182

The twin beams of your headlights cast a white corridor of light along Interstate 20 as you overtake and pull in to take your place at the head of the convoy. With the memory of the bikers’ raid still fresh in your mind, you cast frequent glances in your rear-view mirror to make sure that the clansmen are not on your tail.

The road climbs steadily for several miles as it approaches the mountains of Erath County. A signpost reflects the glare of your lights, announcing your entry to the town of Thurber, which once had a population of 5,006. You contemplate that figure, wondering how many, if any, inhabitants are still alive, when you are distracted by a light flashing in your mirror. It is the bus: Uncle Jonas is signalling for you to stop.

You reach the bus soon after Cutter and hear him asking what is wrong. Uncle Jonas says nothing. He simply tugs at the steering wheel and watches in dismay as it spins freely on the hub. ‘Looks like we’ve got ourselves a big problem,’ says Cutter, peering under the front wheel arch. ‘The steering linkage has sheared clean in two. I’d guess that rough ride out o’ Santo did for it good and proper.’

‘Can you fix it?’ asks Uncle Jonas.

‘Not without welding gear, or a replacement part,’ he replies, dejectedly. ‘I guess we’d better stop here for the night. Looks like we won’t get much further in this ol’ bus, anyhow.’

An uneasy silence descends on the colony once news of the breakdown spreads. Cutter continues to inspect the bus but you decide to return to your roadster and snatch a few hours sleep. You are staring at the surrounding mountains, lost in thought, when you see a pinpoint of light flickering in the darkness. With your pulse racing, you grab your gun and set off to take a closer look.

Turn to 235.