By James Axler
Discovering themselves on board the continues to be of a Mississippi excitement boat, Ryan Cawdor and his band of warrior survivalists take pleasure in playing with its genial captain, until eventually the stakes expand to human lifestyles proportions.
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The breeze through the high branches rose and fell, covering up the strange sound. "It's a loon," Doc said doubtfully. "I think" Jak's right hand was on the butt of his blaster, his head turned to look behind them in the direction taken by the three hunters. His eyes seemed to glow with a buried fire in the shadows of the trees. "Not bird," he said. Krysty agreed with him, shaking her head slowly. "No. Reckon you're right, Jak. Not birds. It sounds more" The noise was repeated, clearer, surging and then fading away like a whisper.
Couple got whip marks on their backs," Jake told them, stooping over the stickie who'd been groin shot and had just died. " Doc had recovered his breath, looking at the two corpses. " "Sounds good," Krysty agreed. " "End up at the Sippi," Harve said. " He looked up at the darkening sky. "Not far off for a chem storm. Time we was moving on. " Farewells were brief, clasped hands and a nod and a word, and promises to look out for the others farther down the line. B. led the five friends toward the west, cutting through the fringe of the trees, aiming for the slow-flowing river.
There had been no more noise, though they had disturbed a raucous flock of mutie birds, like large crows but with yellow-and-white plumage, who rose screaming into the smoky air, giving a warning that their territory was being invaded. The small clearing was only a couple of hundred yards to the east of where they had eaten the haunch of boar. The ragged bones of the animal lay stripped in the center of a pile of glowing white ash, the wind brightening an occasional ruby ember. The bodies of Harve, Gus and Jake were raggled together among the silent trees.