empty can that he had filled from one of the C.D. drums.
“You better get some sleep, too, buddy,” Roger cautioned, nodding toward Stephen.
“There’s an awful lot of stuff down there that we could use, brother,” Peter said softly, allowing Roger into his thoughts for the first time that day.
“I know it.”
Fran’s deceptive tranquillity at having her stomach filled and being out of immediate danger was shattered by the men’s talk. Instantly, she realized that this wasn’t a rest and recovery stop, but a mercenary raid.
“They’re pretty spread out down there,” Peter continued. “It’s a big place. I think we could outrun ’em.”
“Hit and run,” Roger agreed, unaware that Fran was now listening and getting increasingly angered.
“Hit and run . . . maybe grab us off a radio.”
Fran could stand it no longer. What was happening to them? Didn’t they realize they would be no better than common criminals?
“You’re crazy!” she blurted out. She extricated herself from the sleeping Steve and walked over to the two troopers.
“This place could be a gold mine,” Roger said, checking his weaponry and moving quickly toward the door, where he began to remove the carton barricade. “We gotta at least check it out.”
“This is exactly what we’re trying to get away from,” Fran said to the still-seated Peter, who was checking his own guns. “Look what happened at the airport . . .”
“The only problem at the airport was stray bullets!” Peter told her belligerently. “We could outfight those dummies blindfolded.”
Fran ran over to Stephen and shook him, but the exhausted pilot was dead to the world.
“Leave him be,” Peter said, standing to his full height. “We’re going ourselves.”
He bent over and snatched up Steve’s rifle. He snapped off the safety and slammed a shell into the chamber and handed it to the woman.
“That’s ready to shoot,” he said in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice. “Be careful.”
Fran held the gun as if it were about to explode.
“The trigger squeezes real easy, but the weapon’ll kick you good when it fires,” Peter explained. “Be ready for that.”
“Wait a minute, I—”
“Anyone but us comes up them stairs, you guys take off in the machine. We’ll try to make it out to the parkin’ lot. You can pick us up there.”
Fran was speechless. She just stared at the man in total fright, with desperation in her eyes. She knew that the troopers had made up their minds and that her arguments would be useless.
“If we don’t show up after a few minutes . . . we’ll catch up to you some other time. You understand?”
His voice was toneless, and Fran sensed a greater meaning behind the words. She felt frozen to the spot and could only shake her head up and down like a little girl.
Roger and Peter, their faces set in stone, proceeded toward the fire stair. They pulled open the door on the top landing and were greeted by the same dimly lit corridor as before. They moved slowly out onto the landing and looked into the darkness below. Then, without looking back at the trembling figure of Fran poised at the doorway clutching her rifle, they moved slowly and silently down the steps. Suddenly, Peter stopped and turned back to Fran as if he’d forgotten to tell her something.
“You’ll prob’ly hear some shooting,” he said to the frightened woman. “Just don’t panic, OK?”
Fran could barely manage a sigh in return.
“You’ll be all right. It’s our asses that’s in the fire.”
Fran stood on the landing until she could no longer see the men. She could still hear their footsteps padding down the narrow metal stairs.
Slowly, she turned around, the gun clutched in her arms as if it were her child. She shut the door behind her and locked it. Then, she struggled with a few of the heavier boxes and barricaded the door once again. She glanced at Stephen. How he was able to sleep throughout all this was beyond her. She
“You better get some sleep, too, buddy,” Roger cautioned, nodding toward Stephen.
“There’s an awful lot of stuff down there that we could use, brother,” Peter said softly, allowing Roger into his thoughts for the first time that day.
“I know it.”
Fran’s deceptive tranquillity at having her stomach filled and being out of immediate danger was shattered by the men’s talk. Instantly, she realized that this wasn’t a rest and recovery stop, but a mercenary raid.
“They’re pretty spread out down there,” Peter continued. “It’s a big place. I think we could outrun ’em.”
“Hit and run,” Roger agreed, unaware that Fran was now listening and getting increasingly angered.
“Hit and run . . . maybe grab us off a radio.”
Fran could stand it no longer. What was happening to them? Didn’t they realize they would be no better than common criminals?
“You’re crazy!” she blurted out. She extricated herself from the sleeping Steve and walked over to the two troopers.
“This place could be a gold mine,” Roger said, checking his weaponry and moving quickly toward the door, where he began to remove the carton barricade. “We gotta at least check it out.”
“This is exactly what we’re trying to get away from,” Fran said to the still-seated Peter, who was checking his own guns. “Look what happened at the airport . . .”
“The only problem at the airport was stray bullets!” Peter told her belligerently. “We could outfight those dummies blindfolded.”
Fran ran over to Stephen and shook him, but the exhausted pilot was dead to the world.
“Leave him be,” Peter said, standing to his full height. “We’re going ourselves.”
He bent over and snatched up Steve’s rifle. He snapped off the safety and slammed a shell into the chamber and handed it to the woman.
“That’s ready to shoot,” he said in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice. “Be careful.”
Fran held the gun as if it were about to explode.
“The trigger squeezes real easy, but the weapon’ll kick you good when it fires,” Peter explained. “Be ready for that.”
“Wait a minute, I—”
“Anyone but us comes up them stairs, you guys take off in the machine. We’ll try to make it out to the parkin’ lot. You can pick us up there.”
Fran was speechless. She just stared at the man in total fright, with desperation in her eyes. She knew that the troopers had made up their minds and that her arguments would be useless.
“If we don’t show up after a few minutes . . . we’ll catch up to you some other time. You understand?”
His voice was toneless, and Fran sensed a greater meaning behind the words. She felt frozen to the spot and could only shake her head up and down like a little girl.
Roger and Peter, their faces set in stone, proceeded toward the fire stair. They pulled open the door on the top landing and were greeted by the same dimly lit corridor as before. They moved slowly out onto the landing and looked into the darkness below. Then, without looking back at the trembling figure of Fran poised at the doorway clutching her rifle, they moved slowly and silently down the steps. Suddenly, Peter stopped and turned back to Fran as if he’d forgotten to tell her something.
“You’ll prob’ly hear some shooting,” he said to the frightened woman. “Just don’t panic, OK?”
Fran could barely manage a sigh in return.
“You’ll be all right. It’s our asses that’s in the fire.”
Fran stood on the landing until she could no longer see the men. She could still hear their footsteps padding down the narrow metal stairs.
Slowly, she turned around, the gun clutched in her arms as if it were her child. She shut the door behind her and locked it. Then, she struggled with a few of the heavier boxes and barricaded the door once again. She glanced at Stephen. How he was able to sleep throughout all this was beyond her. She
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