That sure hurt me. Be a bit more careful next time, will you?"

Less than four seconds later a lime-green batlike creature swooped from nowhere and picked Arnie up in its claws. Bit off its skull in a welter of crimson drops and spit it out.

"Ouch, that hurt worse. I won't get far ahead without my head. Only one life left."

That life was sacrificed when Jak pressed a button too hard and bold little Arnie went tumbling down a slide covered in slivers of razored steel that sliced him into a hundred animated fragments of bloody flesh.

"Ouch, I'm sure cut up about that. Three lives and out. Insert money for a replay. Better luck next time."

Jak spit on the floor, turning away. "Let's quit this triple-stupe shit," he said. "No fun."

"Still three games left. Mebbe we'll sort of get the hang of them in a bit."

"Right. Your turn, Dean."

"NOT MUCH MORE left," Mildred said. "What is the date?" Doc asked.

"Only two days before the nukecaust," she replied. "Woman's starting to panic about what's going on. Writing's getting worse. Says there've been four deserters already in the last twenty-four hours."

" 'Caught Sergeant Silvers from the motor pool before he got over the fence. Colonel Yossarian executed him with his own automatic in the softball yard. I didn't see it myself, but we all heard the sound of the shot. The pullout can't be far away. Why build this redoubt and then abandon it? Doesn't make sense to me. Worry about them at home.'"

THE FOURTH ARCADE GAME had malfunctioned and remained stubbornly dark and silent. It had been a combat game, pitting the finest American warplanes against those of the Communist Bloc.

"Shame," Dean said. "I'd really have liked the chance to gross-out in an airwag."

Fifth in line was called Urban Destroyer. Jak put in the coin while Dean readied himself at the controls. The screen offered him the chance to play any one of about eight different characters who had to make their way across Manhattan through the turf of dangerous street gangs.

Dean hesitated for a few seconds between taking on the role of Feuding Mick Norman or The Hooded Destroyer; finally picking the latter.

He turned out to be seven feet tall, carrying a long, hooked scimitar in one hand and a machine pistol in the other. He stalked narrow alleys, between towering skyscrapers like Dean had seen in old books and vids and mags.

Electronic music played, drumming out in a rising tempo, to heighten the feeling of menace.

"Yo, mother. You on Frag turf now and that means you is dead meat."

The aggressor was a powerfully built figure, with vaguely Afro-Asian features, swinging a fearsome rice flail that hissed through the air.

"Take him, Dean," Jak urged.

"Which button is for firing the blaster?"

A stream of silver lead shot from the Uzi, splattering the wall of the tenement building behind the menacing figure. But he had ducked under it, darting in and delivering a whirling, crushing blow to the head of the hooded terror, who staggered back and fell in animated slow-mo, finally landing in a crumpled heap against a hydrant.

"So perish all chicken-shit invaders of Frag turf," crowed the harsh, electronic voice of the victor, who stood there beating his chest.

The screen went dark.

"Let's go join the others," Dean suggested. "These aren't the fun I thought they'd be."

"One left." Jak walked and stared at the last machine in the room. "Sounds good."

"So you try it," Dean said, his face set in a sullen scowl. "Give me the jack."

It was called Shield of Freedom and showed a crew-cut American GI flourishing an M-16, one foot on the throat of a brutish Russian soldier. There was a lot of blood around and more enemy soldiers in the background.

"THIS IS THE FINAL PAGE," Mildred said. "Funny, this is written by someone who was actually there, living through those last dark hours before the world ended. And writing about them. But, somehow, she can't convey what it must've been like."

"Could anyone?" Ryan asked.

"Did everyone expect that an outbreak of hostilities would mean the end of the world?" Trader asked. "I never quite saw how it worked. Like two men each with the muzzle of their blaster in the other's mouth, fingers white on the triggers, each of them knowing that if either fired, the other would also shoot. And they'd both inevitably get chilled."

"Called the balance of terror," Doc explained. "Only the balance finally tipped over."

"Carry on reading," J.B. said. "Like to hear the ending of it."

" 'This is really it. We had a lecture about chemical and nerve agents and what to do. Walter said you pushed your head between your legs and kissed your ass goodbye. Seems we're too exposed here in western California, and as a matter-transfer redoubt we don't have proper defensive capabilities. So, we start withdrawing in about an hour from now. Take what we can. Command says to take all personal possessions and documents in case they helped an invading force. So, soon as I finish this I'll pack my clothes and stuff, and then take it with me.'"

TRYING NOT TO MAKE the same mistakes as they had on the other machines, Jak and Dean were painstakingly plowing through the instructions for Shield of Freedom before inserting a quarter and pressing the red Start button.

It was taking a long time.

