He sat up and smiled. Quickly, she skirted the bed, and went over to the dresser to get a sweater. Draping it over her shoulders, she took a deep breath and turned. Eagle had moved silently from the bed, and now stood inches from her.
"Oh!" she said, "don't do that! You startled me!"
Biting his lower lip between his teeth, he sighed, then reached out and lifted her hair gently off her face. His touch was gentle, and it moved slowly along the side of her face to beneath her jaw. Evie moaned softly as he lifted her chin. His eyes were very blue. His lips were very soft.
"Please," she whispered as she pushed him away, "Let's go see the waterfalls."
"Waterfalls?"
"Please."
"Are you and Garrett married?"
Evie laughed, and the spell was broken.
"What's funny?" Eagle wanted to know, but she didn't tell him until much later.
After breakfast, as they strolled through the Garden of the Goddess, Evie explained that where she came from Garret was the only man available. They'd never needed to marry because in a sense they'd been married from birth.
"You've never been with another?" Eagle asked.
"I've never even thought of being with another."
"Until today."
She looked at him. "Yes, until today."
CHAPTER 9
Mountain People: 2128
Evie nodded off, her head resting against the camel's neck. Fighting sleep, she pulled herself back from the edge and sat up straighter. Although Eagle had suggested they stop, she would not have it.
What a day it had been. She and Eagle had climbed down to the river and followed its rocky course for at least a mile before they got to the waterfalls, and she was stunned at how beautiful they were. She watched the water fall down several hundred feet of rocky chasms, and was breathless with the utter beauty of the world. When Eagle had kissed her then, she had had no defense.
He led her to a ledge that overlooked the spectacular cataract, and laid a blanket on the cold rock. She knew what was to happen next, and could not deny the sweet ache at the center of her body. She wanted him, here in the place, now at this time, and there was no way around that.
She lay down on the blanket and welcomed him into her arms, pulling him on top of her. He was so big and smelled so male. It was all too much, too primeval, too real. But Evie had never been one to deny her feelings. She would go wherever they carried her.
His hands were callused and rough, not like Garret's, and she brought one up to her lips to kiss each fingertip. His eyes bored into her, watching her, feeling her out, knowing her, understanding her. She felt faint with desire.
The voice from above was wholly unexpected, and both she and Eagle wanted more than anything in the world for it to go away, but it didn't. Insistent, it continued to call out to them until there was no choice but to answer.
When Red Deer told them what had happened on the trail, Evie had been terrified. Garret was alone out there! Without help, he was trying to make it to Southeast to bring them the producers, and now she, Eagle and Teller were on his trail, trying to catch up with him before something or someone did to him what had been done to Nightstalker.
They had been riding all day and Evie knew she had developed a rash from the constant rubbing of the saddle against the insides of her thighs, but she wouldn't let them stop. Eagle had wanted her to remain at the house, but she had refused. Her unexpected guilt at what had happened with him made her more adamant than usual. When he tried to force her to stay behind, she said, "If you won't give me a camel and take me with you, then I'll take the van and go myself."
"The van won't make it," he said.
"Then I'll walk."
"You'll die!"
"Then I'll die."
After that, it had been easy. Both Eagle and Teller understood very well the kind of compulsion that would drive a person to death rather than retreat.
So, here she was twelve hours later, saddle sore and exhausted, trying to atone for a sin she had almost, but not quite, committed. She wanted Garret to be all right. Beyond that nothing else mattered.
Foothills: 2128
Garrett was not all right. He hid behind a rocky hill for the rest of that first day, waiting impatiently for it to get dark. The Mountain People had said that it was safer to travel at night, and the attack in broad daylight was proof enough for him. Still, it was nearly impossible to wait. He was too keyed up and worried to sleep, and the barren landscape had rapidly exhausted even his scientific curiosity.
