By James Axler
Suffering for survival one of the continues to be of a post-nuclear usa, Ryan Cawdor, the chief of a band of warrior survivalists, reveals his authority challenged by means of his former mentor as the band treks around the wasted kingdom.
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Could be weeks, I guess. " There was a sudden barking cough from the porch and a barely muffled oath. Mildred shook her head. " Krysty asked. They could judge what was happening from the noises. There was much puffing and panting as the old man struggled to pull on his boots, a sharp exclamation and clatter as he dropped one of them. The springs creaked as he levered himself upright. "Now he'll spit," Krysty predicted. They heard a phlegmy hawking, followed by the explosive expectoration over the rail.
But by then he was already moving, diving to his left. He felt the hot breath of buckshot close by his cheek. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as the teenager shot by Trader took a few staggering steps backward, slipped on the frosty ground and went down on his back, sliding and leaving a smear of bright blood on the ice. The second youth was alert enough to snap off a return shot at Trader, but not quick enough to allow for the speed of the gaunt figure. The hunting rifle snapped, but the bullet went a good yard wide.
Nothing stirring out there. , yeah, fine. Locked into a bad dream. " The slight figure of the Armorer was silhouetted against the side window. "I've been thinking about Mildred for the past few days. Specially at night. You think they're all right down there, Ryan? " "Who knows, old friend? Trader wants to visit the ruins of Seattle. I just want to get on home. " Chapter Three "Yesterday was the last day for their rendezvous," Mildred Wyeth said, peering at a handwritten calendar on the scrubbed wall of the kitchen.