Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [277]
The gray became a red smear behind the High Sierra when the work parties returned. "A couple more trees cut and one charge set off, and that road's blocked for hours," Bill reported. "This won't be so hard."
"I think we should do it now," someone said.
Bill looked around, then back at Randall. "Shouldn't we wait for Mr. Wilson's truck?"
"Yes, wait," Marie said. "It would be awful if we stopped our own people from getting through."
"Sure," Harvey said. "The maze will stop the Brotherhood if they get here first. Let's take a break."
"The shooting is getting closer," one of the boys said.
Harvey nodded. "I think so. Hard to tell."
"It's officially dawn," Marie said. "Muslim definition. When you can tell a white thread from a black one. It's in the Koran." She listened for a moment. "There's something coming. I hear a truck."
Harvey took out a whistle and sounded it. He shouted to the boys nearest him to spread out and get off the road. They waited while the truck noises got louder and louder. It came around the bend and there was a screech of brakes as it stopped just short of the first tree. It was a large truck, still only an indistinct object in the gray light. "Who's there?" Harvey shouted.
"Who are you?"
"Get out of the truck. Show yourself."
Someone leaped out of the truck bed and stood on the road. "We're Deke Wilson's people," he shouted. "Who's there?"
"We're from the Stronghold." Harvey started toward the truck. One of the boys was much closer. He stepped up to the cab and looked in. Then he backed up fast.
"It's not—"
He never finished. There were pistol shots, and the boy was down. Something smashed Harvey in the left shoulder, a hard blow that knocked him backward. There was more shooting. People were jumping out of the truck.
Marie Vance fired first. Then there was more shooting from the sides of the road and the rocks above it. Harvey struggled to find his rifle. He'd dropped it, and he scrabbled around for it.
"Stay down!" someone yelled. A sputtering object landed just in front of the truck and rolled underneath. Nothing happened for an eternity, and there were more gunshots; then the dynamite exploded. The truck lifted slightly, and there was a gasoline smell; then it blew up in a column of fire. Fire danced in the air near Harvey's face as the gasoline was flung around. He could see human shapes in the fire: Men and women screamed and moved in dancing flame. There were more shots.
"Stop. Stop shooting. You're wasting ammunition." Marie Vance ran down toward the burning truck. "Stop it!" The gunfire died and there were no sounds but the burning fire.
Harvey found his rifle at last. His left shoulder was throbbing and he was afraid to look, but he forced himself, expecting to see a bloody hole. There was nothing at all. He felt it, and it was sore, and when he opened his coat he found a large bruise. Ricochet, he thought. I must have been hit by a ricochet. The heavy coat stopped it. He got up and went down to the road.
The girl, Marylou, was trying to get closer to the fire, and two boys held her back. She wasn't saying anything, just struggling with them, staring at the burning truck and the bodies near it.
"He was dead when he hit the ground," one of the boys shouted. "Dead, dammit, you can't do anything." They seemed dazed now as they stared at the bodies and the fire.
"Who?" Harvey asked. He pointed at the dead boy near the truck cab. The boy lay on his face. His back was on fire.
"Bill Dummery," Tommy Tallifsen said. "Shouldn't we … what do we do, Mr. Randall?"
"Do you know where Bill planted the charges downhill?"
"Yes."
"Show me. Let's go light them." They moved down the hill. Visibility was increasing fast. A hundred yards, two hundred. They found a rock that overhung the road. Tommy pointed. As Harvey bent down to light the fuse, Tommy grabbed