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"Alright. But I'm coming with you."
"No," Ahn-Kha said. "You've kept faith with me. You must still see Gail back. I may be able to fool them. With you, there will be too many questions."
Valentine stopped the Lincoln in the middle of the road. "We have to hurry. Everyone out. Thatcher, don't forget your gun and duffel."
Ahn-Kha climbed out the back and came around to the driver's door, helping himself stand up by putting his long right arm on the side of the Lincoln, puddler cradled in his left. He was a mess, his back peppered with bandages and streaked in blood, a thick dressing on the back of his firepluglike thigh. Duvalier stopped before him, then stood on tiptoe to kiss one whiskered cheek. She looped her oversized canteen around the Golden One's neck. "I want this back, you hairy fuck. You hear me?"
Ahn-Kha murmured a few words into her ear.
"Oh, dream on," she laughed, wiping away tears.
Valentine could only stand, tired and fighting his headache, fiddling with his gun. Would it be better for their pursuit to come upon all their bodies, stretched out next to the flaming Lincoln? Perhaps with every dead hand posed with middle finger extended?
"We'll meet another dawn, my David," Ahn-Kha said as he reclined the driver's seat all the way so he could squeeze up front. He tossed the puddler onto the passenger seat.
"If we live to see another dawn," Valentine said.
"If not, we'll meet in a far better place," Ahn-Kha said. One ear rose a trifle.
"Good luck, old horse," Valentine said. He placed his forehead against Ahn-Kha's, hugged him, felt the rough skin and the strangely silky hair on his upper back.
Ahn-Kha squeezed the back of his neck and the Lincoln drove away.
"Off the road! Fast," Valentine said. Issuing orders in his old command voice, then picking a route up the hill, kept him from staring after the receding Lincoln. The best friend Valentine ever had, or would ever have, left only a little blood on the road. "Thatcher, lead them up that hillside."
Duvalier pulled the whining, pregnant Gail Foster into the bush, opening a gap in the bramble with her walking stick. Dr. Boothe and Pepsa followed her, Pepsa searching anxiously down the road for their pursuers. Valentine spotted one of Duvalier's Spam cans, unopened and unwired, left in the center of the road, and picked it up with a curse.
Valentine closed the gap in the brush behind them by forcing a few tree limbs down, and limped after his party, giving his tears their time.
Halfway up the hill they froze and counted the pursuit. A column rolled up the slight incline: another motorcycle, two Hummers, a pickup with dogs in it, and two five-ton trucks. A platoon of Wolves or a team of Bears could knock hell out of them, but he and Duvalier would waste themselves against it.
Without Ahn-Kha's reliable strength alongside him, he felt like a piece of his spine had been plucked out.
"He did it," Duvalier said as they saw the pursuit convoy crest another rise in the distance.
They crested the hill, and thanks to its commanding view Valentine went through Thatcher's inventory. He'd brought some good topographical maps of Kentucky, and between the two of them they made a good guess as to where they were. Several lights could be seen between the hill and the northern horizon, but they were so distant he couldn't tell if they were electric or burning homes.
"What do you suppose that is?" Duvalier asked, pointing southwest.
"I don't see anything," Boothe said, but she couldn't without Cat eyes.
A garbage pile, perhaps? It looked like a plate of spaghetti the size of a football field.
"That's a legworm dogpile," Valentine said. "Look at all the tracks."
"What, that hump down there?" Thatcher said, squinting to try to make out what they were talking about. "I saw three of them all tangled up once after a snowstorm."
"Let's get off this ridge," Valentine said. "Take a closer look. Maybe some of their tribe is around."
Valentine pointed out a tree at the bottom of the hill, and had Thatcher find a path toward it. Gail's breathing was labored and Duvalier gave her the walking stick. Valentine hung back to check the rest spot, and waved Duvalier over.
"You dropped this in the road," Valentine said, giving Duvalier back her can of explosive-filled meat.
She looked at it, puzzled, and whipped her bag off her back. The wing locks were still clicked shut. "Then it jumped out on its own."
"Someone left it?"
"Everyone was in a hurry to get out of the truck. Maybe it got kicked out in the confusion."
