J.B. had roused the group before the sun rose, and they spent the first hour of the day just getting the wag started. After having sat in the garage for several months, the wag’s battery had run down and was without power. So instead of using the wag’s starter motor, the group had to push the wag while J.B. used the clutch to put the vehicle in gear. After a half hour of trying, it seemed the engine was never going to start, but then it coughed once.
Spurred on by that success, they tried again and again, cough turning into sputter and then finally into a shaky rumble.
And then the engine roared to life.
J.B. wasted no time getting everyone on the wag and moving. The exhaust fumes had a foul smell to them, and the less they had to breathe them in the better.
The group pulled the wag out of the underground garage just as dawn broke over the horizon. The sky was a dazzling shade of orange, and the cloud cover that had been hanging over them the past two days was now all but gone.
They left the garage and soon turned onto Niagara Falls Boulevard. With an open road in good condition in front of him, J.B. opened up the throttle and the rumbling noise from the engine smoothed out into a loud but regular hum.
They drove several blocks along the boulevard until they found the remains of a building that suited their needs. J.B. stopped the wag about a city block from a deserted and crumbling bank building on Pine Avenue, keeping the engine running in the hopes that it would recharge the wag’s battery. The east wall of the bank building was made of bricks and painted white, and would provide an excellent test target for the 37 mm cannon.
J.B. judged the distance to be about one hundred yards, well within the range of the cannon and the .50 calibers, but a tough distance to cover with small-arms fire, especially from remades like those used by the farm’s sec men.
“Put a round in!” J.B. ordered.
In the back of the wag, Doc loaded one of the better shells into the cannon’s breech. They had decided to try the shells in the order of the ones in best condition first, because if the cannon didn’t fire the best-quality shells, it probably wouldn’t fire at all.
“Ready!”
J.B. paused a moment, knowing that the cannon barrel could just as easily blow apart as fire the shell. At least if the barrel exploded, he’d be chilled instantly.
J.B. pulled the cord he’d fashioned into a makeshift trigger, and the cannon boomed.
The cannon’s recoil pushed the wag back about two feet, despite J.B.’s firm pressure on the brake pedal. There was a brief moment of silence, and then the cannon shell struck the side of the building, punching a wag-tire-sized hole in the brickwork ten feet off the ground and almost directly in front of the wag.
“Hot pipe!” Dean exclaimed.
“Hot pipe, indeed,” Doc echoed.
“Well, at least we know the cannon works,” J.B. said, a broad grin on his face. “Now we’ve got to get it to the farm so we can use it on some live targets.”
“Excuse me, John Barrymore,” Doc said, kneeling so he could talk to J.B. through the open window at the back of the wag’s cab. “But I am not sure that the bridge we crossed the other day is stable enough to support the weight of this wag.”
J.B. nodded in agreement. “And the other one we saw didn’t look too sturdy, either.”
“So close and yet so far,” Doc muttered.
“There’s another bridge,” Clarissa said. “South of here.”
“How far?” J.B. asked, shifting the wag into gear.
“Ten or fifteen miles. It crosses the river upstream at Buffalo.”
“What’s the bridge like there?”
“It’s pretty rusty,” she said, “but it’s complete. You’d be able to drive the wag over it no problem.”
That settled it for J.B. The fuel they had in the wag was old, but they had a tankful of it and they wouldn’t be needing more than a quarter of a tank to drive the thirty-mile round trip to the farm. Sure, it would take longer, but they’d have to wait until dark once they arrived anyway, and it was better to spend some time traveling the better route than risk breaking an axle or puncturing a tire trying to cross the ruined remains of the Rainbow and Whirlpool bridges.
“All right, that’s the way we’ll take.” J.B. let out the clutch and the wag lurched forward. “What’s the name of this bridge, anyway?”
“It’s called the Peace Bridge.”
Jak smiled.
Doc laughed out loud.
SEC CHIEF GANLEY instructed a team to cover the boats with weeds and tree branches so they’d be hidden while they were away. He had considered leaving behind two men to guard them, but quickly dismissed the idea, knowing they’d need all hands to help with the raid.
They headed north on foot, moving quickly through overgrown forests and across the weed-choked flat-lands. He got the feeling that the entire area had been farmland during predark times, but nothing had grown there since the nukecaust, except for weeds and muties.
About an hour into their hike, the sec chief heard it.
“What is it?” someone behind him called out.
The sec chief raised his right arm and clenched his hand in a fist. The raiders scattered, disappearing into the underbrush as if they’d never been there on the path.
Ganley could hear the rumble of an engine growing louder. Judging by the sound, it was running well and whoever was driving was in a hurry, with no worries about fuel. The sec chief crept forward, saw the road crossing his path up ahead and crawled through the weeds toward the strip of weedy pavement.
Carefully he looked down the road to the east.
A wag was approaching. It was manned by a large crew and was armed with a couple of machine blasters and a monstrous blaster up front.
Ganley quickly dived back under cover and remained still until the wag passed. He kept down for some time after, feeling safe enough to move only after the sound of the wag’s motor had faded into the distance.
“What was it?” asked one of the raiders.
“Just a patrol.”
“They have motorized patrols?”
“Were they armed?”
“I don’t know if that was a patrol belonging to the farm we’re planning to raid, or if it was just some baron’s war wag passing through. Either way, we’re in some bad country here and we might be getting into something we’re not really prepared for.”
Silence.
“Anybody who wants to turn around and go back to the boat, I won’t stop you. And there will be no bad feelings when we return.”
Ganley waited for someone to speak.
No one did.
“C’mon, Chief,” Rhonda called from the back of the group. “We’re losing daylight here.”
There were mumbles and words said by everyone, but the general consensus was a resounding yes.
“All right, then. Let’s get moving.”