At which Big Jon cut in, finishing up for him: “It seems to you, and to me, that now in desperation they’ve resorted to eating their own!” And Myers, done with his story, simply nodded.
Then after several long moments—perhaps in order to shake off some of the spiritual gloom, the disquietude that the group as a man could feel descending—their leader shrugged, cleared his throat and finally found his voice: “Well here’s the thing: I called you here for your thoughts on tonight’s security measures, much more important now that we’ve learned of Don’s discovery: that the fly-by-nights have used this place at some time in the past and are not averse to nesting nearby in the forest. So just keep that in mind and tell me—” his gaze fell on Bert Jordan, “—Bert, what do you think? Have you any suggestions?”
Scratching his chin, Jordan said, “Let me give it a little thought.” And after a moment: “We’re not short of watch personnel, and I believe we should use every man-jack of ’em tonight out there on the perimeter that Don’s marked for us. We should allocate at least two men to each station—or at least every other station—and wherever possible with no more than one or two trees between manned locations. And incidentally, but importantly, this will make for a lot of weary lads come morning; so when it’s a question of who rides the trundles, night-watch personnel must take priority. Let’s face it, you can’t use ’em over and over, night after night, and still expect ’em to walk the next day!” He paused, shrugged and went on:
“So, that’s about all from me…except I probably should report something I saw on my way in. See, I was riding in this trundle that got stuck in a deep rut coming down the big slope. By the time we’d dug it out, it was just about the last vehicle in the entire convoy, and I reckon I pretty much was the last man to make it in under the trees on foot. But on my way in, that’s when I saw these flashes of light—or maybe lightning?—and heard the thunder…at least it might have been thunder.”
The leader frowned and said: “Thunder? Well that’s reasonable; the sky was full of rain clouds, that’s for sure. As for lights, or lightning: I suppose that’s perfectly logical, too, for after all, the two do go together! Just exactly where did you see these flashes, Bert?”
“North of us, in the forest,” the other answered. “Maybe a little less than three miles along the river, and half a mile deep in the trees, where they start rising toward the valley’s western rim. It was after I heard the first of these thunder sounds and was looking for the source, that I saw the canopy there lit by this flash of light—a split second sort of thing, you understand, which I only just glimpsed out the corner of my eye. So I stood still a while, watching for it to happen again; but the thunder had died down and nothing happened…at least until I looked away! Hah! But isn’t that just typical? For then I heard more dull rumblings and saw three or four more flashes of light centered on that same area of the canopy; flashes that vanished as quick as they’d come, leaving nothing I could focus on…”
And after a moment: “That’s it?” said the leader.
“That’s it,” Jordan replied.
“Hmm! Sounds like St Elmo’s Fire—electrical discharge—which I’ve seen once before while scavenging down south. Well, we may be passing by that way tomorrow. Do you reckon you can show us the spot then?”
“Pretty close to it,” said Jordan. “Sure thing.”
“Very well, since there’s nothing we can do about it right now, we’ll leave it till then…”
Big Jon grunted, nodded, and turned to Garth. “Young Slattery I see from your expression that there’s something you want to say. So out with it, speak up. There’s only an hour or so to dusk, by which time you’ll need to be out on the perimeter.”
“And not just the perimeter,” said Garth. “At least, not in my opinion.” And then, aware of a sudden tension and the frowns that were appearing on both Bert Jordan’s and Don Myers’ faces, he quickly followed up with: “Not that I disagree or find fault with the work that Don’s already done, or Bert’s suggestion. Of course I don’t, but I think there may be something more.”
“Go on,” the leader prompted him.
“It’s something that Garry said about those collapsed bridges over the river,” Garth went on. “The fact that his sniffers baulked when Garry brought them in that way, and that they seem very uneasy and at odds with things even now. I mean, from what I saw of those bridges, they’re half submerged but still pretty much passable. And on the far bank there are those large industrial-looking buildings, more or less intact. Just the sort of places where—”
“—Where fly-by-nights like to hole up,” said Big Jon, indulging his habit of preempting the thoughts and suggestions of others. And again he said, “Go on.”
“Well,” said Garth, “we all of us know that a fairly large party of fly-by-nights, perhaps a swarm, has been moving apace with us heading north, and that recently—with all the breakdowns and other problems—they’ve even moved ahead of us. But the fact that they haven’t attempted to attack us is…well, it’s unusual to say the least. And I’ll risk repeating myself, but as I’ve stated before, I think it’s because they’re biding their time, looking for the perfect opportunity and…and in every regard being instructed or at least advised!”
Big Jon nodded and growled, “Softly softly catchee monkey!”
“Exactly,” said Garth. “And here we are, bottled up in this unexplored forest, unable to move on in a hurry—or even move on at all at night—and there could be dozens, hundreds of the monsters less than three hundred yards away through the trees and across the river, just waiting for darkness! So by all means we must man Don’s perimeter, but we should also have heavily armed men down on the approaches to those twin bridges; and here and now I volunteer myself and my squad to those tasks…”
As Garth finished speaking, a steeply slanting ray of weak sunlight found a way in through what must have been the smallest possible gap in the canopy’s outermost western fringe, and very briefly a myriad dust motes were seen swirling like miniature galaxies in its ephemeral beam. Then:
“Those rain clouds seem to be moving on,” said Myers, his normally strong voice suddenly small and shivery.
“Good,” said Big Jon, “but so is the time.” And turning to Maxwell he continued: “Garry, it’s time you went and organized the rest of the camp’s dogs. And tonight I want you out on the perimeter with your sniffers. Oh, and as of now we won’t worry too much about noise: if they want to make a fuss let ’em bark till they’re hoarse, just as long as they do their job! As for you three—” his keen gaze swept the faces of the night-watch bosses, “—you can get on and do what you’ve always done best, and may the good Lord watch over each and every one of us until morning…”
XII
For a little less than two hours Garth busied himself positioning his men on what remained of the tangled, almost obliterated road east of the forest, at junctions a quarter-mile apart from which a pair of lesser roads—in much the same degraded condition—had once serviced the bridges. He made sure that the men had superior, unobscured arcs of fire from the best possible cover, checked their weapons, ammunition and all other items of their equipment; and with evening turning to dusk and shades of night creeping from the east, he returned briefly to the camp a little less than two hundred yards away, where not far from Big Jon’s command trundle Layla had lit a tiny oil lamp in the entrance to their canvas shelter. For despite that beyond the canopy darkness was yet to fall, beneath it the gloom was already deepening.