The nervous voice spoke again. “Now stand up — easy.”
He did as he was ordered, climbing slowly to his feet and putting his hands in the air without being told. Instantly a pair of quick, fluttery hands was on his body searching for concealed weapons, for tobacco or food hidden in his pockets. This would be the second of the trio.
“I haven't got anything,” he said quietly.
“Shut up!” The bravado was stronger now that Gary was disarmed and at a physical disadvantage.
The hands went away from his body and the second voice became known. “He's clean, Harry.”
There were shuffling footsteps to one side and a man slid into view carrying a shotgun. Gary looked at him briefly and recognized the scavenger, Harry. His glance dropped to the shotgun and he stiffened with interest.
“Now don't get no funny notions,” Harry warned him.
“That gun,” Gary said, “I never saw one like that before. What is it?”
“None of your damned business.” The owner of the weapon motioned with its muzzle to the object on the ground. “What's that?”
“None of your da—” He cut it short as the gun came up on a line with his stomach. “Diving gear,” he explained sulkily.