4
Mathalda proved to be a shrunken shrew of a mulman. His coveralls were patched and stained, and he didn’t wear his goggles, though Allie could see they hung loosely out of a coverall pocket. He sat atop a short barrel with a large ovular machine in his lap. There was a distinctive mouth at one end, and at the other was a grip and trigger. The smooth casing was scuffed and scratched, and he had a panel open toward him where frayed wires protruded out toward him. His bare and leathery gnarled fingers worked at the wires as he bit down hard on a cigarette. Allie watched the orange-ish sprinkles of ash drop from the tip and rain down on the strange machine, but the old man only brushed them away.
Kalta stopped in front of the man and glared at him. “You could have replied, Mathalda.
