“More rats! Check it out,” said Jackson.
An agitated wave of fat brown rats cruised in and out of several buildings nearby, making the horses fairly nervous. The team made every effort to avoid the larger clusters scurrying about.
“I hate rats!” whispered BB to no one in particular.
They all knew rats were prolific, dangerous carriers of many diseases, especially in the broken-down cities.
“Be glad we don’t have to eat ’em,” suggested Marty.
“I’d die first,” said Rhonda.
“You’d eat it,” challenged Roger.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“I’d feed them to you to keep you alive.”
“Then you’d be doing me a disfavor.”
“You’d eat it.”
“Honey, I’d eat just about anything, but if it comes down to eating rats or living, I’m dying.”
“So you say.”
Connor studied the two and their discussion. “Quiet up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sorry, Mac,” said Rhonda.
The team slipped past endless buildings with blown-open doors, many ripped off hinges. Nearly all glass storefronts were bashed open to the weather, and probably had remained so for many years. The majority of skyscrapers and smaller, multi-story buildings were dark inside. Hard trash, like battered cash registers and dingy, gray-metal shelving billowed out around many entry doors and into the streets nearby. The city had not fared well, at least in this sector. Though, occasionally, at a few of the older storefronts, plywood or metal sheeting boarded up windows or doors along with a subtle detection of a cautious human presence.
“Cody. Shit!” whispered Roger. Furious, he glared when Cody stumbled, kicking a small board across a huge piece of broken sheet glass. The loud wood scraping, probably due to an exposed nail or two, etched a high squeak until it ceased.
“Sorry.”
“Sounds more like a rat squeal that anything, Roger. Nothing to worry ’bout.” Connor winked at Cody.
“Yes, sir.”
They slipped carefully toward the crumbling businesses near a large building with a sign designating it as the David Lawrence Convention Center. Once near, they discovered the formidable presence of armed guards all dressed in makeshift uniforms, possibly old Pittsburgh Police outfits based on the shoulder insignias. The armed men moved about with rifles or shotguns, a few pistols, and were fairly well purposed. On the other hand, the casual swagger and sloppy dress of most suggested discipline, hygiene and the honor of the uniform were not priorities.
“I don’t think those guards are in the habit of upholding pre-apocalyptic laws in the ’Burgh,” said Connor.
“There’s a full squad heading away from us, west, 200 yards,” said Marty. With his sniper rifle snug to his cheek, he scoped the area.
“Roger that,” said Connor.
“Two squads are heading east in the same uniforms,” said BB from behind the team. His Bosch & Lomb’s carefully scanned the area.
“Got it, BB. I see ’em. There’s ten more men and a few woman hanging out near the river,” said Connor, “The convention center’s probably their central command.” With a quick hand signal, Connor waving all down into better cover. “Let’s hold up here for a moment. Decide our workaround.”
“Will do,” said McLeod.
“Marty, slip close as you can with BB to secure a better activity assessment.”
“Copy that.”
“Roger, you’re ridin’ overwatch.”
“Got it.”
“Cody. Stick with BB, Jason and the horses.”
“Right, Mr. Connor Mac.”
“Judy, you’re with Rhonda.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Jackson, keep scanning up top.”
“Yes, sir.”
So far, they’d avoided a few token patrols, as they glided deeper into the city. With determined success, they kept exposure to an absolute minimum. Though, this was not as hard as expected, since most people they crept upon moved in pairs or groups of three, seemingly unconnected to any larger group. Studying their paths through the street, most seemed intent to be making their way toward the Point, the geographical juncture of flat land where the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers merged into the Ohio River. It was not terribly hard to figure out their destination. Since early morning, a repetitive beat, a pounding of large drums, pulsated from the Point as a veritable siren call.
“Everyone’s heading to the Point,” said Connor, “I know the area and that’d be as good a place as any to congregate for news or trade at the river’s edge.
“We’re not going there are we?” asked Rhonda.
“Hell no,” said Jackson, “Sorry, sir.” His outburst was overlooked, but he disliked being near strangers in a big city more than most.
“Nah, but we do need to fade back and make our way closer to Liberty Avenue and around this area. Let’s give the convention center a wider berth,” said Connor.
“Copy that,” said Marty, “Hey, there’s more boats coming down the river.”
“I hear ’em,” said Connor.
By late morning, they’d made it undetected onto the base onramp for the Liberty Bridge that headed south out of town. Beneath an overpass and to their left, near the crumbling onramp, stood the heavily fortified main entrance to the Duquesne University campus. At the bottom of this steep cobblestone road, vigilant guards hid behind a thick metal structure that stretched across the road, well anchored to the concrete bridge pillars and nearby buildings. There was movement behind the steel barrier and voices rose in fast-paced whispers suggesting that the guards inside registered the team’s movement toward the bridge.
“Damn! We’re tagged!” said Marty.
“I hear ’em,” said Connor. Their presence had caused somewhat of a disturbance behind the cold steel of the guard station. Voice volume increased behind the wall, discussing their activity. BB, McLeod, Jackson and Roger all swore upon hearing the guards.
“Keep going,” said Connor, “act as if we don’t know that they’ve seen us. I think we’ll be okay.”
The team moved toward the bridge, faster than they would’ve liked, though the guards issued no obvious alert. Hoping the Liberty Bridge was still intact based on all the destructive military activity in the city, Connor, John, and BB took some time at the top of the onramp to study it with binoculars. On one knee, Marty scoped the far end with his rifle.
“Might as well stop here for lunch. Those Duquesne guards would have to come out and around their metal walls to see us from here up here, so I’m hoping we should be safe for a time,” said Connor.
“You think?” asked McLeod.”
“I’m hoping they make it their business not to make it their business on shit happening outside their campus.”
“One can hope.”
“Yeah. Hope. A valuable commodity in this day and age, John.”
“So true.”
“Keep a close eye on our six everybody, in case those guards decide to do something more heroic. Jackson you’re primary.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Marty, give me a better read on that far side of the bridge.”
“Copy that.”
“Jason, what’s wrong with John’s horse? She was limping.”
“Yes sir, she started about ten minutes ago.”
“Well?”
“Dunno sir, she’s favoring her right foreleg a bit, but I checked it out. Nothing.”
“Lemme see,” said John McLeod.
“You think I missed something, dad?”
“Just let me see.”
BB joined John and Jason while they studied the foreleg. BB took center stage based on his expertise. “She’s only cramping up a bit, John, she should be okay. Get some water into her.”