Part 17 (1/2)

He had washed his body in an icy stream, and now- tired and changed into fresh clothes-he sat by his motorcycle, stirring cold water into a pack of his freeze-dried food. He tasted a spoonful of it. It would have been better hot, but the nutritional value was the same. He had added a hundred miles since leaving Bevington and was well inside Tennessee. Paul had probably pa.s.sed him. Perhaps Paul had found them.

Rourke leaned back, eating his cold food, his muscles still aching, his stomach still uneasy. He planned ahead-^always. He hadn't planned on Martha Bogen, or on the suicide of an entire town. Or on the Russians being there. The sun was setting-red on the horizon, too red, the weather warm now.

He had seen signs of Brigands in the last twenty-five miles-their habitually careless camps, litter and broken bottles everywhere.

To the east, he could see the faint glimmering of some early stars on the horizon.

Tomorrow, he would renew the search, to find Sarah, Michael, and Annie.

And perhaps Paul really had found them.

He would stop at the Retreat, he decided.

He finished the food, then set the empty package aside. Finding a cigar in his s.h.i.+rt pocket, he lit it in the blue-yellow flame of his Zippo.

John Rourke made a last check of the twin Detonics .s, then of the CAR-. He had cleaned all three guns, and reloaded the spare magazines for them.

As he watched the last wash of red in the sky where the bun was fast vanis.h.i.+ng, he closed his eyes. Sarah, Michael, Annie. Paul Rubenstein.

Another face-her eyes were a brilliant blue.

THE SURVIVALIST SERIES.

by Jerry Ahern #: THE WEB.