There was a brief meeting of the combatants a few miles from the slave farm. By the time Bonner and the reunited Mean Brothers arrived, the remains of the Lashmen had gotten there, so had the truck carrying the newly liberated Almost Normals.

They looked surprised, happy, shocked—unable to believe that they had escaped, that Bonner had come for them.

Charlie climbed down from the truck and took Bonner's hand. He shook it firmly.

"We'll never be able to thank you," he said, "never."

"Forget it," said Bonner.

"And finding my kids'n all . . ." Charlie's voice cracked with emotion, tears started into his eyes.

"They're good kids," said Bonner, "you should be proud."

Charlie turned from him. "Bobby! Emily! Come say good-bye."

The two children came over shyly, as if meeting Bonner for the first time. They paused a moment, then embraced him warmly.

"Take care," whispered Bonner. He wondered if they would ever be the same. Probably not.

"Okay, break it up," said FIoyd. "If these folks are headed out to the westlands they better get moving.

The Hotstates are gonna be jumping. And that's the truth . . ."

"Yeah," said Bonner, "you better get going." Rufus grabbed Emily just before the truck moved out. His wrinkled, ugly face was folded into a big grin. "You saved my ass back there, sweetheart." 

"You bet your ass I did," said Emily. Rufus threw back his head and laughed. "Look me up when you're a little older, kid. We'll party . . ."

The truck went one way, Bonner and the Lashmen the other. They bombed down the highway, the Lashmen leading. Allowing for the squad that had already taken off for Chi-town with Parkas' loot, Bonner figured the Lash had been hurt bad. Only seven men rode ahead of him. Bonner felt bad about that. But every Lashman knew the risks.

Mrs. Farkas pushed the big truck over the hills. As she changed gear she shifted alternately from tears to extraordinary swearing. Farkas was dead, the farm was in ruins, they had lost virtually everything they owned.

But survival was second nature to Mrs. Farkas. She had taken a truck, but she didn't take just any old truck. She had taken Jojo's truck. And in the back, among all the pillows and food, she had found the money that Jojo had planned to spend on slaves. It wasn't close to the amount she lost, but it was a start. Mrs. Farkas knew exactly what she was going to do with it: she was going to build herself a gang and find the man that had ruined her life. That was a promise. . . .

Bonner's big engine had pulled him ahead of the Lashmen: soon he was alone on the road. As he cut along the open highway, bound for home, he saw a tiny figure ahead of him on the highway.

It was Wiggy, the little rider that Bonner had traded with, meat for ammunition. The man was staggering along under the weight of a fly-blown side of beef. It stunk. He heard the powerful engine behind him and paled.

"Omigod!" he said and scuttled behind a junked, rusty old family sedan. He chanced a look down the road and saw Bonner.

"Oh no," he whispered, "him . . ."

Bonner cruised to a halt next to the shell of the car. Wiggy raised his head warily. "Hi," he said.

Bonner smiled. "Hi."

"What can I do for you?" asked Wiggy.

"Nothing," said Bonner.

"Nothing?"

"Just thought you might like a ride."

"Hell, yeah," said Wiggy.

"Hop on," said Bonner. "Ah, leave the meat . . ."

They bombed down the road, Wiggy reclining in the back, already planning his story for Pershing's Pistoleros. "Yeah, I hooked up with Bonner down in the Hotstates and me'n Bonner see . . ."

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