An awkward four-legged windmill was batting at the rain.
"Gex, Gex!" exclaimed Landel, and closed his eyes and hung on, worried that the gas indicator was so low.
Gex was smoke and paved streets and ravaged buildings, a man fleeing, a gunnysack over his shoulder. Girders jabbed out of ripped apartments. Burning beams smoked in cottages. In a hotel fire escapes were twisted. Again more smoke ...
A squad of riflemen sniped from a smashed grocery.
"Get them," Landel ordered.
Their guns began to pound and Dennison wormed his bus closer and closer to the grocery: the bow crushed its windows and wall: the bow seemed to be raiding for meat and potatoes. Gunfire shredded the glass counters. Machinegun bullets cut down the store's sign: it fell. Bullets tore into a refrigerator.
No riflemen escaped.
A narrow street, trees along one side ...
Dennison read bakery and meat market and wondered when he would sidle up to a counter and order a loaf of whole wheat..."four center-cut pork chops." And in the coffee shop, how about liverwurst and beer?
What a way to enter a town! Gex: who wanted Gex? What would the USA do with Gex? Right now, a beefsteak was worth more!