“Keep up with me.” He turned toward David. “Don’t drop behind.”
“With you?”
“Up beside me! We’re close. We can’t take any chances. Come on.”
“I’ll be all right.” David remained behind him, in the rear, a few paces away, still clutching his teddy bear.
“Have it your way.” Hendricks raised his glasses again, suddenly tense. For a moment—had something moved? He scanned the ridge carefully. Everything was silent. Dead. No life up there, only tree trunks and ash. Maybe a few rats. The big black rats that had survived the claws. Mutants—built their own shelters out of saliva and ash. Some kind of plaster. Adaptation. He started forward again.
A tall figure came out on the ridge above him, cloak flapping. Gray-green. A Russian. Behind him a second soldier appeared, another Russian. Both lift
