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Keene counted eight of them, muffled in a variety of coats with hoods or hats,
a couple wearing poncholike capes. Their faces were all dark, although whether
this was their complexion or due to the effects of smoke, dust, and dirt was
impossible to tell. They looked exhausted and desperate.
"Okay, stop it right there," one of the two who had come forward ordered. He
had a thick beard and was wearing a torn gray jacket with a hood that revealed
tangled hair protruding around the edge.
With six rifles trained from fifty feet farther back, there was no question of
accelerating through the line. Buff halted the truck and looked down from the
window. The leader had a lean, high-cheeked face with narrow, yellow eyes. He
motioned with his rifle for them to get out of the cab. "Let's see what we got
here. You're going the wrong way, doncha know? Now we've got us a ride going
the right way. Come on, everybody out!"
"Not so fast!" Mitch's voice barked from the trailer behind. The leader's head
jerked sharply to look back past the cab. Keene moved his head to view the
nearside mirror and saw three barrels protruding from gaps in the forward end
of the shelter. "This is an Army Special Forces fire team.
We are in here, behind cover. You are out there, in our sights. Your call."
The leader glanced uncertainly at the other, wearing a purple scarf across his
face, who was standing just behind. The others farther back shuffled awkwardly
or stood in bewilderment. One of them started to back away cautiously. "Hold
it right there!" Mitch's voice ordered. The man froze.
Then the leader waved at them to lower their guns, and his face split into a
grin of broken teeth with gaps. "Well, sa-ay. It's okay, we don't want no
trouble, man. We were, like, just bein'
careful, you know. Doesn't do to take chances, the way things are. You never
know who you might run into. But you're still goin' the wrong way, man. We've
been where you're headin', and there ain't nothin' to go there for. It'd make
more sense to just turn around and get us all out o'
here."
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"That's fine. So you can lay the guns down," Mitch answered. The leader
hesitated. In the cab, Keene raised his automatic above the window level where
it was visible, leaving no doubt who would be the first to go. The leader
nodded to his men and put his own gun on the ground. One by one they
hesitantly followed suit. He turned back toward the truck and spread his arms
wide, again switching on a broad grin to show he was the most reasonable
fellow in the world.
Mitch appeared from the back, accompanied by Cavan, cradling his submachine
gun in the crook of an arm. Legermount and Birden got out too, but remained in
covering positions by the rear corners of the trailer. Keene climbed down to
join them, still holding the automatic. Other rifles were still being aimed
from inside the shelter. "Okay, now we've established a talking relationship,
what's it all about?" Mitch asked. "Did you people just decide to go out for a
walk or something? Look around. Don't you know this is going to be seabed in a
matter of hours?"
"Yeah, we know all about that, all right." The leader looked back along the
highway. "But whatever your plans are, you people ain't gonna get no farther
in any case. There's a bridge down just back there. Nothin' the other way for
us to turn around for 'cept wait for the tide to come in like you said." He
waved toward the side of the highway. "Then we saw that boat there and figured
we'd come across to check it out think maybe it'd see us through till we found
somethin' better, like maybe another truck. Then you showed up."
Keene looked the way the leader was pointing and noticed for the first time
the hulk lying on its side against a gravel bank about a hundred feet off the
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highway. He turned with Mitch and Cavan to peer past the men still cordoning
the road. The wind was gusting, but not to the levels that it had reached
earlier. Flies attacked in vicious, swirling flurries. Ahead, he could make
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