In the cold, metallic light of morning Lennie saw very clearly that he had made a mistake. Sure, Vidor was dumb and Dougal was a murdering maniac but at least they possessed the means to survive—survive at least until they ran into Leather, that was. Once that happened he and his 'leps would slice up that sorry crew without even noticing almost. But right now they were in better shape than Lennie was. He was lost. cold, exhausted, hungry, and unarmed. The only thing he wasn't was thirsty—the rain had fallen all night and into the morning, soaking him to the bone.

He cursed himself for his hasty unplanned flight from Vidor. Wearily he sank down on the muddy ground and lowered his head into his hands. Tears welled up behind his eyes, mixing with the rainwater that already doused his face. He was going to die—he knew that, out here in the middle of nowhere, in the center of the black, inhospitable landscape that sur rounded him. And it wouldn't be quick either. Slowly the cold and the hunger would gnaw at him but not before he became a walking skeleton, eaten away by exhaustion and hunger. 

The wind whipped across his shoulders, as if by JB making him more uncomfortable it would hurt him more. A sudden cold flash of rainwater found its way down his collar and across his back, making him burn with a sudden anger. 

"Goddammit!" he shouted, cursing the weather. He jerked his head back to scream some insults at the leaden sky. Instead, he screamed in fear. Standing above him were the Mean Brothers, They looked curiously at Lennie, as if they had discovered some strange new kind of life. 

"Who the fuck are you?" said Lennie. He felt his stomach heave as if someone had suddenly cinched a belt tight around his middle. The agonizing death by cold and hunger suddenly looked pretty good. One of the Means took a step forward, wondering as he did so if he ought to kill this man.

"What," stammered Lennie, "what are you doing?"

The two Mean Brothers exchanged a look. The one closest to Lennie leaned down and grabbed the sorry Stormer by his sodden shirtfront. He heaved him up off the ground. He laid Lennie's scrawny body along his broad shoulders.

"Put me down!" screamed Lennie, kicking his feet and pounding his fists like a kid having a tantrum. He hit the Mean Brother as hard as he could but noticed that the blow had done about as much damage to the giant as it would have to a sheer rock face, The other Mean placed his finger against his lips as he tried to reason with Lennie to be quiet.

"Fuck you!" bawled Lennie, unable at that moment to think of anything more appropriate. At the back of his mind he believed that the Mean Brothers were not men at all but some kind of weird manlike animals that were going to take him back to their lair. To eat him, more than likely.

Almost apologetically, the Mean Brothers smacked him in the side of the head, and blackness, like a hood, closed over him. . . .

As Lennie came to, he felt heat on his body and he thought: "I'm cooking." He was wrapped in a blanket as dirty as the one he had left behind in the shed on the tank site and was lying next to a fire.

Bonner, Starling, Beck, and J.B. stood over him. These guys were trouble, Lennie thought. He had never seen such a tough-looking foursome. No, tough wasn't the word: dangerous. That was it.

"So who are you, asshole?" asked Beck.

"Lennie," said Lennie meekly. "Are you guys Stormers?"

"You little prick," said Beck, reaching down to pull Lennie out of the sack and bat him around a little. Bonner stopped him.

"I guess that means no," said Lennie, smiling nervously.

"You a Stomer?" asked Bonner.

"Don't look like one," observed Starling.

"Sort of," said Lennie.

"Son of," bellowed Beck. "Just what the hell does that mean?"

"I mean I used to be. I'm running now." 

"If you were a Stonner, you too now a Stonner also, and I have only one thing for the Stormers and that is the fighting," said J.B. indignantly. 

"Uh, what did he say?" asked Lennie. 

"He doesn't like Stormers," said Bonner. 

"But! told you," squealed Lennie, "I ain't no Stonner. I took off. Hell, even when I was with the Stormers I wasn't no Stonner, not really. Mister—" He turned to Bonner. He could sense that the Outrider had authority over the other men. "Mister, all I want to do is git off the road. I don't wanna fight nobody. I don't wanna kill nobody. ..." Tears started into his eyes.

"So where were you headed?" Bonner asked.

"To the Cap," said Lennie, sniffing.

"You go to the Cap and Leather will cut your balls off for being a deserter," said Starling.

"No he won't," said Lennie quickly, "because—"

He stopped suddenly.

"Why not?" asked Beck menacingly. 

"Cause . . . cause . . ." Lennie stammered. He couldn't think of a good lie just then. Once upon a time Lennie considered himself a pretty fair liar.

