topped with dead tree
trunks. A few wild vines had grown, up around, the trees, remains of
arbors. And the eternal dark weeds. Hendricks studied the ridge. Was
anything up there? Perfect place for a lookout. He approached the
ridge warily, David coming silently behind. If it were his command
he'd have a sentry up there, watching for troops trying to infiltrate
into the command area. Of course, if it were his command there would
be the claws around the area for full protection.

He stopped, feet apart, hands on his hips.

"Are we there?" David said.

"Almost."

"Why have we stopped?"

"I don't want to take any chances." Hendricks advanced slowly. Now the
ridge lay directly beside him, along his right. Overlooking him. His
uneasy feeling increased. If an Ivan were up there he wouldn't have a
chance. He waved his arm again. They should be expecting someone in
the UN uniform, in response to the note capsule. Unless the whole
thing was a trap.

"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 lifted their guns, aiming.

Hendricks froze. He opened his mouth. The soldiers were kneeling,
sighting down the side of the slope. A third figure had joined them on
the ridge top, a smaller figure in gray-green. A woman. She stood
behind the other two.

Hendricks found his voice. "Stop!" He waved up at them frantically.
"I'm--"

The two Russians fired. Behind Hendricks there was a faint _pop_.
Waves of heat lapped against him, throwing him to the ground. Ash tore
at his face, grinding into his eyes and nose. Choking, he pulled
himself to his knees. It was all a trap. He was finished. He had come
to be killed, like a steer. The soldiers and