you.” He cocked back the hammer on the Beretta. “Right now.”
Kyle felt sweat gathering on the back of his neck. He’d seen Orozco use this same threat on other gangs, and so far all of them had backed down.
What if this one didn’t? Would Kyle be able to cold-bloodedly open fire on other human beings if they decided to make a fight of it? Even to save his own life?
Beside him, he felt Star brush his arm…and with that, all the questions and indecision faded into a cold determination. Because he wouldn’t just be protecting himself. He would be protecting Star.
And whatever it took, he would do that. Whatever it took.
Maybe the other teens saw the subtle change in his face. Maybe they didn’t, but had just finished running the odds. Whichever it was, one of them took a deep breath and dropped his knife onto the pavement. A moment later a second followed suit, and then a third, until all of them were standing unarmed, looking forlorn and a little ridiculous, as they continued to glare with impotent rage.
“Good,” Orozco said. Removing his arm from the leader’s throat, he gave the kid a shove toward the rest of the group. The kid stopped a couple of feet in front of the pack and turned around, adding his glare to the others’ as he clutched his wrist.
“I suggest you head south,” Orozco went on. “The population density goes down as you get closer to NukeZero, so there should still be places where you can carve out a home for yourselves.
And the radiation should be well below danger levels by now.”
“Like we care about that when we’re starving to death,” one of them muttered.
“There’s still plenty of food to be had for the scrounging,” Orozco assured him. “Or you can starve, if you’d rather. Makes no difference to me.”
Abruptly, Kyle heard the sound of running feet coming from his left. He turned, to see Wadleigh and three more Moldering Lost Ashes men appear around the corner, rifles and shotguns at the ready.
The teens saw them, too, and with that the last thoughts of resistance or treachery crumbled away. They might be vicious and depraved, but the fact they’d survived this long proved they weren’t stupid.
“But wherever you go,” Orozco went on, “please believe me when I say that you have no future in this neighborhood.”
The leader’s eyes came reluctantly back to Orozco.
“Yeah, we got it,” he bit out.
“Good,” Orozco said. “Now go collect whatever you’ve got in your flophouse and hit the road.
I’ll give you half an hour. After that, if we see any of you around here again, you’ll be shot on sight.”
“Go to hell,” the leader muttered. But the words had no fire behind them, only dull resignation.
“I’m already there,” Orozco said grimly. “So is everyone else. Save your strength for fighting Skynet and the Terminators, not your fellow humans.”
The kid snorted. “Right.”
“I’m serious,” Orozco insisted. “You like leading? Fine. We need leaders. But lead a Resistance cell, not a gang.”
The kid just grunted and turned his back. Pushing his way through the rest of the group, he stomped back into their flimsy ganghouse. One by one the others followed, some of them glancing at Orozco as they went, others ignoring him completely.
They had all disappeared inside by the time Wadleigh and the others arrived.
“You okay?” Wadleigh asked, panting as he trotted to a halt. “The sentry signaled that you were in trouble.”
“We were, but we’re not anymore,” Orozco assured him. “Thanks for the timely arrival. Made it much easier to convince them to vacate the premises.”
“Let’s hope so,” Wadleigh growled. “What about that stuff?” He gestured at the knives and revolvers scattered around the street.
“We’ll take it with us,” Orozco said. “Kyle, you and Star go gather everything up. You can put it in that extra bag on the burro’s harness.”
“Sure,” Kyle said. Gesturing to Star, he holstered his Colt and grabbed the bag. Walking around the burro, he went to the abandoned weapons and started collecting them. One of the knives in particular caught his eye, and he took a moment to heft it in his hand, feeling the weight nestle comfortably in his grip.
A couple of the teens, he had noticed, had held their knives like they really knew what they were doing. Carefully setting the weapon in the bag with the others, Kyle made a mental note to ask Orozco about that later. Orozco had already taught him how to shoot and make explosives. Maybe later Kyle could learn how to fight with a knife, too.
The sun was setting behind a line of drab, pink-edged clouds when Blair finally arrived at the new hangar where she and Yoshi had stashed their A-10s.
Considering the shape her plane had been in when she delivered it to Wince last night, she’d expected to find the place buzzing with activity. But the big open space was quiet and dark, with no hum of grinding wheels or flicker of welder fire.
“Hello?” she called softly into the darkness, stepping back to put her shoulder blades against the wall beside the door, her hand dropping to the grip of her Desert Eagle. “Anyone home?”
There was another moment of silence. Then, a shadow behind her A-10 shifted subtly and Wince’s familiar shock of white hair appeared around the tail.
“Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”
“You were expecting someone else?” Blair growled, looking around the otherwise deserted hangar. This was nor the level of security they were supposed to have around here.
“Yoshi, actually,” Wince said. “He’s been here all day, and I finally sent him back to the bunker to get some sleep. But you know how well he obeys that kind of order.”
“About as well as I do?”
“About that, yes,” Wince agreed. “But since you’re here and he isn’t, could you give me a hand?”
“What do you need?” Blair asked, keeping her grip on the Desert Eagle as she headed toward him. If there was someone back there holding a gun on the old man…
But she rounded the tail to find that Wince was indeed alone.
“I’m trying to get this attached without attracting attention,” he told her, pointing to a replacement armor plate lying beneath an open section of her A-10’s tail, a section completely surrounded by bullet holes. Those HKs last night had really done a job on her plane. “HKs have been buzzing the neighborhood all afternoon,” Wince continued, “and I’ve been afraid to fire up the welders.”
“So what are you going to use, duct tape?” Blair asked, eyeing the hole. It looked way too small for the plate Wince was planning to jam into it.
“Close,” Wince said with a grin as he pried the top off an unlabeled one-quart can. “I’m going to glue it in.”
Blair cocked her head.
“You’re kidding.”
“Well, temporarily, anyway,” he said. “Tomorrow when I don’t have to worry so much about stray light leaking out I’ll do a proper welding. But the glue should hold it together until then.”
“Okay,” Blair said, looking at all the other bullet holes on the tail as the scent of the adhesive curled her nose hairs. Wince’s inventory included some of the worst-smelling concoctions in all of creation. “Don’t you think you should take off all those other plates before you glue this one down?”
“By that I assume you mean I should take them off so that I can replace them?” Wince suggested as he selected a paintbrush and started to layer the glue onto the exposed section of fuselage. “I’d love to do just that.
“Problem is, we haven’t got anything to replace them with.”
Blair looked at the other damaged plates.