Terminator Salvation: From the Ashes by Timothy Zahn Page A

gradually drawing down the supply the tank was probably still half full.
    Orozco had every intention of making sure that it was Moldering Lost Ashes—and only Moldering Lost Ashes—that finally drew down the last drop.
    Unlike some of the beasts of burden Orozco had dealt with over the years, this particular burro had no problem letting itself be led into the cramped tunnel beyond the disguised entryway. Orozco kept a firm hand on the animal’s lead, alert to any sign that it might suddenly bolt. They reached the door, Star slipped inside, and two minutes later Orozco was carefully filling Nguyen’s canisters from the tap they’d drilled into the gasoline tank.
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    The tap had been specifically designed for low flow in order to minimize the chance of spillage, and drawing the promised ten gallons took over fifteen minutes. Orozco made sure the tap was securely closed, reset the backup safety system that would hopefully prevent a catastrophic spill if the tap’s seals somehow failed, then led the way out of the chamber back to the tunnel.
    Star closed the door back down to its usual crack, reset the two-by-fours, and rejoined them.
    Turning the burro around would have been difficult, so Orozco opted instead to leave via one of the decoy tunnels. It brought them back to street level a block from where they’d entered; getting his bearings, Orozco turned them back toward home.
    They still had two blocks to go when a pair of gaunt and filthy teenaged boys suddenly appeared from broken doorways on opposite sides of the street five meters ahead.
    “Freeze or bleed,” one of them ordered, hefting a long-barreled revolver in both hands and pointing it at Orozco’s chest.
    Orozco felt his stomach tighten. Neither of the kids was a local, or at least not a local he recognized. Was this the vanguard of the gang Nguyen and his people had spotted on their way in?
    “Take it easy,” he said soothingly. “I’m sure we can make a deal.”
    “Well, would ya look at that?” another voice came from the right. Orozco turned, to see six more youths file out of a long ganghouse shack that seemed to be built mostly from cracked pieces of drywall. The boy in front was gripping an even bigger revolver than the sentry, the others sporting knives or clubs made from pieces of broken rebar. “We’ve hit the jackpot tonight, kiddies,” the teen with the revolver went on. He pointed the gun at the burro. “We got dinner—” he shifted his aim to Orozco’s holstered Beretta—“we got more guns—”
    He leveled the gun at Star.
    “And we even got ourselves some entertainment.”
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CHAPTER
    SEVEN
    Never panic.
    Orozco’s frequently repeated warning echoed through Kyle’s mind as the six teens spread out into a loose semicircle and started toward the three of them. Never, ever panic.
    But it was very hard not to. He and Orozco had guns of their own, but they were still holstered at their sides. The teens’ two guns were already out and aimed.
    “Take it easy,” Orozco called again. “There’s no need for trouble.”
    “Maybe we like trouble,” the leader retorted. He had pulled a couple of paces ahead of the rest of his pack, his revolver pointed at Orozco’s stomach as he strode toward his victims.
    “Maybe so, but I’ll bet your buddies would rather have goodies than broken bones,” Orozco countered, reaching behind him to give Kyle a gentle but imperative push backward and a little to the right.
    Star plucked at Kyle’s sleeve.
    “Not now,” Kyle muttered, trying desperately to come up with a plan. If he took a long step to his right, the direction Orozco had just nudged him, he would end up with the burro between him and the main group of teens.
    That might at least give him a chance to draw his Colt and even the odds a little.
    But no, that wouldn’t work. Even though the burro might block shots coming from that direction, Kyle would still be exposed to the kid with the revolver standing down the