Lone Star Renegades by Mark Wayne McGinnis Page B

said, looking bigger and meaner than ever. He stared back at Humphrey, as if daring him to say something. Collin was surprised Bubba wanted to come along. He unconsciously rubbed his upper arm where, not so long ago, Bubba had been mercilessly punching him.
    Collin spent the next few minutes familiarizing himself, DiMaggio and Bubba with the automatic weapons they’d collected. What they really needed was practice shooting the damn things. But with the limited amount of ammunition they’d found, that wouldn’t be a good idea. They determined Bubba would carry the MK48 and Collin the MK5, and each would bring along a small rucksack, holding food provisions and other odds and ends.
    Most of the group had already left to deal with the bodies in the railcars. Darren and Humphrey were still on the wing, talking between themselves. Collin seriously doubted either one of them would get anywhere near a dead body. They both looked up as Collin approached.
    “We’re heading out.”
    “You’re taking those weapons with you? Don’t you think that’s a little selfish, Sticks?” Humphrey asked.
    “You both have weapons. Speaking of which, there’s something you should be aware of … I think I saw something down there, in the pile.”
    “Saw something like what?” Darren asked.
    “It may have been nothing. It may have been my eyes playing tricks on me.”
    “Just spit it out, for God’s sakes,” Humphrey spat.
    “I think I saw something alive. It wasn’t a squirrel or anything like that. It was the size of a man and covered in fur.”
    Both Darren and Humphrey simply stared back at Collin for a long moment. Eventually Darren said, “You better not be pulling my chain—”
    “I’m not. I’m just telling you so you’ll keep an eye out. It’s one more reason I’m going to look for a way out of here.” For the first time, Collin saw the two teens not as thugs, but as what they really were—two scared boys in way over their heads.
     

Chapter 10
     
     
    Collin took up the lead and together the three made their way again into the mass of junk. They headed straight up from the edge of the wing. Collin and Bubba had their rifles strapped across their backs, leaving both hands free to climb. DiMaggio, bringing up the rear, was in charge of marking their course. He’d ripped small strips from a bright yellow Hawaiian T-shirt and was tying them on to whatever was handy as they went along.
    After climbing for close to an hour, Collin stopped and rechecked his leg. He saw that it was getting infected—yellow-white puss was forming around the outer edge of the open gash. He retied a piece of cloth around the wound and looked down at Bubba and DiMaggio.
    “There’s a lot more than when we first got here. They must have made another stop.”
    “They definitely did,” DiMaggio said from below. “Look at this.” He held up an automobile license plate—only this one was significantly different from anything they’d seen in Texas. “It’s got RUS on it … I’m betting this is Russian. They probably stopped there for another load.”
    That made sense. For the past ten or fifteen minutes, Collin had noticed the metal items he’d been crawling around were not typical of what he was used to seeing. He’d seen the tail end of an automobile that definitely wasn’t produced in Detroit.
    They continued upward for another twenty minutes before Collin, his voice somewhat muted, said, “We’re near the top. I can see light coming in from above … and something’s moving around up there. Try not to make too much noise.”
    Collin came up beneath an overturned aluminum fishing boat. It smelled of seawater and the inside was caked with what could only be remnants of fish guts. DiMaggio and Bubba joined him and both scrunched up their noses.
    “What’s that noise out there?” Bubba asked.
    “Let’s go see.” With Collin in the lead, they crawled downward and sideways, between several old-style school desks, and