Maybe you would, Kesley thought, watching the ghostly shapes the fire took. Anybody would do anything these days.
"What would you do if I was the guy?" he asked suddenly.
"You?" The red-nosed man seemed to stiffen a little. "Why would you want to go killin' Dukes?"
"Yeah," Kesley said. "That's right, I guess."
He moved on later that night, leaving his newfound companions behind. They seemed happy there in the forest. He toyed with the idea of telling them the truth before he left, but rejected the idea. There was no telling how they'd react to the confession—but seventy-five thousand was a lot of money, and he didn't want four more deaths to his score.
He kept riding. He passed through Missouri and up into Illinois, following the Mississippi up from Cairo. The year was well into late October and the evenings were chilly. He rode quickly; the horse he had captured was a smoothly-functioning, full-blooded traveling machine.
Up through Illinois, until finally the broad expanse of Mutie City was visible through the dawn haze. For the first time since being cast out of Wiener he had the feeling that he was approaching safety. Flight was over—for now.
Of course, the mutants had told him not to return. But this was an emergency; surely they'd let him in.
He entered the city shortly after morning. The mutants were stirring, going about their early-day business. It seemed a savage parody of a normal city's routine. The shops were crowded, and what difference did it make if shopkeepers' heads were of spongy blue flesh and shoppers had the arms of lizards?