The bodies of the five creatures who had attacked them kept him busy for a while. They were human after all, though he hadn't been sure while they were fighting because of the paint on their faces and the strange head and body coverings made of long grasses and reptile skins. When he examined them more closely, he guessed that the youngest couldn't be more than fifteen and the oldest any more than nineteen.
Nor were they particularly healthy. All of them were missing teeth, and those remaining were full of cavities. They were all undernourished. One had a melanoma on his shoulder. Another was beginning to develop cataracts. They were remarkably ugly, and he'd been grateful to finally leave them behind.
He'd been traveling for five nights now, and thought he was within a day or two of Southeast. The sun was low in the sky when he decided that it was ridiculous to wait any longer. It would be dark in an hour or less, and the odds were that no one would bother him during that time. The urgency of getting to Southeast before everyone died pushed him onward.
Although marred by potholes and broken slabs of concrete, the road was easy to travel, and he made good time. The camels loped down the seemingly endless ribbon of cement, heading toward a point that kept disappearing into the distance.
Alongside the road, at periodic intervals, were the ruins of buildings; he supposed they used to be businesses—restaurants, hotels, houses, gas stations. He even saw the remains of the famous golden arches broken across the road. In between the ruins was barren land, which at one time had contributed some of the food that supported hundreds of millions of people. It had been a rich country once. Now it was a desert.
As the sun went down, Garret gathered his jacket closer about himself. It was eerie to be traveling down this empty road in the dark. Strange sounds emitted by who-knows-what echoed in the night. He held the gun given him by Red Deer in his hand, afraid to let go of it.
The darkness was nearly absolute. The moon had not yet risen, and the stars were hidden by a layer of clouds. The camels seemed not to mind the lack of visual acuity. Perhaps they moved forward according to smell, Garret thought. They certainly didn't seem to have any trouble avoiding pitfalls in the dark. In fact, Cashmere had just sidestepped a gaping hole so large that even Garret could make it out.
The night seemed to breathe malevolence, and Garret fervently wished that he had gone back with Red Deer. What was the point of going on alone if he was going to die before he got the producers to Southeast?
The death of Nightstalker and the five who had attacked them had aroused in him fears that he had never known existed. In his sheltered life, death was an abstract, an idea, not a reality. But even though it had happened days ago, he could still feel Nightstalker's blood, sticky on his hands, and that knife at his throat still threatened.
The night exposed his fears as thoroughly as it concealed the world, and it was only his determination and the knowledge that he had no choice that kept him moving forward into the unknown.
A glimmer of light on the horizon pulled him up short. It was still quite far away, but Garret was convinced that it must be a campfire. The question was should he continue to travel along the road and risk getting closer to that fire, or should he leave the road and try to evade it?
He got off the camel and climbed up a knoll. From this higher vantage point he could see that there seemed to be one large fire rather than many small ones. After watching it for a while he realized that it must be man-made. It didn't seem to c
hange in intensity, and it stayed in one place. Someone must be feeding it.
Deciding that it was best to skirt the blaze, Garret climbed back on his camel and pulled his small caravan into the brush. He intended to keep his distance.
Keeping the orange glow off to his right, he moved slowly through the waste. It was much more difficult for the camels than the road, but at least the clouds had cleared away and starlight made vision possible. It shouldn't be long until moonrise.
The body came out of nowhere, hitting Garret across the back and knocking him to the ground. For a moment he couldn't breathe, but he still held his gun in his hand, and he lifted it now, looking for a target.
He couldn’t see anything, but an eerie cackling pulled the muzzle of the gun toward it like a magnet. "Who's there? What do you want?"
"Wanou sucka," a voice said.
The gun centered on the gritty voice and held there. "I have a gun," Garret said, "Come out where I can see you."
The specter that edged out of the brush was small and smelly, and Garret stepped back without thinking. The stink was nauseating, the odor of decomposition and decay, of fear and dying. "What do you want?" Garret repeated.
"Wan ou," the creature replied. "You!"
