The communications tower was guarded, at least theoretically. An M113 was parked close enough so that the tower's shadow extended across it. There was no sign of a reaction to either Eddie's party or The Kid's noise (which had stopped for the time being). The town around them was silent except for the hunger squawks of a juvenile crow which was hidden in a cedar tree. Another crow gargled deep in its craw.
Eddie said, "Erin, stay by the car and keep looking around. Any sign of trouble, blast the horn. Bryce, we'll each go to a door and keep our hands in plain sight as we approach them." Then he coughed and spat.
Bryce nodded, and sneezed. His nose was streaming but he didn't wipe it. Instead, he kept his hands near his sides with the palms facing the M113, as Eddie was doing. Slowly they approached the heavy, silent vehicle. Bryce opened the passenger side door and the blond soldier gone black, swollen and bloody spilled out, striking the ground hard enough to crack something in his skull or neck. Bryce was reminded of a jump moment early in The Road Warrior. As with the trucker in that movie, the soldier looked like he was decaying and probably smelled that way too, but lately Bryce's sense of smell was numb. The man hadn't been dead long — his heat was still immense.
The driver had a red blotchy face and bruised-looking neck. He was breathing raspily. Eddie opened his door carefully and looked at the man's tags, which read FERGUSON, DUFF D.
"Ferguson, are you awake?"
"Sir . . . so sick. Lavacca's sick, too."
"Did you call for help?" Eddie asked.
"Yessir." Ferguson coughed out red-streaked snot. "Any minute . . . " He coughed again.
"Try again. Bryce, in my trunk is a first-aid kit. Bring it here and tell Erin to bring a couple water bottles from the cooler behind the passenger seat."
Erin, having heard that, went into the car. By the time she handed the bottles to Eddie, Bryce was coming with the kit.
As Eddie let Ferguson sip, Bryce hoped to cool the man with rubbing alcohol. It didn't seem to work, and Bryce couldn't smell it.
"Ferguson, one more try on that radio" Eddie said.
Erin cocked her head and covered her tube. "Wait, someone's breathing."
"I don't hear . . . " Bryce realized that his fever-buzz might be erasing a few decibels' worth of ability. He found the radio's volume control, turned it up, and heard a labored breath sound. Several more followed, then the breathing stopped. Eddie let Ferguson sip some more; Bryce wiped Ferguson's forehead; the solemn Erin looked around. After about 15 seconds' silence the breathing started again, more labored.
"Cheyne-Stokes," Bryce said. "Fergy, what about other channels?"
The other channels were dead silent. So was the first, when Bryce returned to it.
For several seconds no one spoke. Then Eddie said, "Fetch water for all of us, Erin. Ferguson, keep taking water nice and slow. Bryce, find a toolbox and see if it has cutters."
Bryce found a huge toolbox in the M113 and, with some difficulty, lugged it out. He opened it and as he and Eddie had hoped, there was a set of husky bolt cutters.
The tower was enclosed by a chain link fence with a padlocked gate on the south side. Bryce took the cutters to the padlock, He'd cut a padlock before while with Stu at Hap's but today, he didn't seem strong enough. Sweat broke out all over and every muscle ached. The exertion was increasing his fever, he realized. Eddie joined him and with the two of them on the cutters there was progress. Finally they broke through and entered the enclosure. Another padlock guarded the control housing near the tower's base. Bryce and Eddie together took three agonizing minutes to cut it, and there was a more intense feverish buzz in Bryce's ears which made him fear that he might pass out.
Before Eddie could touch the controls, Erin sounded the Cadillac's horn and pointed to something beyond the car's rear deck.