Zelazny, Roger - Novel 07 by Bridge of Ashes Page B

"Any
trouble while I was sleeping?"
                   "No trouble. Nothing new on the news
either."
                   I climbed back inside.
                   It was chilly, so I sat with the blanket
around my shoulders. I took a drink of the bourbon. It would seem that we had
to be free of pursuit after all this time. I ran my hand over my chin. I would
stop shaving, I decided, grow a beard. Let my hair get longer, too. Lay up till
the shoulder was better, then get some simple job. Stay at it three, four
months ... Drift west Seattle , Portland ...
                   I felt the bump in the mattress. Did I want to
take the pistol with me? Trouble to be found with it. Good to have, though. I
considered concealing it in the sling. Good place for it. Probably ought to
keep it till I recovered. Ditch it then. Wish they had picked a smaller piece,
though.
                   I withdrew the weapon, tried it in different
positions in the sling. It was least apparent toward the back. Snug enough.
Easy to reach. Almost a shame to pass up such a neat means of concealment.
                   I removed it and returned it to the place
beneath the mattress. Something to think about, anyway...
                   Still chilled. I took a long pull at the
bottle. Better, that. Better than aspirin. No reason not to be a little high.
                   After a time, we slowed, turned off the road
and ground along a rocky surface. Moments later, we halted and he came around
and opened the back.
                   "Okay, we're here," he told me.
                   "Where's here?"
                   " McKinley , Wyoming ."
                   I whistled.
                   "We've come a good distance."
                   He gave me his hand, helped me down. Then he
climbed inside. He gathered the blanket, the pillow, the water bottle, the
fifth, placing them within easy reach on the floor behind him. He groped
beneath the mattress and drew out the pistol. He glanced at me, glanced at the
weapon, then back at me.
                   "You taking this, too?"
                   "Why not?" I said, and I accepted
the piece and thrust it into my sling.
                   A glister of sleekshifting starlight, low, to
my right ...
                   "What lake is that?"
                   "Glendo Reservoir."
                   He stepped down, turned, picked up the stuff.
                   He rounded the van and I followed him,
becoming aware of a parked vehicle beneath some trees, perhaps a hundred feet
away. The damp air was still, the night empty of sound except for that of our
own progress. As we neared, I saw that it was a long green sedan. The driver
sat smoking, watching us approach. I greeted him, did not recognize him. No
names were exchanged.
                   My driver nodded to him, loaded my things into
the back, clasped my good shoulder.
                   "Good luck," he said.
                   "Thanks."
                   I got in, made myself comfortable.
                   "How are you holding up?" said the
new driver.
                   "Pretty well. Considering."
                   I heard the engine chuckle and whisper. An
arc, a spatter of fire as the driver disposed of his weed. The headlights came
on. We moved forward.
                   A little later the driver said, "It's in
all the news. What was it like?"
                   "It's mostly waiting," I said.
"Doing it just takes a few seconds. A mechanical action. Then you are
thinking about getting away."
                   Those few seconds went through my mind again.
I saw them fall. I had already made the mark. I wiped the weapon and leaned
it... so. Then I was crouched, running. I heard the noises