Survivalist - The Web Part 3

resupply once he got back to the Retreat, he reminded himself.

"Hope you like beef stroganoff," Rourke said, holding the first of the opened packets up for her to add the water.

"Do you remember the camp we had that night before you scouted for the Brigands and the Paramils-in Texas?"

"Yes," Rourke told her.

"Should I get drunk again?" She smiled. "But it wouldn't do me any good, would it?"

Rourke, balancing one of the Mountain House packs, then opening another, said nothing. He turned to call to Rubenstein, still searching for the bottle. "Food's on, Taul."

"John," Natalia's alto insisted. "You remember that? I called you Mr.

Goodie-Goodie, didn't I."

"It doesn't matter," Rourke told her, his voice a whisper.

"I think I loved you then, too," she said matter-of-factly.

Rourke looked into her eyes a moment. "I think I loved you then, too."

"I won't see you after we get out of here, after this storm-will I?"

Rourke didn't answer.

Rubenstein came up, an unopened quart bottle of Seagram's Seven in his hands. "This bottle's cold-least we won't need any ice, huh?" The younger man laughed.

"Here, Paul." Natalia handed Rubenstein the first of the three packs, the one with the hottest water added. Rourke exchanged a glance with her and she smiled.

Rubenstein took the pack of beef stroganoff and settled himself beside the Coleman lamp. "Like old times-out there on the desert in Texas," Rubenstein remarked, giving the food a final stir.

"John and I were just saying that," Natalia told him.

"This is good." Rubenstein's garbled voice came back through a mouthful of food.

Rourke broke the seal on the whiskey bottle, twisting open the cap and handing the bottle to Natalia. "I'll get a cup for you," he started.

"No-like we did that other time." She smiled, putting the bottle to her lips and tilting her head back to let the liquid flow through the bottle's neck and into her mouth. Rourke watched her, intently.

She handed him the bottle and, not wiping it, he touched the mouth of the bottle to his lips, taking a long swallow; then, as he pa.s.sed the bottle to Rubenstein, he said to her-Natalia-"Like we did the other time."

He glanced at Rubenstein for a moment, but the younger man, having already set the bottle down, was smiling and saying, "Not like I did the other time. I can still remember the headache." And he continued with his food.

Natalia lay in Rourke's arms, the Coleman lamp extinguished. Rubenstein was taking a turn at watch just inside the open cargo hatch of the fuselage. "You'll pick up the search for Sarah and the children? I'd help if I could."

"I don't suppose it matters; an intelligence operative of Reed's in Savannah, retired Army guy, reactivated for this-"

"The Resistance? I wonder if it has a prayer," she mused.

"I don't think that's the point of it anyway," Rourke whispered to her in the darkness. "It's the doing that matters, the results are secondary. But he got word to Reed at U.S. II headquarters that he'd made a positive identification of Sarah and Michael and Annie-they were heading toward U.S. II headquarters."

"But-"

Rourke cut her off. "U.S. II headquarters was moving out so your people wouldn't make a raid and catch Chambers. And Sarah and the children couldn't make it across the Mississippi valley anyway-the radiation. So I've gotta stop them-before they get into the fallout zone."

"If somehow we learn anything in Chicago, I will or my uncle will-we'll get word to you, somehow."

"I know that," Rourke answered.

"I hope you find them, John-and that they are well, and whole, and that you can make a life for them. Somewhere."

"The Retreat," Rourke said emotionlessly. "The Retreat-only place safe.

It's safe against anything except a direct hit, enough supplies to live for years, growing lights for the plants to replenish the oxygen-and that stream gives me electrical power. I can seal the place to make it airtight. But Sarah was right in a way; it is a cave. I don't know if I can see raising two children in a cave-even a cave with all the conveniences."

"You don't have any choice-you didn't start the war," she said, her voice suddenly guilt-tinged he thought.

"Neither did you, Natalia-neither did you," he murmured. She leaned tighter against him and he held her tighter.

"If I close my eyes, I can imagine it."

"What?" he asked, feeling dumb for saying it.

'That things were different and we could he-" She didn't finish the thought.

Rourke touched his lips to her forehead as he leaned back, her head on his shoulder. As he closed his eyes, he murmured the word that she hadn't said-"lovers." He listened to the evenness of her breathing long past the time he should have fallen asleep. ...

Using the rope-all of it-Rourke and Natalia had engineered a pulley system for getting the bikes up onto the highway. And he was committed now, he knew: The storm showed no signs of abating, but the longer he delayed taking up the search, the closer Sarah and the children might get to the irradiated zone, the rnore chance there was that they would slip through his fingers. He wanted to catch up with them in the Caro-linas-it was the only chance now.

