The Cajun nodded as a slim knife appeared in his pale hand and he started to slice.

"Krysty, lay that door right here. Anybody find boards for splints?" "Bookcase shelving," Ryan said, setting the wood nearby. "From the security office. Way too wide, but we can split them lengthwise."

"Excellent."

"Here," Jak said, handing over the garment.

Laying the coat across the door, Mildred rolled some miscellaneous fabric into a tube and laid it sideways at the low end of the door, then another, smaller roll, near the top.

"Okay, listen up, people," she spoke brusquely. "First thing, follow my lead and move on my command, not one second earlier. We have to do this in unison, or we may kill him right here and now.

Understand?"

Ryan started to speak and stopped.

"Okay, everybody gathered around. You too, John." J.B. shouldered his blaster and joined them. "I want everybody except Doc to take ahold of the loose clothing on a limb. I'll hold his head. But not his body," Mildred reminded. "Just the clothing, and try to shift him as little as possible. That's vitally important."

While the others did as directed, Doc positioned himself at the door. Good thing they had removed the k.n.o.b so it lay flat on the floor.

"Now be careful!" the physician admonished, her hands cupping the boy's head, fingertips resting under his jawline. "We're only lifting Dean an inch. Soon as he's off the floor, slide the door underneath, and keep those supports in position at his knees and neck."

"Understood," Doc rumbled nervously.

"On my call," she said, watching their intent faces. "We go on the word mark. Not a second before.

Ready? One, two, three-mark!"

The companions lifted in unison, and Dean moaned as he cleared the floor, his clothing tearing a little from the strain.

"Now!" Mildred barked.

Doc eased the door underneath, the loose hinge sc.r.a.ping nosily. "In position."

"Good," she grunted. "We go down on three. One, two, three!"

The companions lowered Dean onto the makeshift platform and stepped away. Releasing his head from her grasp, Mildred quickly inspected the boy again. "It's okay for now."

"What next?" Ryan asked, feeling the cold rush of adrenaline as if he were in combat.

"Get my new medical kit," Mildred said. "I don't need the instruments yet, but it's best to have them close just in case. "

Then she added, "And when you get the chance, thank G.o.d I have something to work with." "My turn," Jak said, rising and heading for the enclosed stairs.

"Doc, go with him as cover," Ryan ordered. "There might be more of those winged things running around outside."

"Sir, consider me Perseus of Greece," Doc said, and he followed the teenager out of the circle of light.

"Mildred, anything else?" Krysty asked. She knew death was just part of the wheel of life, but this was a friend, the son of her lover, a child she loved very much. Sometimes the wheel of life needed a good solid kick in the a.s.s.

Opening her canteen, the physician sat in one of the plastic chairs built into the tables and took a swallow. "Yes," she decided, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the cap back on. "We better start moving our supplies over here.

Especially that brazier. And find something to use as a bedpan. We're going to be here for a while."

"That's not a good idea," Ryan countered, sitting on the rim of the fountain, the kinetic sculpture behind guttering like a Christmas tree from the light of the lanterns. "Once you've bandaged his breaks, we can carry him to the redoubt. There's a full medical hospital on level five. Everything you'll need."

"Yeah, sorry, Millie, but we can't stay here. Whatever was out there might come back," J.B. added.

"With friends."

Mildred gestured tiredly. "Then shoot him in the head. We take Dean on the road, and it's the same thing. At least chilled by a friend is faster."

A minute of silence pa.s.sed.

"Absolutely?" Ryan demanded, elbows on knees.

"h.e.l.l no. Until he wakes up, there's nothing I know for sure. Except that he's d.a.m.n lucky to still be alive."

Dean lay on the ground, shivering and trembling, his complexion a deathly white.

"Mebbe we could all lift in unison like before," Ryan suggested, eying the impossible stairwell.

"One more jostle and he could die," Mildred stated. "We had to do it the first time, but never again.

He's not going anywhere. Not down the hall, not across the hall. Nowhere." She pointed. "That's why a jacket is under his leg to keep it from shifting position."

Sitting upright, Ryan chewed over this unwelcome information. "For how long?"

"Couple of days at least. Maybe a week. I can't tell until he stabilizes and I can chance trying some tests."

