It was a Leupold hunting scope, the kind thousands of people owned before the Outbreak. The accessories Gabe used to mount it to his AK could have been scavenged from virtually anywhere—very plausible if we ran into an Alliance or ROC patrol. He peered through it at the rendezvous point, looking for our contacts. “Don’t see anyone,” he said. He put the rifle down, dug around in his pack, and came out with an infrared scope. If the wrong people found that one, plausibility would no longer be a problem. Who could shoot fastest, however, would be. Gabe peered through it for several long minutes. I sat and waited with Great Hawk and Hicks. Bugs swarmed around us, buzzed in our faces, and tried to climb in our ears. Mosquitoes had already raised several bumps on my neck and hands. Oddly, the normally stoic Great Hawk seemed the most irritated. He slapped, and gesticulated, and muttered something about missing the goddamn desert.