It was the only chance now, because without the plane, it would be impossible to drop Natalia safely near Russian-dominated territory-northern Indiana. Rourke's original plan had been to leave Natalia where she would be safe, then to drop Paul in Tennessee. He would have flown then as close to Savannah as possible-he and Paul catching Sarah and the children between them.

The very act of starting one motorcycle toward the road was a commitment to abandon the shelter of the aircraft fuselage, for one man by himself could not control the bike and get the bike elevated-even with Natalia helping him. And now, as Rourke coiled the last of the ropes, hisownHarley and Paul's bike as well on the road surface, he glanced back down to the shelter of the fuselage. He was already chilled, despite the fact that he wore fwo pairs oi jeans, three shirts, his crew-necked sweater, and jacket. Using spare bootlaces, he had secured Natalia's sleeping bag over her coat, to give her added warmth. She would ride behind Paul on his bike.

The plan was simple-the only one possible under the circ.u.mstances. The heart of the storm seemed to be to the south and west. With luck, Paul and Natalia would be driving out of the storm while he, Rourke, drove into it.

With its intensity, Rourke a.s.sumed it couldn't last much longer at any event.

Rourke would start from Tennessee and cut down into Georgia, perhaps as far down as the ma.s.sive craters that had once been metropolitan Atlanta; he still had a Geiger counter, as did Paut. Then he would zigzag back and forth with his farthest range being the lower Carolinas. Paul, after leaving Natalia in safe territory, would travel back, retracing the route down from northern Indiana to Tennessee, then strike straight for Savannah from there. With luck one of them would intercept Sarah and Michael and Annie. In two weeks, he and Paul would rendezvous at the Retreat-hopefully one of them with Rourke s family in tow.

The Metalifed and Mag-Na-Ported six-inch Colt Python in the flap holster at his waist, Rourke began making a last minute check of his gear. The Python and his other guns had been freshly lubricated with Break-Free CLP which would resist the sub-freezing temperatures. The Lowe Alpine Systems Loco pack was secure behind the seat of the Low Rider, the CAR- wrapped in plastic and secured to the pack, a blanket under the plastic to protect the gun in the event of a skid. He glanced along the icy road surface; a skid was highly likely.

He started his bike, letting the engine warm up as he walked back toward Natalia and Paul. Rubenstein's bike was already loaded and started.

Rubenstein started to say something, but Rourke cut him off. He wasn't certain why, but an urgency seemed now to obsess him. "You memorized those strategic fuel supply locations so you can get gasoline?"

"Yes-yeah, I did," the younger man said, looking strange without his gla.s.ses; but with the snow falling, it would have been impossible to see through them.

"And (ake it real slow-really slow until you start getting out of this.

Just be careful all the way, even after you've gotten through the weather-a sudden temperature-"

"John-I'll do all right. Take it easy." Rubenstein extended his gloved right hand, then pulled the glove away.

Rourke hesitated a moment, then pulled off his own glove. "I know you will Paui-I know. I just-ahh . . ." Rourke simply shook his head, clamping his jaw tight and wishing he had a cigar there to chew on.

"I'll walk you back to your motorcycle," Natalia said quietly, taking Rourke's bare right hand as soon as he released Paul's grip.

"All right," Rourke answered her softly. "I'll see you Paul."

"Yeah, John. I'll be right behind you real soon."

Rourke simply nodded, then started back toward his machine, feeling the pressure of Natalia's hand inside his. Her hand was warm. He looked at her once, then looked away. One of his big bandanna handkerchiefs was tied over her head to cover her ears; his own ears were freezing. It was blue, making the blueness of her eyes even bluer. The sleeping bag bound around her made her figure virtually vanish under it and finally, as they stopped beside his Harley, without looking at her he murmured, "If you ever need to disguise yourself as a plump Russian peasant girl that's the perfect outfit."

He felt her hand let go of his, then her hand on his face as he turned to her.

"I love you, John Rourke-I'll always love you. Forever." She kissed his mouth hard, and he thought he saw a faint trace of a smile-a strained smile-on her face. She turned and ran away, almost slipping once on the ice as he watched her. She clambered aboard the snow-splotched bright blue Harley Low Rider and didn't look back as Rubenstein gunned the machine, shot a wave over his shoulder, and started off.

John Rourke stood there for a moment-cold. He was alone. It was a lifelong habit.

Natalia Anastasia Tiemerovna hugged her arms tightly around Paul Rubenstein; she thought of him as a brother, as Rourke thought of him.

Rourke had said it to her more than once. She held Paul in order to stay aboard the slowly moving motorcycle, and for the warmth his body radiated-and to give him the warmth of her body.

It had been three hours by the face of her ladies' Rolex and the ice and snow had allowed them, she estimated, not more than a hundred miles, perhaps less. "Do you think the storm will intensify as John heads south?"

she asked.

