They moved on to another body. Valentine rolled a rock using his shovel as a lever. "You're a long way from the East".
"Aye-yup. You too, looks like. Those are Kentucky legworm leathers".
"That they are".
"Always thought those beasties were grand. You don't have to feed them gas and oil".
"Ever rode one?" Valentine asked.
"Naw. Too slow. I like to be on something that can outrun those damn golems".
Valentine grunted agreement. "Hey, lookit that", Loring said. He leaned the pickax against his knee and pointed up.
Valentine saw aircraft, in three groups, flying high toward the southwest.
"I bet Denver got hit again. That's the Flying Circus. They range all over the Southwest, set up temporary airfields on old roads".
"Pyp's Flying Circus?" Valentine asked, shading his eyes to take a look at the craft. He guessed they were at above ten thousand feet.
"That's what they're called. I saw a couple of them in their fancy leathers in a bar in Nogales once. Aye-yup. They're not ones for staying put either".
"What are you going to do when we hit LA?" Valentine asked.
"Celebrate. Then we might head up the valley to wine country. They do a few runs a year over the mountains to the Missouri and Arkansas riverheads. Good money guarding wine, and a flask out of the supply cask really makes dinner an experience". He mumbled a few words as Valentine covered a corpse with a thin layer of dirt. Valentine stood silent.
"I like the old words, don't you?" Loring said.
"Yes. Thanks for the help".
"Mucho gusto", Loring said.
* * *
With the wrecks out of the way, and their remaining fuel safely stowed in the tanks and drums of the bikes and wreckers, the vehicles reassembled in the formation they'd used as they approached the blockade. Valentine, sweaty from his exertions and moody because of the bodies, ate a salted hard-boiled egg after carefully washing his hands.
"You feel better?" Salsa asked.
"Pardon?"
Salsa threw his arm over the seat. "You feel better now that those bodies are buried? 'Cause it sure makes no difference to them".
"Nothing in my contract about leaving bodies in the sun", Valentine said.
"Coyotes will probably have them dug up by midnight", Zuniga said.
"What's that?" Swell shouted from the gun.
"Oh, for Kur's dark asshole", Salsa said. He poked his head out the window. "You're at the wheel next... hey!"
Valentine heard it too. A sputtering engine sounded overhead and Valentine marked a twin-engine plane, a dirty-clay color with a red stripe going up the tail like a hockey stick; it spewed white vapor from one engine and faint black puffs from the other as it passed overhead. The engine sounded stronger for a moment and the plane gained altitude, trying for the mountains to the west. Valentine watched as it shrank to a cross in the distance. Then it plunged, leveled off, and disappeared into the valley floor.
"That poor dumb bastard", Salsa said. "He should have set it down in the road by us".
Valentine, meanwhile, searched his map of the Southwest.
"He was trying to make it to his home airfield", Zuniga said.
"Are those the guys with the reward message on the backs of their jackets?" Valentine asked.