Chuck nodded to Kevin. “All ready, sir.”
“Very good, Sergeant.” The company commander had the sling off, but his left arm still wasn't what it had been before he got shot. He raised his voice: “Forward… march!”
Along with the rest of the Valley soldiers, Dan tramped south down Westwood Boulevard toward the Santa Monica Freeway line. Some of the people on the sidewalk glanced at the marching men. Others just went about their business. Quite a few of them were bound not to like the Valley men. You couldn't tell which ones, though. They knew better than to show a company's worth of armed men that they were hostile.
Then the company had to stop, because a wagon full of beer barrels drawn by six big horses clattered across Westwood Boulevard from a side street. Sergeant Chuck yelled at the driver. So did some of the soldiers. The fellow on the wagon spread his hands, as if to say, What can I do? It's my job.
The pause let Dan glance over in the direction of Liz 's house. He'd be going a couple of miles away-not impossibly far, but far enough. Too far, really. He would have felt even worse about it if he thought Liz cared. He sighed.
He didn't see her, even if he'd hoped to. He did see Luke the trader, who watched the Valley soldiers with keen attention. Was he counting them? For whom?
He caught Sergeant Chuck 's eye. “See that scraggly fellow with the whiskers?” he said in a low voice.
“The guy with the pistols?” Chuck said. Dan nodded. “What about him?” the underofficer asked. “He looks like a tough customer, but so what?”
“He's a trader. He says he is, anyway,” Dan said. “But he's mighty snoopy. I've seen him prowling around, kind of looking us over, know what I mean? And now he's doing it again.”
“How about that?” Chuck said. “Well, when we get where we're going, I'll put a flea in Captain Kevin 's ear. Maybe he'll want to pick this guy up, ask him a few questions. Sharp questions. Pointed questions. Hot questions.” Chuck had a very nasty smile when he felt like using it. “What's the guy's name? You know?”
“He goes by Luke, I think,” Dan answered.
“Okay. Well, we'll see what he goes by once we start finding out what's what.” Chuck looked at the company and went from that special nasty smile to his usual sergeant's scowl. “Come on, you muttonheads! Straighten it up!” he bellowed. “You're not a herd of camels galumphing down the street. If you think you are, I'm here to teach you different.”
They straightened up. Doing what Chuck said was easier than trying to get around him. Armies were made that way, and had been since the beginning of lime. Dan didn't think about such things. As long as he stayed in step with the men around him, he didn't need to.
A couple of large Old Time buildings still stood on West-wood Boulevard, even if awnings and curtains and shutters replaced almost all the glass in their windows. Most of the buildings, though, were modern shops and houses. They were made from the rubble of what had stood there before. Stone and brick and wood and chunks of stucco with chicken wire in it made up the walls. The patchwork was odd if you weren't used to it. Dan was. A lot of stuff in the Valley was built the same way.
When they marched past a little place selling tacos and tamales and hamburgers, the soldiers' neat footwork faltered again. The smell of greasy, spicy roasting meat made spit flood into Dan 's mouth. His stomach rumbled loudly, and his wasn't the only one.
“Keep moving! Keep moving!” Sergeant Chuck bawled. “It's all probably chopped-up kitty and lizard, anyway.”
“I don't care,” somebody behind Dan said. “I'm hungry.”
“Who's the wise guy?” Chuck shouted furiously. “Was that you, Dan?”
“No, Sergeant.” Dan could tell the truth with no trouble at all. That was a good thing, too. He might not have said anything out loud, but he didn't care what was in the savory-smelling goodies, either. If he meowed after he ate some of them… well, so what?
Chuck challenged several other soldiers marching near Dan. They all denied everything. Nobody blew the whistle on whoever had spoken up. Chuck fumed and swore, but that was all he could do. Dan, by contrast, noted just where the little cookshop stood. The freeway line didn't lie very far south of it. If he got some free time, he could come back and spend a dime or two.
The Santa Monica Freeway line was a good one for King Zev 's soldiers to defend. The freeway had been built above the ordinary streets around it. That gave the Valley men the advantage of high ground in a lot of places. Here and there, though, the overpasses that let the freeway leap above the ordinary streets had collapsed. Maybe that happened when the Fire fell. Maybe earthquakes brought the overpasses down later. Or maybe they just fell because nobody had taken care of them for more than a century. Any which way, that cut down the number of possible invasion routes from the south.
Of course, there were far fewer routes from the north. King Zev 's soldiers had broken through anyhow. Dan wished that hadn't occurred to him. He and his comrades took their place on the freeway itself west of Westwood Boulevard. No trouble could approach unless they saw it first.
But some trouble was already behind them. Chuck spoke to Captain Kevin about Luke. Dan couldn't hear what Kevin said. But a runner went pelting back into Westwood. A slow smile crossed Dan 's lace. From here on out, Luke wouldn't have a very happy time of it. Too bad, Dan thought.
A knock on the door in the middle of the night. How many books and movies and video games featured that kind of automatic suspense-maker? Liz had always thought it was such a clichй. But when somebody banged on the door to the house where she was living, her heart went thud, thud, thud. It was dark, so she had no idea what time it was. Ten o'clock? Midnight? Three in the morning? Groggy with sleep, she couldn't have said for sure.
A few watches and windup clocks with luminous dials survived from Old Time. None was in Liz 's bedroom. She yawned and thought about sticking her head under the pillow. She decided she wouldn't imitate an ostrich-or what people said was true about ostriches. Besides, whoever was knocking out there didn't seem ready to go away.
She walked out into the hall, feeling her way in the darkness. She almost screamed when she bumped into somebody. Her father said something pungent. “What's going on?” she asked. In the face of unknown trouble, she felt like a little kid again.
“Don’t know.” Dad answered. “I think I'd better find out, though.”
He was nothing but a darker shadow in a hallway full of gloom. Liz had never missed electricity so much as she did right then. “Do you have a gun?” she asked, a question she never would have thought of in the home timeline.
“You better believe it, sweetie,” her father said. “Stay here, okay? That way I have one less thing to worry about it.”
“What if you need help?” Liz squawked.
“I'm here, and I've got a gun, too,” her mother answered out of nowhere. “Do you?”
“No,” Liz said in a small voice.
“Then stay here, like Dad told you.”
Muttering. Liz did. She listened to her father's soft footfalls as he approached the door. “Who's there?” he asked. The knocking stopped, which was a relief.
Standing there m the hall, Liz shivered. Even in summertime, Los Angeles nights could get chilly. Thinking this one was, gave her a reason not to think she was scared.
She couldn't hear the answer from whoever stood out there. She did hear Dad say, “Oh, for heaven's sake”-and then something stronger than that. A moment later, he unbarred the door and opened it. The man outside came in. Dad barred the door again in a hurry. Then he called, “Light a lamp!”
There was always a lire in the kitchen. Liz scurried across the courtyard. She lit a twig from the hot embers and used it to light a lamp. The smell of hot olive oil filled her nose.