There was no answer from Rubenstein. She repeated the question-louder. "Do you think the storm will intensify-as John goes south, Paul?"

"I think so. May be slacking up a little soon for us- looks like it up-"

"Paul!" It was the first time he'd turned his face toward her in more than an hour. His eyebrows were crusted over with ice, his face red and raw to the point of bleeding on his cheeks. She suddenly realized that while his body had shielded hers from the wind, his face had had nothing to protect it. "Stop the bike-now. You have to," she shouted to him.

"What-" But then he shook his head slowly and she could hear the sounds of engine compressionas he geared down, making the stop slowly to avoid a skid. They had almost had one perhaps ten miles back but Rubenstein had kept the bike aright somehow, although Natalia didn't know how he had done it.

The bike slowed then, stopping, slipping a little as Paul shifted his weight, Natalia's feet going out to balance it as well. "You let me drive," she said, dismounting.

Paul looked at her, his eyes tearing from the wind, but smiling despite it. "If I let anything happen to your face-well, aside from the fact John'd never forgive me-I wouldn't forgive myself," he told her.

She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him a moment, then stepped back.

She had long ago resigned herself to Rourke's chauvinism-and liked it in her heart. And Rubenstein treated her the same way. She pulled the blue-and-white bandanna from her hair, her ears instantly feeling the cold. She started toward Rubenstein again, saying, "Then you tie this over your face and stop for five minutes every half-hour-either that or I don't go another mile, Paul."

"But-"

"No!" She decided then that if Paul insisted on treating her like a woman, then she could treat him like a little boy-and impose her will. She bound the handkerchief at the back of his neck, pulling up the sides until the handkerchief covered all his face just below his eyes. "You look very, very much like a bandit-a handsome bandit." She smiled.

Rubenstein shook his head, shrugging his shoulders, his voice sounding slightly m.u.f.fled as he said, "We go again?"

"Yes-if you think you can. But only for a half-hour-then a rest."

"Agreed," Rubenstein told her, straddling the Harley once more. She climbed on behind him. As the machine started along the road, she huddled her head down into the sleeping bag which formed a collar for her-at least as much as she could, for her ears tingled already with the cold despite her hair covering them.

She had bathed his face and now ma.s.saged it as they huddled from the slightly diminished storm under the shelter of a bridge, ground clothes anch.o.r.ed to the bike and to the bridge itself to form a windbreak for them. It was dark-night had come early because of the darkness that had filled the skies throughout the day. "You don't have to-"

She cut him off. "I ma.s.sage your face because I love you and want you to be well."

He turned and looked at her. "You don't have to-"

"I do. I love both of you. You know that."

"But you love him differently-I know that, too. The kid isn't always asleep when you think he is." Rubenstein smiled, then winced, his face evidently hurting when he moved.

"Rest," she told Paul.

"He's a funny guy, isn't he? John, I mean," Paul Rubenstein said, as if to himself, she thought.

"Yes-he is," she answered, wishing for a cigarette but still needing to rub his face to restore the circulation. "How are your feet and hands?''

"Left foot's a little stiff-but I don't think it's-"

"Rourke isn't the only one who knows about the damage cold can do to the body," she said reprovingly. "Lean back."

"Hey, no-I can-"

"Do as I say," Natalia told him. She started undoing the laces of his left boot, getting the boot free; it felt damp to her. Then she removed the two socks that covered his foot. The sole of his foot was yellow. "This could turn to frostbite-very quickly," she snapped. She opened the front of her coat, throwing back as well the sleeping bag that covered her. Reaching under her coat, under the shirt Rourke had given her, to the front of her black jump suit, she zipped it down, then took Rubenstein's foot and placed it against the bare flesh of her abdomen. Hey-you- "Let me! Tell me when the feeling starts back. How is the other foot?"

"It's well, it's okay."

"Keep your foot here and don't move it," she ordered, reaching down to his other foot and starting to work on the boot laces-her own fingers were numb, and her ears still felt the cold from the slipstream of the bike as they'd ridden.

"That bandanna you put over my face against the wind-it smelled like you.

I guess from your hair," Rubenstein concluded, sounding lame.

"Thank you, Paul," Natalia whispered, getting the two socks off his right foot. The sole of his foot was yellow, but not as bad as the left one had been. Again, she felt the almost icy flesh against her abdomen and she shivered, "You love John-I mean really love him, don't you?" Rubenstein blurted out.

She closed her eyes a moment, felt pressure there against her eyelids, tt< p="">

"I'm sorry-I mean for both of you. John and Sarah- I mean it's none of my business-"

"No-talk if you want," she told him.

"He-well, it's because he doesn't know if she's safe, if she's alive minute by minute-that's-"

"I heard the lines in an American movie once-fI can't fight a ghost'?