“I don't know, fella, I didn't write the orders. The lieutenant said we come this way and follow route 50. And we was doing just that.” He added bleakly, “Until you enemy agents showed up.”
Gary let it pass. “What happens next — when you deliver the trucks to the bridge?”
“Well, we just drive across and join ’em, I guess.”
“Did they say you could?” Gary held his breath.
“If we don't catch the plague. We was supposed to wear the monkey suits all the time, but the lieutenant said we didn't have to unless some of you ene… unless you guys bothered around. They're supposed to test us at the bridge and if we're clean, we can cross over.” He cast another backward glance at Gary. “Me, I'm damned glad you're healthy. I don't want no plague. Have you really been around since the bombing?”
Gary nodded. “Couple of hundred miles south of Chicago when it happened.” He thought of another question. “What happens now — with the lieutenant dead, I mean? Yeah — he's dead all right.” The soldier had twisted around to study the other truck, seeking his companions. “All of them, except you and your buddy here — and he's in no condition to drive. What are you going to do now? You, I mean; what do the orders read?”
The soldier didn't answer at once. He stared at the side of the truck some inches before his face and then looked down at the man lying at his feet. He seemed to take faint hope from the question.
“Damned if I know for sure,” he answered presently. “The lieutenant was shooting off his mouth all the time — I got a hazy idea what to do. And he's carrying papers; he's got the captain's stuff, too. I guess the only thing to do is beat it for the bridge and tell them you — tell them what happened.”
“Can you make it by yourself?” Gary insisted. “Can you get across without the officers? Know the password or the signal?”
“There ain't none that I heard of; we just stop in the middle of the bridge and wait for them to come out to us. I told you they've been waiting for us.”