Beth made more sparks with her lighter, showering all of them on the plastic. Another flame sprang up from it. The foil that fed it shriveled within seconds. But this time, the fire didn't die. It spread to the deeper layers of the roll, gaining strength.
"Beth, shit!"
A dog snarled at Burt, and he smacked it with the chair. While the animal retreated, another one entered the gap it left, bypassing Burt's defenses, and jumped at him. Burt stumbled backward.
One end of the plastic roll was burning now, the flames quickly gaining ground. Beth seized the other end.
Burt kept the chair between him and his attacker, but the animal had trapped him in a corner. Beth approached it from the side. At the last moment, it faced her, and she pushed the burning end of the roll into its muzzle.
It wailed, then it turned and ran.
~~~
It hadn't taken them long to build a fire feeding on rolls of plastic foil at the entrance to their refuge. Its flames cast a sickly yellow onto the street outside where the last vestiges of the day were fading. Oily smoke filled the room with an acrid stench and wafted out into the alley.
The dogs kept a safe distance, clearly familiar with the dangers of being burned. They sat in a group between the cars outside, their furs now a ghastly gray under the light of the moon.
As the flames died down, Burt tossed another roll into the fire. The foil crackled and flared up, adding to the stench.
"This was the last one," he said.
They both had searched the shop, but the only fuel they had found was the plastic.
From the other side of the fire, a pair of hungry, yellow eyes reflected the flames.
Burt got up from his squatting position, walked over to an empty shelf unit, and pulled at one of its boards. The structure made a creaking sound, but it didn't move.
"Damn, the thing's screwed down," he said.
Guessing his intent, Beth rose, planning to help him. Maybe they could use the metal boards to bar the broken door when the fire died down.
As she checked on the dogs once more, making sure they were staying put, one of them rose, too, mirroring the movement of its prey. The moonlight outlined its perked-up ears. The glow of its eyes disappeared as it turned them downtown.
It gave a brief bark, and its companions got up, too.
The lead dog looked at Beth once more—a last fierce reflection of firelight. Then it blinked and trotted off to the right, away from city center.
Its pack followed.
"Hey," Beth said. "They're leaving."
Burt joined her as the darkness swallowed the last tail. "Fuck."
The street outside was deserted now. The smoke from the dying fire fretted Beth's nose, its crackling slowly waning—making room for a faint, rumbling noise.
Beth moved to the side of the fire and, leaning forward against the doorframe, listened into the night.
She had heard the same sounds earlier today, out in the streets. But now they lingered, their droning familiar even if she only knew it from old movies.
A sound she had thought extinct for decades—but it was gaining strength.
"What's the matter?" Burt asked.
"There's noise out here," she said. "I think it's...."
It wasn't possible.
"You think it's what?"
"Engines. It sounds like those old engines, the ones running on gasoline."
"Nonsense," Burt said. "All gasoline today is stale. It doesn't work anymore. It can't—"
He was interrupted by the distinct roar of a gasoline-powered car, or something similar.
"What the fuck?" He stepped to a window and peered out into the street.
The sounds were like the angered, impatient cries of wild beasts, and they rang louder than ever.
An unsteady light touched the rubbish outside, bringing more shadows than brightness, all of them moving.
The roar was deafening now.
Beth took a step back as a vehicle approached, threading an erratic path through the obstacles on the street. Its engine brought the loudest noise she had ever heard, and its single headlight shone fiercely.
It came to a stop, mere yards away from their refuge. A second one closed up from behind, its light illuminating the first one.
Beth knew these machines from old pictures and movies.
"Motorbikes," she said, doubting that Burt would hear her through the din as two more of the vehicles stopped on the street outside.
The drivers cut the engines. Two of them dismounted and approached. The first one to reach the periphery of the dying fire was a woman—black, tight-fitting pants and a matching jacket, hair of the same color growing from one side of her head while her dark skin was shaved clean on the other. Golden piercings through her lips reflected the light of the flames.
Feeling uneasy under the grim stare, Beth exhaled in relief as the stranger turned her attention on Burt's gun, raising an eyebrow.
A man joined her. He wore similar garb, but he was as pale as a ghost. He stood a head shorter than his companion. The sword he carried pointed at Burt.
The woman placed an arm on the man's hand, urging it down. Then she smiled at Burt. "Hey, I'm Whitesnake. And the one with the knife calls hisself Ozzy." She gestured at the pale man. "Do you need help?"
Burt lowered the weapon. "I'm Burt. And that's Beth."
As Whitesnake and Ozzy focussed their attention on her, Beth groped for a reply. Should she admit that they were looking for their way through downtown and across the river? Or even to Seaside?
She shrugged. They couldn't be picky. Some kind of truth might help. "We've had a run-in with some dogs here. We would... love to have a safe place to spend the night."
Ozzy spat into the dying embers. "Dogs! Shitty creatures." He held the blade of his sword in front of his face and squinted at it. "There's only one way ta deal with'em. Cut off their—"
"S'okay, Ozzy," Whitesnake said. "They're gone. Don't frighten our new friends with your stories." Then she nodded at Beth. "Sure, you can come with us to the depot. You'll be safe there."
"Thank you, Whitesnake, that's most kind of you," Beth said while debating if these folks could be trusted. But it was too late now. She already had asked for their help, and refusing it might insult them. She glanced at Burt, hoping he would say something, anything.
But Burt just looked at her and then at his gun.
"You're coming, then?" Whitesnake asked.
"Sure," Burt said.
"Where's your stuff?" Ozzy asked.
"We... are traveling light." Burt grinned.
Whitesnake nodded. "Good. So we can take the bikes. S'faster that way."
"The bikes?" Beth didn't like the sound of that.
"Sure." Ozzy's grin was broad as he locked eyes with Beth. "You'll ride with me. You'll be—"
"Forget it, Ozzy," Whitesnake said. "You'll take Burt. Beth'll come with me."
The grin decayed from Ozzy's face as he stowed away the sword in a scabbard he wore on his back. Grumbling something, he motioned Burt to follow, turned, and strode to his vehicle.
"Come, then." Whitesnake smiled at Beth.
The other two riders had watched the scene silently, dark shapes sitting on their bikes. Far away from the fire, it was impossible to tell if they were men or women or what they looked like.
Beth ignored them and followed Whitesnake.
When the woman reached her vehicle, she mounted it and gestured behind her. "You sit there, and you'd better hold on tight. Like real tight."
Beth hesitated, her gaze switching between the swarthy driver and her ancient steed. Neither looked safe.
"What are you waiting for?" Whitesnake asked. "No time to pee your skirts. We should get going. It's late, and the Tunnelers might be about."
"The Tunnelers?" Beth had wondered about that name when Leo had mentioned it earlier.
Ozzy laughed. "Where are you folks from? The Tunnelers are man-eaters, living in the tunnels and canals under the city. They only come out at night. Mean and hungry."
"What did I say about frightening our new friends?" There was a menace in Whitesnake's voice.
"But it's true, they're—"
"Shut up, Ozzy." Whitesnake patted the seat of her bike, her gaze on Beth. Her feral grin lit up in the light of the last flames.