J.B. whistled. "Trapped here for a week. Possibly with more of those winged things roaming the streets.

Not to mention the wolves and the sec men from the ville."

"They might be able to help, but probably not," Krysty said, her hair coiled protectively against her nape. "Always best to plan for the worst. It comes true more often than not." "So we dig in for the duration. Should be safe enough once we seal this building," Ryan observed, running stiff fingers through his black hair. "Okay, we definitely have got to do something about the skylight. Mebbe we could replace the gla.s.s so it isn't obvious where the accident happened."

"This will never be a hardsite," J.B. stated. "Front door is a joke, and there must be a hundred windows to this place. It's a frigging gla.s.s box."

"We can nail boards across the inside of the office windows and jam the hallway doors shut. That'll give any attacker two things to get through," Ryan suggested. He had felt helpless watching the doctor work, but this was a combat matter now, and he was back in control. "However, this b.a.s.t.a.r.d central air shaft is begging for attack."

"Mebbe we could lace barbed wire across the railings," Krysty suggested. "That would give us a good three levels of protection. Nothing is going to fly through that. Probably find some in the local hardware store. Nails, too."

"Sounds good. But first we recce the whole building to make sure that we are alone here," Ryan declared, a hand on his blaster. "Then we go get the big conference table from the first floor. Set it over Dean to hide him from sight and protect from any more falling gla.s.s."

"That will do for a start," Mildred said. "And then dump furniture into the elevator shaft till it's jammed solid. That's an express route down here."

And to Dean. A chilling thought. "Which leaves the stairs as the only way in or out. What the h.e.l.l. We can't retreat anyway."

A crash made everybody draw weapons as the door to the stairwell burst open and running figures emerged. Postures relaxed only when the companions recognized Jak and Doc. However, the two men bore serious expressions.

"Gone," Jak said bluntly. "Med kit gone!"

"Along with the Hummer!" Doc added, radiating ill-controlled anger. "The M-60 and a lot of rifles off the wall."

"We've been jacked?" J.B. cried in disbelief.

"Indeed, sir. Curse the Visigoths!"

"s.h.i.tfire, we were only here a few minutes!"

Mildred checked her wrist chron. "Well over an hour."

"More than long enough," Krysty said, her red hair a wild, fiery corona.

Then Doc added, "But the rockets are still in the p.a.w.nshop. They took the useless predark blasters and left the LAWs. That I do not understand."

"Illiterate," J.B. stated. "Couldn't read boxes." "Any tracks?"

"Impossible to see in the night," Doc reported, resting on his cane. "Even if the moon were full, the sky is solid with clouds."

"Storm coming," Jak agreed knowingly. "Big one."

Irritably, J.B. pushed back his fedora. "Swell. That'll erase any tire tracks we could trace."

"Then we find the b.a.s.t.a.r.d tonight," Ryan stated gruffly. Retrieving the Steyr, he checked the clip. Taking out the half-full clip, the man slammed a new clip into the loading recess and worked the bolt, chambering a round. "Doc, stay here with Mildred and Dean."

The physician stood, clicking back the hammer on her revolver. "If I have to operate, we'll need that kit badly. However, this could be a trap to lure us outside."

"Sure as h.e.l.l hope so," Ryan stated, starting for the stairs. "That would mean they're still nearby."

Chapter Nine.

Outside, the streets were as dark as pitch, the sky a swirling, mottled mixture of greens and reddish-orange. The only faint light came from the twin searchlights steadily sweeping the clouds in an endless pattern.

Spreading out in a standard defensive pattern, the companions moved down the block and into the alleyway. The canvas sheet lay crumpled in a corner near an overturned garbage bin.

Dropping to one knee, Ryan studied the sandy street, brushing the surface lightly with his hand. "Nothing here," he said bitterly. "Can't tell if it was one person or ten."

"One," Jak said. "Used branches to erase his tracks getting here."

"So we can't backtrack him." J.B. cursed. "Frigging pro."

"Yep," Jak agreed.

"Perimeter sweep," Ryan snapped. "Five blocks in every direction, then another five until we find his tracks."

"And there's no need to bring him back alive if you find the med kit," Ryan added in the tones of an executioner.

"That was the plan," J.B. stated, switching the fire selector on the Uzi from single shot to full-auto. "He's going down, my friend."

