James Axler - Salvation Road

“I make sure I know what’s going on if I’m to do my job properly,” Crow replied. “I went to the works to assess what there was, and checked up in some old predark building manuals that Baron Silas had acquired.

“He’s a thorough man,” Crow added simply, but heavy with a hidden threat.

The Native American’s putting Mildred and Krysty onto the concrete mixing wasn’t a gesture toward their sex, but rather a shrewd move, which Ryan appreciated, to forestall the need for them to shed too many clothes through exertion in the heat. If they stayed fully clothed and away from the main body of the workers, then there would be less chance of conflict between Ryan’s people and Crow’s workforce.

But it wasn’t to be that easy.

“SAY, BOY, have you learned what it’s like to be a man yet?” Rysh asked Dean as they laid the internal brick wall separating the fuel store from the food and water store.

Dean stopped with a brick poised over a line of mortar.

“Just what exactly do you mean?” he asked cautiously. “I’ve chilled my fair share and traveled a long way.”

Rysh shrugged. “Chilling’s just a way of life, boy. I mean, have you ever had any pussy?”

Dean blushed despite himself, and felt the eyes of both Rysh and Emerson on him. The heavyset, dark workman pushed the point home.

“Hellfire, Rysh, just look at the boy, blushing hot as a forest fire. He’s been there with them.”

“And I’ll bet they’re good—they’d have to be with those five boys to keep happy,” Rysh added, winking.

“Dunno about the old guy.” Emerson chuckled. “He don’t look like he could keep it up enough.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Dean said, keeping his voice as even as possible, “but it’s not going to work. There’s no way that you’ll get anything out of Krysty and Mildred, and we sure as hell aren’t going to fight you over it.”

“You saying you a virgin, then, boy?” Emerson goaded.

“That’s my business,” Dean replied shortly. “But it’s not like that with Mildred and Krysty.”

Rysh looked closely at Dean’s hand, at how the brick was trembling in the boy’s grip. He decided to push it further. “I reckon as how those gaudies could pull a train for us when we finish the wag stop. What do you think, Emerson?”

The comment fulfilled its purpose. Dean swung around, the brick still in his grasp and following through in a roundhouse punch that would have caved in Rysh’s skull at the temple—if the workman hadn’t been prepared for the action, and had already moved away from the arc of the blow.

As one man sidestepped, so the other moved in. Emerson ducked underneath and aimed a giant fist at Dean’s solar plexus, which had been left exposed by his stance. On anyone else, the movement would have been quick enough to catch the victim in the guts. But Dean Cawdor was quicker than that, and twisted his body in midflight, avoiding the blow and somehow managing to keep his balance.

Doc saw this from the far side of the building’s interior, where he and Jak were erecting the metal sheeting walls that would delineate the sleeping quarters. He was facing the scene, while Jak had his back turned—although both had heard the beginnings of the altercation.

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