"Just like in the movies," Rubenstein remarked. Rourke turned and looked at Rubenstein, saying nothing. The storage room, high-ceilinged and narrow, was darker than the store had been. Rourke waited in the doorway, letting his eyes become accustomed to the dimness.
"You must see real well in the dark," Rubenstein said.
"I do. But it has its disadvantages. If I don't wear sunglasses when I'm outside during the day, the brightness gives me headaches-bothers my eyes." He started into the storeroom. "Here, just a second," he said, and in a moment there was a soft clicking sound then a light. "Flashlight-the guy must have sold them. I had to find batteries for them. Here," Rourke said, handing the flashlight to Rubenstein, "Take this-I'll fix another one for myself."
"Isn't this stealing? I mean, couldn't we get shot as looters?"
"Yeah, we could," Rourke said, tightening his grip on the flashlight and flicking it on. "Not a very good flashlight," Rourke commented, flashing the anglehead light around the room. He stopped the beam at the high shelves at the back of the room.
"Look! What do you want for free?" Rubenstein commented.
"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Rourke said. "Give me a leg up so I can get to that top shelf."
"What leg up?" Rubenstein said.
"Here," Rourke said. "Put your hands together like that." Rourke put his right foot in Rubenstein's palms, then pushed himself up on the shelves.
"For a lanky guy, you're sure heavy," Rubenstein gasped.
Rourke stretched to reach the shelf, got a grip on a box, then slid down to the floor.
"What is that?"
"A Geiger counter. Looks like the last one he had. I have to put some batteries in it." He dropped to his knees, ripped open the box, then produced a dark-bladed knife and pried at the cowling on the machine.
"What kind of a knife is that?"
"Sting 1A black chrome-it's a boot knife," Rourke said absently. "Hand me some of those batteries from the shelf up there-the big ones." Rubenstein handed Rourke a half-dozen batteries. Rourke took what he needed and said, "Hold onto the rest of them. You might find a couple more flashlights and get them working. See if there's anything else we could use. A couple of good-sized hunting knives wouldn't be a bad idea. And see if you can find some compasses. Oh-the knives-look for thick blades rather than long ones."
"Gotcha," Rubenstein said. Rubenstein left the storeroom and Rourke finished placing the batteries, then replaced the cowling on the Geiger counter. He flicked the on switch and took the microphone-like attachment and swept it across his clothes. He watched the Roentgen reading, stripped off his jacket, then took another reading. He stood and stripped off the rest of his clothes and weapons, taking a reading on each item. His guns, the holsters, his knife, even the sweater he'd taken from his luggage in the cargo compartment-all were normal. The clothes he'd worn in the cockpit were reading high. He ran the counter over his skin and the reading was normal. His watch-the Rolex he habitually wore-was reading too high. He took it off and took another reading. His body was normal. He picked up his guns and knife and left the clothes in the storeroom, then walked back into the store, squinting as Rubenstein's light flashed across his face. "You're naked!"
"Yeah, aren't I though," Rourke said. "I took a Geiger counter reading. My clothes and everything must have gotten contaminated up in the cockpit. But my sweater, my guns-everything from the cargo hold-were fine. I even had to ditch my watch."
"That was a Rolex wasn't it? That's about fifteen hundred bucks"'
"A radioactive watch won't due me much good. Besides, I've got another one back at the plane," Rourke said. "Here," he said, "I'm gonna sweep your clothes with the counter. You might be hot, too."
Rourke checked Rubenstein with the wand of the Geiger counter and stepped back. "You should strip. Your clothes are contaminated."
"But I can't run around naked."
"Your choice, friend," Rourke said. "Would you rather get radiation poisoning?"
Rubenstein started to undress. Once the man was naked, Rourke ran the Geiger counter over him. "Get rid of your watch," he said.
"Sure," Rubenstein said, "You threw away a Rolex-I can throw away a Timex. What the hell, huh?"
"Come on," Rourke said. "That next block over looked pretty much untouched by the fire-maybe we can find a clothing store or something."
Rourke started out of the store, Rubenstein behind him. "Jees-its cold."
"Here," Rourke said, and he tossed Rubenstein his sweater. "And watch your feet."
The double shoulder holster across his back, the rifle slung from his shoulder, the Geiger counter in his left hand and the flashlight in his right, Rourke started down the street toward the next block, aware of his nakedness only because of the night air. His main concern-and he began walking more rapidly-was the howling sound some distance behind him.
"What's that noise?" Rubenstein asked, a few feet behind Rourke. "Wild dogs-running in a pack," Rourke said, his voice even.
"A pack of hungry wild dogs, huh?" Rubenstein said. "And here we are, meat on the hoof, huh?"
"You've got the idea, Rubenstein," Rourke said, smiling. "And, speak of the devil."
Rourke stopped and turned, Rubenstein beside him now. The howling was louder, and at the end of the street in plain sight, less than fifty yards from Rourke and Rubenstein, stood six dogs. Five German shepherds and one Doberman.
"My God," Rubenstein muttered.
"The Lord helps those who help themselves, doesn't he?" Rourke said, snatching one of the Detonics pistols into his right hand. His knife was clipped to his shoulder rig, but his left hand was crowded with the Geiger counter, the flashlight, and a bag of spare ammo he had taken from the store.
"Here, hold my stuff," Rourke rasped.
"You just gonna stand here?"
"Yeah," he said. "Until they come at us in a run. Then I'm going to shoot them. Here-take the rifle in case I miss one of em."
"Oh," Rubenstein said, taking Rourke's SSG. "I never shot a gun in my life."
"First time for everything. Bet you never walked down the street naked before either."
"Well, yeah," Rubenstein said.
Rourke smiled, snatching the second Detonics from its holster.
The dogs started edging forward. "How good a shot are you?" Rubenstein asked, nervously.
"Not bad," Rourke said. "Better than average, I guess," he added.
"Oh. You're not bad. Better than average," Rubenstein said, laughing. "Well, listen. I'm glad of that."
The dogs started breaking into a loping run now, their speed increasing as they approached. "Must be pretty hungry to attack people who look like they can defend themselves," Rourke said slowly, raising the Detonics stainless .45 in his right hand, his left hand with the matching gun still hanging limp at his side.
"Must be," Rubenstein said, taking a step back. The nearest of the dogs-the largest German shepherd-was thirty feet away when Rourke fired. The hollow point round caught the animal square in the chest and it dropped.
Already, Rourke had the second Detonics raised and cocked. He squeezed the trigger. The bullet cut into the second of the German shepherds. The animal yelped once, ran a few paces, and fell. With the pistol in his right hand, Rourke sighted on the Doberman, then fired.
"Missed," Rourke mumbled, firing then with the pistol in his left hand, catching the Doberman and dropping it instantly.
The pack was less than fifteen feet away now, and Rourke lowered both guns to midway between his shoulders and waist and fired, first the one in his right hand, then, as he brought it back on line, the one in his left. The hot brass burned against his naked chest and thighs. He fired both .45's simultaneously at the last dog, dropping it in mid-air as it sprang toward him. Then he let both pistols drop to his sides.
He took a step forward, then turned to listen to Rubenstein who was saying, "That was spectacular-I never saw anything like that in my life. It was like a movie or something. You would have made one hell of a great cowboy in the old west, John Rourke."