Any further instructions were interrupted by a shape swooping from overhead, and the companions raised their weapons, staring into the darkness. Ryan whistled twice, and they followed him into the gutted paint store next door to the garage.

"Another one of those d.a.m.n muties," Krysty said, crouching behind a stack of cans. Adjusting his gla.s.ses, J.B. scrunched his face. "Hate to say it, but mebbe we'll have to wait until morning. In the dark, this thing could ace us one by one."

"Set fire to place," Jak suggested, his arms resting on the front counter, blaster pointed steadily at the smashed window. "Not like light."

The shadow of something flew past the store as Ryan considered the idea. "No, can't risk the flames spreading across the street." As if forcing his hands through mud, Ryan lowered his blaster. Dean couldn't be moved, and the muties ruled the night. They had no choice.

"Let's get back inside," he said, forcibly controlling his anger. At the moment, logic, not fists, would save his son. "We have to wait until morning."

As they returned to the food court of the building, Mildred saw their faces and knew what the situation was.

"Is there another med kit in the redoubt?" Ryan asked hopefully.

"Does it matter?" she asked, confused. "Without the Hummer, it's a two-, three-day walk."

He waved that aside. "The wag was almost out of fuel, and we have the spare can. We might find it only a couple of blocks away dead in the street."

"Well, there isn't another med kit," Mildred mused. "There's an X-ray machine, and I could really use a view of his skull and spine. But it's not portable. And even if there was a portable X-ray machine, the isotopes would have decayed into lead by now. The thulium core only has a five-year half-life."

Tenderly, Ryan brushed the hair off the boy's forehead. The skin was clammy to his touch. Privately, he cursed himself for a fool..He should have known there had to be a reason why a town full of treasure hadn't been looted. Then he suddenly realized what he was thinking. That could be an answer to their problem.

"These ruins are in excellent shape," Ryan said. "There has to be a hospital somewhere, or a doctor's office. Might find what we need locally."

"Worth a look," J.B. agreed. "You never know, eh?"

"But right now, we recce this dump, and start ferrying over the supplies," Ryan continued, shouldering his longblaster. "We'll eat and sleep in shifts until dawn. Then we do a scout of the neighborhood. After that, we split into teams, J.B. and Doc hunt for supplies. I'll track the thief."

"Plus, we better get to work on the defenses," Krysty added, shivering slightly from the chill in the bas.e.m.e.nt. "We'll need them if those muties come in a flock."

"Can't be many more around," Mildred said, dampening a rag with the canteen and wiping down the boy's forehead. "They're too big. They'd eat all of the wolves and lizards and then start on each other.

So unless they're smart enough to open cans, logic dictates there are only a couple at most."

"Sure as h.e.l.l hope you're right," Ryan growled, glancing at his son, and then upward at the broken skylight four stories away. "Because it took the lot of us to barely chill one of these b.a.s.t.a.r.d things, and we have no hope in h.e.l.l of stopping a swarm." THROWING EMBERS high into the sky, a roaring bonfire cast dancing shadows across the bare brick walls and iron gates of the ruins of the predark library. Just outside the circle of light, men patrolled with longblasters cradled in their arms, black scarves wrapped about their faces as protection from the evening chill and to mask their presence from any possible observers.

Laughing and talking, a group of men sat around the crackling fire, throwing in the occasional book to feed the flames. A ma.s.sive aluminum pot hung suspended over the blaze, the contents bubbling steadily as the fat, bearded man opened another predark can of beef stew and added it to the mixture. He stirred the food carefully with a bayonet, now and then taking a lick.

Most of the men were dressed in bulky plain cloth jackets, more patches than original cloth. But each sported blue denim pants with the price tag still attached, the cuffs tucked into brand-new heavy work boots. Each man was armed with blasters in police holsters, a few with M-16 a.s.sault rifles or double-barreled shotguns.

Backpacks and bedrolls were scattered around, along with stacks of canned goods, some with labels, most without. Nearby was an orderly line of U.S. Army MRE packages, and a large stack of ammo boxes next to a huge tarp-covered stack of flat crates. Vehicles stood parked in a ragged line cutting off the street entrance to the library parking lot.

The cook took a sip of the watery contents in the pot, and nodded. "Supper's on," he announced.