Desolation Crossing by James Axler

polished hide. His face was dark complected, his eyes in darker hollows framing a sharp nose. He was wearing a tattered ball cap turned backward, and his demeanor spoke of someone who didn’t like to waste time.
    And he was thinking that maybe this was wasting his time.
    “So?” Luke said, tired of waiting for J.B., maybe even tired of being sized up. “Do you have any work for me?” he directed to Trader. “Or has wonder boy here seen to it all?”
    “I’ve tidied up anything that Trader needs,” J.B. answered, drawing the attention back to himself. “So mebbe he’s brought me here so that I can help you out.”
    Luke looked as though he might explode in anger. A simmering, slow burn came over him, and he said softly, “Ever tried to fit a stock on a Sharps that some damn fool has tried to recalibrate?”
    “Can’t say I have. You rebored it?”
    “Got the lathe, just in the middle of it. Care to, uh, give me your expert opinion on what I’ve done?” he asked with some sarcasm.
    J.B. smiled wryly. “I could try.”
    Luke lifted the flap of the counter, allowing the Armorer to pass through. He raised a questioning eyebrow at Trader, who shook his head. Without a word, Luke let the flap drop and followed the Armorer into the back room.
    “Long time since I saw one of those,” Trader heard J.B. say. He didn’t know what he was talking about, and he didn’t much care. He had the feeling that they’d lose him after a few minutes, anyway.
    His mission here was done. Get the boys acquainted. Get them past their own spiky natures, and when they were ready, get them to look over his ordnance and anything they might pick up on the outbound journey.

Chapter Seven
    Chapter Seven
    The Present
    Attack came sooner than any of them would have hoped. The only good thing was that, out in the dustbowl environment they traversed, there was no way that any kind of attack could be a surprise. There was no place to hide or shelter when under attack, but equally there was nowhere for any potential attackers to lie in wait. You could see the coldhearted bastards coming for miles.
    That was scant consolation when a person was on a motorbike, unable to hear the comm tech from the rest of the convoy, and more exposed than any of your fellow fighters. Come to that, more than any of your enemies.
    Ryan and Jak were the first to be in the firing line, and the last to see what was coming. No wonder, then, that their journey was almost over before it had begun.
     
    K RYSTY HAD LONG SINCE ceased to pay any attention to what Ray was saying. He was a nice enough old guy, she supposed, but the fact that he never shut up meant that only one word in ten was worth listening to; and after a while, you couldn’t even summon the energy to try to catch anything. But that was okay, seeing as the old man didn’t seem to care whether she was listening. She guessed that he was used to people zoning out on him after a while, and was just grateful for a passive audience that let him believe he was doing something other than just talk to himself.
    She looked at him, past him, and occasionally shifted on the padded seat to look the other way, at least in a token attempt at surveillance. But the truth was that his voice became kind of hypnotic after a while, and she could feel herself start to glaze over. While he talked about LaGuerre and the others in the convoy, old vids and old music, even singing snatches of old tunes in a quavery tenor, she found that she was becoming more confused. Who had been on the convoy, and who was some old vid actor from predark days? Had there been an actor called Tarran? Had there been sec men called Seagal and VanDamme? It became a little blurry around the edges.
    Which was exactly how she was feeling. A little blurry. Slipping into that daydream reverie that led to sleep.
    And that was why she nearly missed it. It was only when he repeated himself that she realized it was something important. He hadn’t repeated