He thought it was English, corrupted somewhat, but English nevertheless. "Why do you want me?" Garret asked, testing his theory.
"Comny."
"Comny? Comeny? Company?"
"Ye. Comny."
"You want company? What for?"
"Pulgrms need been pares."
Garret didn't have to think about it long. This was obviously some kind of pilgrim and he needed a partner for something. "Why do you need to be in pairs?"
"Rou stuper somin? Need pare tseek gods."
"Well, friend, whatever you may need me for, I am not going anywhere with someone who smells like you. No offence."
"D'nury. Ony distinks. Cuminoff." With that, the pilgrim started to remove his outer garments, throwing them and the smell as far from them as he could. Underneath the stinking rags he was dressed in somewhat cleaner rags with a somewhat milder odor.
Garret didn't know what to make of the man. Why would anyone deliberately wear anything so noisome? Why did he need a partner, and what gods was he planning to see, or was that seek? "Where are you going?" he asked, and was not a bit surprised when the pilgrim pointed toward the bonfire blazing in the distance.
Garret shook his head. "Sorry, but I'm not going that way."
"Ymuscom. Rou triena getaway? Vrywon goes."
The scientist in Garret, buried for most of the night under the weight of his fear, suddenly awoke wondering what was going on, and who these people were. Forgetting that old wive's tale about curiosity killing the cat, Garret smiled and clapped the pilgrim on the back. "Okay, I'll come," he said. "It's on my way, anyway. But first you have to tell me why you were wearing those stinking rags?"
The pilgrim smiled, revealing dirty teeth. "Searchas," he answered. "Thase look'n fer lonas."
CHAPTER 10
East USA Habitat: 2128
The new van was even better than the first had been. After all, Morgan thought, the Habitat had had some practice. He was all ready to go and Jersey Lipton, difficult as he had been about it, was sitting beside him. In a moment, the inner lock would open and they would be off to set Morgan's plan in motion.
"This is really brave of you, Morgan." Paul Tipman gripped his shoulder and squeezed. "And you too, Jersey. I hope you guys know what you're doing?"
Morgan smiled. "Of course we do. We'll find them, get the producers to Southeast, and bring our two scientists back."
"Well, I still think we should just wait, and not risk two more lives, but well, I guess you know what you're doing."
Morgan smiled. He knew what he was doing; the funny thing was that no one else had a clue. The lock opened, and amid waving and cheering, Morgan drove the van through and waited while it closed once again.
The inner area was dimly lit, and he carefully moved the vehicle forward toward the outer lock. Stopping, he got out and grabbed the wheel, turning it. Slowly, the huge metal door began to slide open.
Neither Morgan nor Jersey had ever been outside before, nor had they ever had any desire to go outside. Outside was a bad place, a place of mistakes and misfortune. A place of disorder, where unplanned events took place, and unthinking nature lent menace to every stone and bush.
As the door slid open and the van moved forward, for one brief instant, Morgan felt a shiver of fear. What if he'd been wrong? What if he couldn't get where he was going? What if the roads were no good, and the natives restless, and the 150 miles impassable? What if he didn't make it? Shaking the feeling off, he smiled at Jersey, whose eyes were nearly popping out of his head. "Now we're getting somewhere," he said.
The dusty remains of what had once been a road came to a fork, and Morgan took the map from Jersey. Turning the van toward the left, he moved slowly across the rubble-strewn path. "Wait a minute," Jersey argued. "We're going the wrong way."
Morgan just smiled and continued to drive.
"I'm telling you, Morgan," Jersey continued, "this fork does not take us south or east. It goes directly north."
Morgan snorted. "Yes, I know that, Lipton."
Jersey looked confused. He was confused. In fact, he'd been confused since the day that Morgan had tried to take away his laboratory. He hadn't been able to regain his equilibrium for more than a few moments at a time after that. Morgan was always throwing him off balance, just as he was doing now. "I don't understand," he said.