Jak lost interest and sat by the vid game on the floor, leaning back against the wall.

" 'MAKES ME WANT TO throw up, thinking those Red bastards might be walking in here one day. Maybe sleeping in my bed. Eating and drinking all our provisions that we don't take. Morag said we should open all the soft drinks and piss in them and put the tops back on. I believe that good old boy, Walter, has had the best idea yet to give them a shock.'"

"Wonder what this was?" Abe asked quietly. "If there's any booby traps, it'd be good to know where they are. We've been most places throughout the complex."

"Probably never did anything." Krysty smiled at Ryan. "Or they rotted with age. Certainly haven't seen anything that looked like a device."

"'He says Ruskies are kids, and they'll head for the vid games section.'"

"What!" Ryan exclaimed.

"'Linked a couple of grenades to his favorite, Shield of Freedom. The moment the Commie bastards press the'"

DEAN REACHED our to press the Start button on Shield of Freedom.

Chapter Eight.

Ryan felt the force of the blast before he heard the familiar muffled crump. It ruffled its hot fingers through his hair, tightening the skin across his cheekbones, sucking some of the air from the corridor.

There hadn't even been time to shout a warning. Though the open area of the redoubt was relatively restricted, the games room was still some distance away from the small study-bedroom.

He had been the fastest to react to the passage in the diary of the long-dead woman. His mind seized instantly on the potential horror of the news of the planned booby trap, a potential that he guessed, in that heart-stopping moment, might well have been realized.

Two implode grens, in a confined space.

Ryan had seen the results of that kind of detonation, and he could already visualize what they would find

in the remains of the room.

There would be a single pile of mangled flesh, stripped clear off shards of raw bone.

The muffled crump seemed to fill his ears, and he saw smoke and debris scattered across the corridor just

in front of him. There were cries from behind him but he ignored them. "Dean! Jak!"

"Over here, Dad!"

The boy's voice was strong, though shock and fear had given it a high, thin ragged edge. Ryan slowed

from a powering run, peering through the haze, his boots crunching over splinters of broken glass.

"Here."

Now he saw them. Dean was on his hands and knees, one arm around Jak. The albino had blood smeared across his forehead, but he was obviously conscious, steadying himself against the wall of the corridor.

"Implodes," Jak said, coughing in the dust. "Wired up to one of the games machines."

"We know," Ryan replied.

Dean, deafened by the grenades, looked puzzled, shaking his head. Ryan noticed a trickle of blood was

inching from the boy's left ear.

But Jak heard him. "How you know?"

Krysty and the others were grouped around Ryan. The air stank with chemical fumes from the explosion,

and they could all hear the faint crackle of flames from one of the wrecked machines inside the games

room.

"Just been reading a sort of diary left over from predark. Woman who worked here. Mildred was telling us all it said when she came on a reference to them sabotaging one of the games. Ready to catch Ruskies if they invaded. That was the fear, just before skydark."

"It was called Shield of Freedom," J.B. said. "They wired up grens to it."

"I was just going to start playing a game called Shield of Freedom, Dad," Dean said, standing up unsteadily, accepting a hand from his father. His voice was unnaturally loud, showing that his hearing was still badly hit by the booby trap. "How did you know, Jak?" Trader asked. "You never heard us shouting a warning. Bombs went off too quickly. How come they didn't hit you?"

Jak was also on his feet, shrugging off an offer of assistance from Abe. "Was sitting down while Dean played. Could see back of machine. Saw two scarlet-and-blue grens. Wired up. Knew were implodes. Grabbed boy and out in corridor, around corner. Just in time."

Dean was watching Jak's lips, fascinated. "I can't hear him," he announced to the group in general. "Is he saying he spotted the bombs while he was sitting down? Never saw anyone move so fast in all my life. If it hadn't been for Jak, I wouldn't have had any life left, would I?" Tears trembled in his dark brimming eyes as the effects of the shock started to get to him. "He dragged me around the corner, away from the worst of the blast."

Ryan clasped the hand of the albino. "Thanks, Jak. Owe you one."

Jak grinned. "Owe you plenty, Ryan."

Mildred looked concernedly at Dean, then spoke to his father. "I know someone who might just about fall down if he isn't got back to where he can rest and have something hot and sweet to drink."

"Yeah," Ryan agreed. "Fact is, Mildred, I reckon we could all follow that idea."

JAK WASHED THE CUT in his scalp, where a piece of flying glass had slashed him. Mildred checked the wound carefully to ensure that there were no splinters left in it.

Dean was unhurt, other than the temporary damage to his hearing, which started to gradually return.

The rest of the friends took the opportunity to replenish water supplies and ready some of the food to take with them.

Ryan found himself in the larder area with Trader. "I told you," he said.