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guns'll be coming in to see us, Captain?" he asked.
"Yeah." Nanci started to speak, but he talked over her. "They'll have heard the
loudspeaker and know that we're here."
"Whoever they are," said Kyle.
"Could make a guess." Nanci Simms was looking around at the desolate ruins of
the old township. "Best get ready for them, Jim," she said.
"Sure. But who do you think they are?"
She took him by the arm, leading him away from the others with a surprisingly
strong grip. "You know that Jeffs told you I'm a teacher."
"Sure."
"Believe that?"
"No."
The older woman smiled at him. "Figured you didn't get to be doing the job you
did by being a real idiot, Jim."
"My guess is something close to military Intelligence, Nanci."
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"That's close enough for now. It's not right, mind, but it's close enough for now."
"So?"
"There's always plans, Jim."
"For what?"
Again came the smile, her teeth white in the moonlight. "For everything.
President dropping dead in a bordello in Juarez. Chinese invading Alaska in
sailboats. You name it and some government high-forehead little nerd will have
produced a contingency plan for it. So, Earthblood wasn't entirely unexpected."
"Was it a plant cancer from one of our laboratories, Nanci?"
"Doesn't signify where it came from. It came, it bred and it conquered."
"Now its effect is passing."
She nodded. "Looks possible. Seen a few touches of green breaking through the
dead red. But it's done its stuff with great efficiency, and the world won't ever be
the same."
"Speaker shouted something, just before it went down, about a place called
Aurora." He could smell the stench of aviation fuel from the crashed Chinook,
over the ridge.
"Right. One of those contingency plans from Nerdsville."
"North. You know where?" Sudden hope flooded his heart.
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"No. Sorry, Jim. I know a little about a lot, but things like Aurora were on a high
need-to-know basis. Very high. Fifteen floors up over my poor old head."
"The guys with the guns?"
"I heard about a kind of contra-grouping. Senior officers, some politicos, men
with big money in industries. Powerful men. And a few women. Called
themselves the Hunters of the Sun."
Their conversation ended abruptly as the machine gun suddenly opened up
again, bullets ripping through the weathered walls of what used to be the old
schoolhouse in Calico.
THE CONTRAST with the time, only short weeks ago, when they'd been
attacked back at Stevenson Base, was very considerable.
Then they'd all been severely disoriented, virtually weaponless and mentally
unprepared to do much to defend themselves.
Time had passed.
Times had changed.
Now they were armed and more than ready to kick some ass.
Jim Hilton had taken charge of their defense, making sure that Sly and Heather
were safely at their center. He picked a group of buildings near the top of a hill,
overlooking the parking lot, placing everyone out in a skirmish line.
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After that initial burst of firing, the attackers remained silent. The obvious guess
was that they were closing in under cover of night. The moon had almost
vanished behind a skirt of thickening cloud, and midnight was drawing nearer.
One major problem was that the defenders had no way of knowing how many
men were out there. It could be only three or four. Then again, it could be half a
regiment.
Jim gripped his Ruger Blackhawk Hunter, staring into the blackness, fingers firm
on the cushioned grip with the walnut inserts. The thirty-five-ounce, six-
shot, .44-caliber revolver felt right. Ready for use.
He'd put himself at the center. Nanci had gone to the far left, without being told,
nearest to the last sound of shooting. She was dripping with weaponry: the
scoped rifle on her shoulder, the matched Heckler & Koch automatics on the
hips and the machine pistol in her hand.
Jeff Thomas had followed her, carrying his Smith & Wesson 4506, an eight-
round .45. A broad-bladed butcher's knife swung on his left hip as he scampered
after the tall woman.
Steve Romero was next, between the ex-journalist and Jim Hilton. The tall
skinny radio expert had a polished bowie knife sheathed on the hip with a small
blued Beholla .32 automatic balancing it. The unidentifiable sawed-off
scattergun was in his right hand. None of his weapons would be much use above
a range of twenty-five yards.
"But let the bastards get close," he'd said with a grin at Jim.
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Kyle Lynch was next along from Jim Hilton, to the right, with the excellent
Mannlicher rifle lying at his side. A Mondadori .32 automatic was holstered on
his belt.
Carrie Princip completed their lineup. like Steve Romero, she wasn't armed for
distance. She had the Smith & Wesson 2050, the six-shot, .22 revolver with the
snub, four-inch barrel.
Heather was resting flat on the ground, right behind her father. "Couldn't I have a
gun, Dad?" she whispered to him.
"Sorry, kitten."
"Dad!"
"Sorry, honey. Forgot about calling you 'kitten.' Just stay there and keep quiet. If
things go wrong, head out back and keep running."
"They aim to chill us, Dad?"
"You saw what they did to the chopper. Not too friendly."
The first noise was a single snapping round from Nanci Simms. The echo from
the rifle rolled around them.
It was followed by a yelping gasp, and the clatter of someone falling down.
"One less, Jim," she called.
He thought he glimpsed someone moving out of the corner of his vision, but he
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