The nightmare begins by Jerry Ahern

Author:Jerry Ahern
Language: pt
Format: mobi
Tags: Engelstalig
Published: 2010-01-27T05:28:48+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Rourke sat by the small Coleman stove, water still steaming from the yellow kettle, the red-foil Mountain House package in his left hand, a table spoon he'd found held in his right. He gave the contents of the foil package a last stir and scooped a spoonful of the contents up and put it in his mouth, then leaned back against the rear bumper of the pickup truck. "I love their beef stroganoff," Rourke commented, almost to himself.

"This stuff is terrific!" Rubenstein said.

"What have you got there, Paul?" Rourke asked.

"Chicken and rice," Rubenstein answered, his speech garbled because his mouth was full.

"Next time try some of this—the noodles in it are great, too."

Natalie, still stirring at the contents of her packet, looked at Rourke across the glow of the small Coleman lamp between the three of them, saying, "Well—now that we've found food, plenty of water, gasoline and a four-wheel drive pickup—what next?"

Rourke leaned forward, looking at the full spoon inches from his mouth, saying, "Don't forget we found cigars for me and cigarettes for you."

"That guy really had the stuff put away under that warehouse," Rubenstein commented, his mouth still full.

"Yeah—too bad he never got a chance to use it, apparently," Rourke sighed, finally consuming the spoonful.

"I can't understand that town," the girl said. "Why hadn't the brigands been there?"

"Well…" Rourke began.

"And why and where did all the people who lived there go?" the girl went on.

Rourke looked at her, took another spoonful of the food and began again. "The way I've got it figured, everybody in the town just evacuated—I don't know to where. When those kids showed up and started shooting everything that moved, I guess the lead elements of the brigand force probably pulled in there, got killed and never reported back. There are two kinds of field commanders. Whoever's in charge of the brigands apparently isn't the kind of guy who took losing a squad of men as a personal challenge. He just went around the town, maybe figuring the people there were too well armed. That means he's smart. He's not out to conquer and hold territory— he's just out to keep his people going on whatever they can plunder. I'd figure right about now he's got a dicey job. Could be several hundred of them, no discipline, drinking up everything they can get their hands on and staying smashed most of the time on drugs. Be like tryin' to control a gang of alcoholic gorillas—or maybe more like the stereotype of Vikings. Come in and strike hard, earn a reputation for brutality, retreat or withdraw fast and steal everything that isn't nailed down."

"Then they're still ahead of us," the girl stated more than asked.

"Yeah—and strong and probably by now spoiling for a good fight. I wouldn't worry. We're bound to bump into them," Rourke concluded, finishing the last of his food packet and crumpling it in his hand, then tossing it in a sack in the back of the truck.

"Why did you go to all that trouble?" the girl asked, looking at him earnestly.

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