"Time to kill the Stonner," said J.B. happily.

There was no doubt in Lennie's mind that J.B. meant what he said. The big northman took his heavy Browning pistol from his dirty fur coat and, cocking it, lowered the barrel until it was level with Lennie's eye.

"No! No! Wait!" he screamed, trying to squirm away from the gun. He only had one card to play and he played it. "Wait, I know about something you want. Gasoline, man, fucking more gasoline than you ever dreamed of.''

The four men exchanged glances. J.B. lowered his gun.

Lennie babbled on. "Man, there must be twenty tanks. Full."

"Where?" said Bonner.

"Near here."

"Where?"

"Man, it's straight back down the road. I walked away last night. It can't be far. ..."

"Good. Now that we are knowing this thing he says, it is time now to shoot the Stonner dead in the head with my bullets."

"C'mon man, that ain't fair," whined Lennie.

"Who found this place?" asked Bonner, gently pushing aside the barrel of J.B.'s gun.

"My old Stonner troop."

"Whose?" asked Starling.

"Vidor's."

"Vidor found the tank farm?" asked Starling incredulously.

"He didn't believe it either," said Lennie. "It was sorta an accident."

"Where's he now?" asked Bonner.

"Still there. He 'n the others were going to load up and head out for Chi and keep the location secret. They wanted to double-cross Leather so I said hell, I'm getting out of here. Vidor can't take Leather.

Vidor can't take down nobody."

"What you some kind of friend of Leather?" demanded Beck.

"Hell no. But like I said, Vidor's a fuck-up. Leather would slice him no problem. Probly wouldn't even notice. So I figured that I oughta get out and tell Leather and Leather would be grateful."

"I think you're telling the truth, sonny." said Starling.

"I know I am." "Time to move, Bonner," said Beck.

"I think you're right."

"What about him?" asked Starling.

"Now is the time to shoot, yes?"

"Hell," said Bonner, "why not just leave him."

"He's helped us a lot," put in Starling.

"Awww Bonner," said J.B. "You have the heart of a baby." .

Lennie watched Bonner's little convoy move out onto the road. There was Bonner in the lead in his heavy machine. Beck and Starling on their bikes, and the Habitants' big truck bringing up the rear. Lennie was extremely glad that he wasn't going to be at the tank farm when that crowd showed up. Vidor and Dougal and the rest would never know what hit them. Bonner disappeared over the rise in the road and Lennie picked up the food that he had been given and started walking quickly in the opposite direction. Around about midday he was captured by Radleps. After a hour or so of pleading for his life, he was taken to see Leathennan.

Bonner and company looked down on the tank farm from the high vantage point of one of the steep valley sides. Bonner, Beck, Starling, and the Habitants stared down as though they were parched desert travelers who had finally found an oasis. Bonner recalled the words that had been spoken to him so many months ago by Cooker, the gas hound who had originally discovered the tank farm: "I found the promised land," He cackled. He was right.

Bonner ran his eye over the tank farm spread out beneath him. All of the tanks were joined by pipes leading into a central pump house. Cooker had known how to operate the whole setup—and he had dropped big hints about its workings to Bonner.

"Plenty there for everybody," said Starling.

"All you have to do is get rid of them," said Bonner, pointing to the center of the site. Standing there were the Stormers of Vidor's patrol. They were watching as Vidor and Dougal had an argument. Bonner was too far off to hear their angry words, but the argument was a fierce one: the two men stamped and waved their arms and shook their fists at one another. Suddenly, Dougal whipped out a pistol and shot Vidor, much as Vidor had shot Sickert the day before. The single shot echoed in the cold air and a faint pall of blue smoke drifted skyward. The Stormers winced at the sound of the blast.

Vidor hit the ground, apparently dead. Dougal turned his attention to the rest of the Stormers and started yelling at them. Just then, Vidor appeared to revive a little. He lifted his right arm off the ground and fired two shots into the back of Dougal's head. That done, he died. A second or two later, Dougal followed him.

The remaining Stormers looked at each other for a second or two, then began jabbering away at one another, presumably about what to do. After a few minutes they ran to their beat-up old bikes and took off, roaring up the far side of the valley as fast as they could.

"Again there are no Stormers for the killing," said J.B. disgustedly.

"Let's go get that shit," said Beck, angling his heavy cycle down the steep road.

Bonner followed. He wondered where Leather was.

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