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for later examination。 Katrina would want to see it。 The ramjets themselves were beyond identification； sixteen months of exposure had made them as unrecognizable as those other bodies above the fence line。 The only thing new he'd learned was that civilians were the bandits on the tape； civilians equipped with mortars and some kind of central organization…maybe the same group that had called in the Harry on Chicago。 Ramjets allied with the Chinese…or at least inviting their cooperation。
To Saltus the scene read civil war。
He stopped at the next thought； staring with hard surprise at the covered bodies。 Ramjets blowing Chicago…in retaliation？ Ramjets losing in Chicago twenty years ago； trapped behind their own wall； but striking back in harsh retaliation now？ Ramjets working with the Chinese； welded together by a mutual hatred of the white establishment？
He picked again at the body against the stump； but the color of the man's skin was lost。
Arthur Saltus climbed the slope。
The world was strangely silent and empty…deserted。 He'd seen no traffic on the distant highway nor on the nearer railroad； the sky was unmonly bare of aircraft。 He stayed continually on the alert for danger； but sighted no one； nothing…even animal tracks were missing from the snow。 Deserted world…or more likely； a concealed world。 That angry voice on the radio had ordered him to silence lest he betray his cover。
Saltus stayed only a few minutes longer on the cold upper slope； standing amid the debris of the smashed car。 He hoped to God that William had jumped clear before the mortar smashed in。 The old boy deserved at least a couple of whacks at the bandits before his doom prophets caught up to him。
He was finally convinced the Major had died there。
Saltus drove by the mess hail with little more than a passing glance。 Like the barracks； the wooden parts of the structure were burned to the concrete block foundation。 He thought it likely the ramjets had swept the station after the fence was breached； burning what was flammable and stealing or destroying the remainder。 It was a blessing that the lab had been built to withstand war and earthquake； or he would have emerged into a room open to the sky and climbed down from the vehicle into snow。 He hoped the bandits had long since starved to death…but at the same time remembered the pilfered stores in the shelter。
That bandit hadn't starved； but neither had he fed his fellows。 How had he gotten through the locked door？ He would need both keys and he would have to take them from William…but a direct hit on the car would have scattered the keys as thoroughly as the parts of the auto itself。 Assuming possession of the keys； why hadn't the bandit； thrown open the doors to his panions？ Why hadn't the stores been looted； cleaned out； the lab ransacked？ Was the man so selfish that he had fed only himself and let the rest go hang？ Perhaps。 But more than one pair of boots was missing。
Saltus turned a corner at a fast clip； skidding in the snow and then straightening his course toward the front gate。 It was a small fort to find the gatehouse still standing： concrete blocks were difficult to burn or destroy。 The gate itself was torn open and twisted back Out of the way。 He drove through it and concentrated on the barely visible pattern of the road ahead； the smooth unbroken expanse of snow flanked by shallow ditches to either side guided him。 Only last Thursday he and William had raced over the road hell…bent for a day in Joliet。
A bearded man leaped out of the gatehouse and put a shot through the rear window of the car。
Arthur Saltus didn't take the time to decide if he was astonished or outraged…the shot did frighten him； and he reacted automatically to danger。 Slamming the accelerator to the floor； he spun hard on the wheel and threw the car into a sickening skid。 It lurched and swung around in a dizzy arc； ing to rest with its blunt nose aimed at the gatehouse。 Saltus floored the accelerator。 The rear wheels spun uselessly on the slick snow； found a purchase only when they had burned down to the pavement； then thrust the car forward in a burst of speed that caught him unprepared。 It careened wildly through the gate。 He rammed the nose hard against the gatehouse door and leaped clear； hugging the side of the vehicle。
Saltus pumped two quick shots through the sagging door； and was answered by a scream of pain； he fired again and then scrambled over the hood to crouch in the doorway。 The screaming man lay on the floor tearing at his bloodied chest。 A tall； gaunt black man was backed against the far wall taking aim at him。 Saltus fired without raising the rifle； and then deliberately turned and put a finishing shot through the head of the man writhing on the floor。 The screaming stopped。
For a moment the world was wrapped in silence。
Saltus said： 〃Now； what the hell…〃
An incredibly violent blow struck him in the small of his back； robbing him of breath and speech； and he heard the sound of a shot from an unimaginable distance away。 He stumbled and went to his knees while a raging fire burned up his spine into his skull。 Another distant shot shattered the peace of the world； but this once he felt nothing。 Saltus turned on his knees to meet the threat。
The ramjet was climbing over the hood of the little fun car to get at him。
Caught up like a man swimming in mud； Saltus raised the rifle and tried to take aim。 The weapon was almost too heavy to lift； he moved in a slow； agonizing motion。 The ramjet slid down the hood and jumped through the doorway； reaching for him or his rifle。 Saltus squinted at the face but it refused to e into clear focus。 Somebody behind the face loomed over him as large as a mountain； somebody's hands grasped the barrel of the rifle and pulled it away。 Saltus squeezed the trigger。
The looming face changed： it disintegrated in a confusing jumble of bone； blood； and tissue； ing apart like William's electric car under a mortar barrage。 The face out of focus disappeared while a booming thunder filled the gatehouse and rattled the broken door。 A large piece of the mountain teetered over him； threatening to bury him when it came down。 Saltus tried to crawl away。
The toppling body knocked him off his knees and knocked away his weapon。 He went down beneath it； still fighting for breath and praying not to be crushed。
Arthur Saltus opened his eyes to find the daylight gone。 An intolerable burden pinned him to the gatehouse floor and an overpowering hurt wracked his body。
Moving painfully but gaining only an inch or two at a time； he crawled from under the burden and tried to roll it aside。 After minutes or hours of strenuous effort he climbed as far as his knees and threw off the knapsack hammering at his back； he spilled as much water as he drank before the canteen followed。 His rifle lay on the floor at his knee； but he was astonished to discover that his hand and arm lacked the strength to pick it up。 It may have taken another hour to draw the service automatic from uiider his coat and place it on the hood of the car。
An unbelievable time was spent in crawling over the same hood