ugged. Maybe the boy was a mutant, used to special food.
It didn't matter. When he was hungry he would find something to eat.
The boy was strange. But there were many strange changes coming over
the world. Life was not the same, anymore. It would never be the same
again. The human race was going to have to realize that.

"Suit yourself," Hendricks said. He ate the bread and mutton by
himself, washing it down with coffee. He ate slowly, finding the food
hard to digest. When he was done he got to his feet and stamped the
fire out.

David rose slowly, watching him with his young-old eyes.

"We're going," Hendricks said.

"All right."

Hendricks walked along, his gun in his arms. They were close; he was
tense, ready for anything. The Russians should be expecting a runner,
an answer to their own runner, but they were tricky. There was always
the possibility of a slipup. He scanned the landscape around him.
Nothing but slag and ash, a few hills, charred trees. Concrete walls.
But someplace ahead was the first bunker of the Russian lines, the
forward command. Underground, buried deep, with only a periscope
showing, a few gun muzzles. Maybe an antenna.

"Will we be there soon?" David asked.

"Yes. Getting tired?"

"No."

"Why, then?"

David did not answer. He plodded carefully along behind, picking his
way over the ash. His legs and shoes were gray with dust. His pinched
face was streaked, lines of gray ash in riverlets down the pale white
of his skin. There was no color to his face. Typical of the new
children, growing up in cellars and sewers and underground shelters.

* * * * *

Hendricks slowed down. He lifted his fieldglasses and studied the
ground ahead of him. Were they there, someplace, waiting for him?
Watching him, the way his men had watched the Russian runner? A chill
went up his back. Maybe they were getting their guns ready, preparing
to fire, the way his men had prepared, made ready to kill.

Hendricks stopped, wiping perspiration from his face. "Damn." It made
him uneasy. But he should be expected. The situation was different.

He strode over the ash, holding his gun tightly with both hands.
Behind him came David. Hendricks peered around, tight-lipped. Any
second it might happen. A burst of white light, a blast, carefully
aimed from inside a deep concrete bunker.

He raised his arm and waved it around in a circle.

Nothing moved. To, the right a long ridge ran,