Eggy was the first one to put it into words. There was immediate agreement.
"Hell, we could walk away and leave Lloyd-Ransom right where he is. We could start evacuating the bunker right now. If you're telling the truth, Vickers, I could be in Vegas tomorrow night, shooting craps and talking to women wearing perfume and real clothes. I could sleep in a bed as big as a fucking swimming pool. Has anyone figured how much back pay we've got coming? Let's leave Lloyd-Ransom to someone else."
Eight-Man shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and angry.
"If he's had me in here for eighteen months for no reason, I want him."
Vickers hoisted his Yasha and stood up.
"I want him too. I want him for Fenton but I don't see why we shouldn't bring in fresh troops to spearhead the first assault. I sure as hell don't want to be the first into those tunnels."
Parkwood looked around at the group at the impromptu strategy brainstorm. He didn't seem totally convinced.
"So what should we do?"
Vickers realized that it was primarily Parkwood's caution to which everyone was looking.
"I'd suggest that two of us go outside and talk with the army. It's my guess that they'll pretty much do what we want so long as they get the bunker back."
Parkwood seemed to be trying to stare his way into Vickers' mind.
"Are you sure this isn't some terrible devious doublecross?"
Vickers met the gaze.
"What do I have to do to convince you? What possible doublecross could there be?"
"I don't know, but if there is, I swear I'll kill you."
Eight-Man leaned toward Parkwood.
"You send me with him to the outside and if there's the slightest thing wrong, I'll kill him."
Vickers was getting a little tired of being accused and threatened.
"Isn't this caution getting a little obsessive?"
"What would you do if you were in our position?"
Further argument was interrupted by a disturbance by the elevators. The troops that were supposed to be stopping people coming out of the elevator doors were having a hard job holding back a jostling crowd of handlers who had presumably ridden down from the second level. There was a good deal of pushing and yelling. Vickers thought that he recognized Johanna from GLA 30 doing her full share at the very front of the struggling mass. Was it her? If it was, she'd had most of her hair cropped off since he'd seen her last.
"Mort! Hey Mort!"
"Johanna!"
He moved quickly toward the nearest guard. There was a certain degree of guilt in his speed. Their affair was, at best, a sporadic business. He always promised to come back soon but frequently weeks would go by before he saw her again. With all the women in the bunker, it was all too easy to be sidetracked.
"Let her through."
The guard, who was doing his best to avoid being clawed by an angry redhead, shook his head.
"I can't do that."
"Just let her through, goddamn it!" The guard shrugged. Johanna slipped quickly through the line. Immediately she threw her arms around Vickers' neck. Her breath smelled of gin and she was at least three-parts drunk. Suddenly he was in no mood for a romantic reunion. He held at her at arms' length.
"What the hell is this all about?"
"We're getting impatient up there. We want to know what's going on. Nobody would tell us anything so we came down here to find out."
"Getting drunk up there too?"
"So?"
"So you're in the way down here. There's people shooting at us and the last thing that we need is a bunch of drunk women who don't know what they're doing."
Behind them a mixture of soldiers and security were slowly herding the handlers back into the elevator car. Vickers jerked his thumb.
"Do you have any influence with these people?"
"You've been outside, haven't you?"
Vickers nodded.
"But I don't have time to tell you about it right now."
"What was out there?"
There was a desperate look in her eyes. Vickers sighed.
"There's people out there. The world is a lot less dead than we were led to believe."
Johanna suddenly relaxed. Her shoulders dropped.
"Thank God for that."
Vickers took her by the arm and propelled her quickly toward the elevator.
"Tell them what I told you. Tell them that someone will be going on the air as soon as the situation down here is under control. You've got to spread the word and stop people panicking. It's very important."
The line parted and Johanna was eased through and on into the elevator. She turned and held a hand out to Vickers.
"Mort, will I see you when this is all over?" Vickers nodded and did his best to smile. "Sure sweetheart, you'll see me."
"There really is no need for you to go out armed, is there Vickers? I mean, you're supposed to be real good friends with these guys on the surface."
"I'm getting very tired of all this."
"You've got nothing to worry about if you're telling the truth."
It had been decided that Eight-Man would indeed go out to the surface with Vickers as the bunker's insurance policy. The single rule was very simple. If it turned out that Vickers had been lying in any major respect, Eight-Man should feel completely free to shoot him out of hand. Vickers handed over his Yasha. Once again he was a virtual prisoner.
They walked down the tunnel in silence. Eight-Man had insisted that Vickers walk ahead. Vickers kept his flashlight pointed at the ground. He watched for the snakes but for a second time there was no sign of them. Again it puzzled him. Where could they have gone or, alternatively, where had they come from in the first place? They reached the door. Vickers turned and faced Eight-Man.
"You remember the outside of the bunker?"
"Kinda."
"This comes out on the underside of the bridge. It's partway up the shallow side of the hill, the opposite side from the main entrance. There may be a reception committee. They have a tracer on me and they've probably been alerted that I'm coming out."
"And you're warning me not to overreact?"
"Something like that."
Eight-Man smiled but his eyes were frozen.
"Vickers, you don't have to worry about me."
Vickers refused to be intimidated.
"I worry about everything, my friend. There's been altogether too much shooting first and asking questions afterward."
Eight-Man's distrust seemed to melt a fraction.
"I'll hold it together."
Vickers nodded.
"Help me with this door."
Behind the pressure of both their shoulders, the door swung open. They stepped out under the bridge. Vickers realized that, since he'd been back in the bunker, he'd lost all track of time. It was early morning, maybe an hour or so after dawn. There was the slightest of chills in the air. Vickers could practically feel the shudder run through Eight-Man as they stepped out from the shadows under the bridge and he looked up at the sky. He remembered his own first speechless shock when he'd first emerged from the bunker.
"Take a deep breath. The first thing you realize is that the air in the bunker's so lousy it's enough to make you insane all on its own."
Eight-Man turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees, just gazing up at the sky. When he looked back at Vickers, much of the dislike and distrust had gone out of his eyes.
"I've been hurting for this."
Unfortunately his euphoria didn't have a chance to last. There was a reception committee. Slaughter was waiting with a brace of MPs and a Cobra gunship. Once again the door gunner was on full, white-knuckle alert. This time, however, the guns were pointing at Eight-Man rather than Vickers. Slaughter, behind his mirrored shades, was particularly hostile.
"What the hell is this, Vickers?"
Vickers made no attempt to stop for Slaughter or the military policemen.
"What's the matter Slaughter? You been out here all night?"