"I have plans, Lipton. I have plans. And you're going to help me carry them out."
"But aren't we going to rescue Evie Chandler and Garret Walker? Aren't we going to make sure the producers get to Southeast?"
Morgan shook his head in wonder. The man was so incredibly naïve! Well, Lipton would just have to wait and see, wouldn't he? Morgan meant to put a great deal of distance between the Habitat and the van before he outlined his plans to the physicist, or explained how Lipton was going to help him make them come true.
Foothills: 2128
As he and the pilgrim, whose name was Paren, approached the bonfire, having left the camels secured behind the broken concrete walls of an old building, Garret began to rethink his decision. Perhaps he should have declined the offer to see these rites up close. Who knew what would transpire? He was just about to turn around and head the other way when his companion gripped his arm and pulled him into a passage between two shacks. Pressing himself against the wall, the pilgrim motioned for Garret to be quiet as several men walked past, their voices echoing through the night.
When they were gone, the man relaxed. "Serchn," he explained.
"Serchn? Searching for what?"
"Fer fud! Fenyone look'n week, y'ninny."
Though Garret had been called many names by jealous or overzealous scientists, "ninny" was not among them. He was so surprised at the designation that he was momentarily speechless, and hardly had time to consider the implications of searchers looking for loners “fer food,” before he found himself following Paren into the large, noisy crowd.
The people around him pushed and shoved each other in an attempt to get closer to the action centering around the bonfire, and Garret and his companion were no exception. While shouldering smaller individuals aside, Garret noticed that besides the general stink of dirt and disease, the people had another interesting trait—they were all in pairs. He was about to ask Paren more about this when the two of them reached the fringes of the fire. The priest or whatever he was, stood with his back to the conflagration. A point of stillness at the center of the commotion, he was a dark shape outlined in the orange glow of the fire.
Paren whooped and chortled, chuckled and sniggered. He seemed to Garret to be inordinately happy to have arrived. Doubt once again stirred. Was he making a mistake? Perhaps he should just get away as quickly as possible.
Looking off to the right, he could see no ret
reat there. A wall of ramshackle constructions anchored to the remains of an old gas station blocked the passage, and a detachment of "serchas" kept anyone from heading that way. To the left, the situation was similar. In fact, the only way out was the way he'd come in, and that was blocked by many living, breathing bodies.
A chant began somewhere at the back of the crowd. "Godenguya fite n forya; hoolbewinin? nowun noes. Wen uhgods r cumtuh gera, den day pik duhwun w'choze. Godenguya fite n forya; hoolbewinin? nowun noes. Wen uhgods r cumtuh gera, den day pik duhwun w'choze." Garret wasn't sure exactly what it or anything else that was happening meant, but he suddenly had a bad feeling all the way to the soles of his feet that this was not a good place for him to be. Without bidding goodbye to his erstwhile friend he began to slip backwards through the crowd by simply allowing those behind to push themselves in front of him.
He was doing very well, when Paren once again took hold of his hand and yanked him forward. "Noyadone!" he grinned, "Yerstaen!" Struggling to get free from the man was difficult and attracted the attention of several squalid characters to whom Garret preferred to remain invisible. Sighing, he stayed where he was and waited.
The chanting went on and on and was soon joined by a drumbeat. The malodorous crowd pressed in against him. The priest stood before the fire and swayed from side to side like a metronome keeping the beat of the multitude.
Garret felt nauseous from the heat of the fire and the press of unwashed bodies. He needed to take a deep breath, but didn't dare. Suddenly, the priest held up his hands and the chant ended in mid-syllable. It was silent; no one moved; no clothing rustled. The very air seemed to have come to a stop. The only sound was that of the fire consuming its fuel.
"Inrname weer gathrd heer task fuh mersee. Inrname weer gathrd heer task fuh fueden aichto-oh. Inrname weer gathrd heer t'give praze tuh yu and to beg fuh mersee."
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