A second man, carrot-red hair in his eyes, stepped beside Rubenstein. It was O'Toole. "Me neither!"
Keeping one of the guns trained on Rubenstein and O'Toole, Rourke shouted, "What about it?" to the other two men. He could hear the man he'd decked starting to groan.
The man holding Rourke's rifle started to lower the gun from his shoulder.
"Don't drop it-set it down slowly," Rourke whispered. "Rubenstein," he rasped, hoping he was matching the name to the right face. The man who'd first broken away took a step toward him. "Pick up my rifle. Grab it by the barrel and come here and stretch it out to me. Be quick about it." Rourke watched as Rubenstein walked over, picked up the rifle by the muzzle end, then started toward him. Rourke shoved the Detonics from his left hand into his belt, reaching out with his free hand and grasping the stock of the rifle. He slid the gun through his hand, catching it forward of the trigger guard along the front stock, then slipped his left arm between the rifle and the sling and hauled the synthetic stocked bolt action onto his left shoulder.
The man he'd knocked down was groaning louder now, and Rourke stepped back from him. Then, looking at the four men still standing, Rourke said slowly, "Now-if I were smart, I'd kill all of you right now and save myself headaches later on. Once we get into Albuquerque, anybody who wants to come into this with me and go back for the rest of the passengers can. Anybody who doesn't, just stay away from me. But if you split and if I ever see you again, I'll kill you. Now, you two," and Rourke gestured toward Rubenstein and O'Toole. "Pick up this guy and get him walking. We're moving out, and all you guys are staying in front of me. One wrong move from anybody and he gets a bullet-maybe two just for luck. Questions?"
None of the four men said anything. Rubenstein and O'Toole walked forward slowly and started helping the fifth man off the ground. "All right-let's start walkin'," Rourke said.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Rourke stood in the middle of the square; in front of him-miraculously-still standing-was the oldest church in the American southwest. Around it, much of the rest of Albuquerque's old town was gutted and burned. He glanced down to the Rolex on his wrist. It was almost four A.M., and the sun would not be up for more than three hours. There were no lights, except for lights from inside the church, and Rourke assumed these had to be Coleman lamps or candies. Whole streets had ripped apart when the firestorm had hit natural gas lines. There was no electricity.
Rourke shivered under his sweater and coat. Shifting the rifle from his shoulder, he stood there a moment, staring at the old church. He remembered taking Sarah and Michael there once, several years ago. Michael had enjoyed playing in the old town cul-de-sacs, watching the Indians selling their jewelry along the square. Sarah had wanted a rug from one of the shops, but for some reason which Rourke couldn't remember now, they hadn't purchased it.
There were no people on the street, but he could hear the howling of dogs. Rourke turned and glanced at the five men with him, standing together to his left. "Well," he said. "I guess here's where we part company-at least those who want to. Looks from here like that Catholic Church is probably being used as a shelter. Anybody's who's not coming with me back to the plane, can split here. I'm going to check that shelter after I take care of a couple of things, then I'm going to find the closest thing to a hospital." He lit a cigar, then said, "Anybody coming with me, step over here."
None of the five men moved for a moment. Then Rubenstein-a smallish man with a receding hairline and wire framed glasses-stepped away from the other four and walked toward Rourke. "What about you, O'Toole?" Rourke said through a cloud of cigar smoke.
"No. I don't want to go back," O'Toole said. "I don't know if I'm hanging in with them, either, but I'm not going back to the plane."
"Suit yourself-and good luck," Rourke added. Turning to Rubenstein, Rourke said, "Well, friend. Let's go." Without waiting for a reply, Rourke started across the fire-scorched square, picking his way over the large gouges in the pavement and away from the church.
He heard Rubenstein, beside him saying, "Where are we going, Mr. Rourke?"
"It's John. "What's your first name?"
"Paul."
"Well, Paul, Albuquerque is a town where a lot of people were interested in prospecting. Geology, things like that. So I'm looking to find a geological equipment shop, where there might be a Geiger counter. I want to see how much radiation we've taken. And then, we get back to the plane. I want to check out the rest of us."
Rubenstein walked silently for a while, then asked, "Tell me, John, what're you going to do then-after we help those people back there?"
Rourke turned and looked at him, "Well, going back across the country. See, my wife, Sarah, and our two children. They're back in Georgia."
"But all those missiles that were going off around the Mississippi River-that whole area between here and Georgia is going to be just a huge desert, a big crater."
Rourke said slowly, "I've thought of that. Here, turn down here." He moved onto the ruins of a side street. "There were a lot of little stores down here, I remember."
"I never been to Albuquerque before," Rubenstein said.
"It was a nice town," Rourke said, his voice low. "But, anyway, I'll get back to Georgia-maybe work my way down through Mexico then up along the Gulf Coast. I'll have to play it by ear.
"What if they're dead when you get there?"
Rourke stopped in mid-stride and turned to Rubenstein. "You married?"
"No, I have a mother and father in St. Petersburg, Florida."
"Are you going back for them?"
"I hadn't thought about it. I don't know."
"You got anyplace else to go, anything else to do?"
"No, I guess not."
"Neither have I," Rourke said. "I'm going on the idea that my wife and children are still alive. I'm going to look for them. And if they're not home-we had a farm in a rural part of the state-and I don't find hard evidence that they're dead, I'll keep on looking."
"But aren't we all gonna die?" Rubenstein said, his voice starting to crack.
"All of humanity wiped out? I'm not plannin' on it." At that, Rourke turned and continued walking, stopping a few yards further down what was left of the street in front of a partially burned building.
"Well-look at that," Rourke said, pointing up at the sign above it.
" 'Geological Supplies,' "Rubenstein read aloud.
"Yeah, looks like." Rourke pushed against the door-all the glass was broken out-and the door moved in a foot. Reaching under his coat, he grabbed the Detonics from under his left arm and stepped through the door frame, Rubenstein close behind him.
"This place is in ruins."
"Looks like, but let's see," Rourke said. The floor of what had once been the store was covered with charred pieces of wood, broken glass, some half-burned small cardboard boxes. The fire, Rourke guessed, had burned through quickly.
The back portion of the shop was relatively untouched except for dark scorch-marks on the walls.
"Jees," Rubenstein muttered.
"What's the matter?"
"I tripped-this place is as dark as a closet."
"Just have to get your eyes accustomed," Rourke said quietly. "Close your eyes and count to ten, then open them. There's moonlight from outside-enough to see by if you look close."
"It looks like some sort of storeroom, back there, Rubenstein," Rourke said.
"Where? That door?"
"Yeah. Watch your step now," Rourke said. Then he picked his way across the rubble on the floor.
"It smells funny in here," Rubenstein said.
"Well, it isn't gas. More like burned flesh," Rourke said manter-of-factly.
"Burned what?"
"People, Rubenstein. Come on." He tried the doorknob, but the door didn't budge. Taking a step back, he raised his right leg and kicked. His foot smashed hard against the lock and the door fell inward.