whose dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and whose beard was flecked with gray, studied Mildred and Krysty through hooded eyes.
“Hell, I hope so,” he drawled. “Them bein’ two colors’ll make it look real nice.”
He directed his next comment to the men in Ryan’s party. “Hey, I bet you boys have some fun, there.”
Jak’s red eyes pierced through the heavily set workman. “More fun in chilling scum,” he said quietly.
The albino teenager was nearly a full foot smaller than the workman, was unarmed and was slight in build compared to the burly Emerson. But still, there was something cold and diamond hard about the youth that made the workman look away without saying anything further.
An uneasy silence hung over the room after the workforce had finished and walked out into the sunlight, leaving the companions alone.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” Ryan said slowly. “Not easy at all.”
WITH THE ROOF NOW securely in place, and the newly finished two-story blockhouse in place, the remaining task was to build the extension onto the existing structure. The new wag stop would then have storage space for fuel, food and water, as well as accommodation for a regular attendant and a few travelers.
The foundation for the extension had been completed, and the task in front of the workforce and the companions was to construct the one-story building and insulate the interior walls of the storage space, in order that any fire in the interior could be contained, and an exterior fire wouldn’t be able to penetrate the walls and ignite the fuel stores.
Wags from Salvation had carried out the building materials needed—a salvaged amalgam of brick, cinder block, sheets of metal and some sand and cement that could be mixed with some of the precious water in order to meld the whole together. The insulating materials were salvaged from old buildings, and were carefully wrapped to prevent the asbestos in the mix from spreading dust into the air.
Crow directed the companions to their tasks. Ryan and J.B. were to help lay the cinder-block outer walls, while Dean, Jak and Doc were to assist in the building of the interior walls and the installation of the insulation. Mildred and Krysty were spared the heavier work, and were to mix the concrete. When J.B. asked how Baron Silas Hunter had amassed an amount of something that was simply no longer made, Crow informed him that one of the villes that were investing in the baron’s scheme had an old cement works within its boundaries, and the supplies for all the wag stops on the route had been plundered from those bags that hadn’t been split or had leaked over the past century, and had so gone hard.
“It was tight, but I reckon as how we’ve got enough,” the foreman said thoughtfully.
“You’re an expert?” J.B. asked.
“I make sure I know what’s going on if I’m to do my job properly,” Crow replied. “I went to the works to assess what there was, and checked up in some old predark building manuals that Baron Silas had acquired.
“He’s a thorough man,” Crow added simply, but heavy with a hidden threat.
The Native American’s putting Mildred and Krysty onto the concrete mixing wasn’t a gesture toward their sex, but rather a shrewd move, which Ryan appreciated, to forestall the need for them to shed too many clothes through exertion in the heat. If they stayed fully clothed and away from the main body of the workers, then there would be less chance of conflict between Ryan’s people and Crow’s workforce.
But it wasn’t to be that easy.
“SAY, BOY, have you learned what it’s like to be a man yet?” Rysh asked Dean as they laid the internal brick wall separating the fuel store from the food and water store.
Dean stopped with a brick poised over a line of mortar.
“Just what exactly do you mean?” he asked cautiously. “I’ve chilled my fair share and traveled a long way.”
Rysh shrugged. “Chilling’s just a way of life, boy. I mean, have you ever had any pussy?”
Dean blushed despite himself, and felt the eyes of both Rysh and Emerson on him. The heavyset, dark workman pushed the point home.
“Hellfire, Rysh, just look at the boy, blushing hot as a forest fire. He’s been there with them.”
“And I’ll bet they’re good—they’d have to be with those five boys to keep happy,” Rysh added, winking.
“Dunno about the old guy.” Emerson chuckled. “He don’t look like he could keep it up enough.”
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Dean said, keeping his voice as even as possible, “but it’s not going to work. There’s no way that you’ll get anything out of Krysty and Mildred, and we sure as hell aren’t going to fight you over it.”
“You saying you a virgin, then, boy?” Emerson goaded.
“That’s my business,” Dean replied shortly. “But it’s not like that with Mildred and Krysty.”
Rysh looked closely at Dean’s hand, at how the brick was trembling in the boy’s grip. He decided to push it further. “I reckon as how those gaudies could pull a train for us when we finish the wag stop. What do you think, Emerson?”
The comment fulfilled its purpose. Dean swung around, the brick still in his grasp and following through in a roundhouse punch that would have caved in Rysh’s skull at the temple—if the workman hadn’t been prepared for the action, and had already moved away from the arc of the blow.
As one man sidestepped, so the other moved in. Emerson ducked underneath and aimed a giant fist at Dean’s solar plexus, which had been left exposed by his stance. On anyone else, the movement would have been quick enough to catch the victim in the guts. But Dean Cawdor was quicker than that, and twisted his body in midflight, avoiding the blow and somehow managing to keep his balance.
Doc saw this from the far side of the building’s interior, where he and Jak were erecting the metal sheeting walls that would delineate the sleeping quarters. He was facing the scene, while Jak had his back turned—although both had heard the beginnings of the altercation.
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