“The work of a master,” Josh had muttered, impressed.
But there'd been no “reading” on the first piece of rubbish—or the second. “Too impersonal,” Josh told them.
After the fourth time, Jamie had whispered derogatorily, “At least one of us is a ‘master'.”
“It has to do with the strength of personality in an object,” Josh explained. “If it were you, I'd probably have to go through half your house.”
Merrie chuckled, and they both shushed her.
James’ teeth were clenched. “Try this one,” he ordered. At the last, the semi-melted pen clunked onto Josh's head.
“Got it!” Josh exclaimed.
“Knock in some sense and see what you get.”
Josh frowned, then squinted, concentrated for a moment, then frowned again. “She's in a closet,” he said.
“Is she okay?” Merrie asked hurriedly.
“Yeah,” Josh said. “Just asleep. Very weird.” He closed his eyes. “56 La Reina Drive. Sounds really familiar.”
“Has she been kidnapped?” Jamie asked.
“Sh-h.” Josh closed his eyes and mentally toured the grounds. “For Sale,” he muttered. When he reached the worn gnome, suddenly he knew. “It's Dunky!” he exclaimed.
James looked at Merrie, who shrugged. “Dunky?” he asked.
Josh's eyes were still closed, but he nodded. “I used to get flashes of him at the lab. Red shirt, green pointy hat, white beard. It's Dunky, all right.” He opened his eyes to look at them. “Dr. Drewsome's house,” he explained. “Dunky's one of the gnomes in his garden. His house is for sale and it's empty—or it was, until Ren decided to live in the closet.”
* * * *
When Dusty came to, he was lying on the floor of the passenger coach. He'd slid off his seat, and people were babbling at him in languages he couldn't understand; waving newspapers at his face to fan him off. “The heat,” he mumbled, by way of explanation. What was harder to explain was the filth and ordure matting his clothing, and the stench of death clinging to his skin.
His nose was bleeding again, too, and his headache, blinding. Someone tried to mop his nose, but withdrew, startled, as Dusty jumped back in terror. Every eyeblink brought a flashback, and in his confused vision, those helpful hands held batons to prod and poke.
In a moment of awareness, he glimpsed again the shocked confusion of his would-be rescuers. He saw something else, too: in their minds, his appearance and stench had already identified him. Drugs, alcohol, insanity. Some had already decided he must have made it aboard by deceit—theft or slyness. A few were checking unobtrusively for wallets and papers.
Someone would think soon to call the police. To report a transient who was clearly out of his mind. Refusing offers of help, in unsanitary condition, and possibly carrying some kind of disease.
Dusty hunched in a corner of the seat, and tried to make himself inconspicuous. He pinched his nose, but kept his eyes open. He was shaking, and he couldn't rid himself of the underlying imagery of cattle cars and misery. He had to fight to keep his breathing deep, and his focus on the signs, the view, the modern trappings. He was terrified of slipping back.
That's all it was: a slip. I let myself relax too much. Got too cocky and sure of myself...
He knew he should be digging around in his rucksack for a change of clothes, but as they slowed, he couldn't take his eyes from the door. He was watching, waiting; ready to spring out and into the light. Out of the fetid air, and away from the dead.
If he delayed, even a moment, it might trap him. Don't want to go back, don't want to go back... He watched, as tensely as any of the others, for that door to open.
When the train stopped at the station, and the doors slid open, Dusty ran. He pushed past the people, in their orderly exit, and dropped out onto the platform. All around him, he could hear grunts, mumbles, and shouts of complaint.
Dusty stumbled away. He looked back only once—and saw the floor of the cattle car, where he'd been lying such a short time before. Emaciated bodies, tangled and torn, littered the straw. They'd been trampled so much, that the guards were having trouble yanking them apart. As he watched, a girl's body was tossed out, into the sunlight.
What she wouldn't have given for that a few hours ago, Dustin thought, his chest throat tight with sorrow. Just a few moments of fresh air...
His eyes were wet as he took a ragged breath, and hurriedly stumbled away.
* * * *
Dr. Drewsome's carpet may have been thick, but it didn't qualify as mattress material. Ren sat up and stretched; experiencing a sudden longing to go to work. Somewhere she could submerge all her thoughts in disciplined effort. It was what she'd done for years.
It had given meaning to her life. During those times when she'd isolated proteins and played with molecular weights and ID'd plant viruses, wayward thoughts couldn't interfere with her productivity. She could function dispassionately, without feeling the effects of someone else's influence.
Because even if the thoughts had filtered in, they had no bearing on the technical demands of her job. It was her most peaceful time, she'd long ago realised. Hours where she could let down her guard, and not let the foreign thoughts worry her. Even with her friends, she had to erect barriers. Otherwise, she sometimes violated their privacy—intruded on their space. If she'd gone with her natural proclivities, she would long since have alienated herself from everyone who mattered to her. Fortunately, an innate sense of right and wrong helped her set limits.
But it meant she could never truly relax.
Until yesterday. It was the first time Ren could ever recall being free like that. For hours, she'd actually had no opinions other than her own. No fences. No barricades. Just that cold feeling of anger that had masqueraded as control.
Or was it a masquerade? If it was a barrier of some kind, it was certainly the most effective one she'd ever had. It was also why she was a little desperate to go to work. After those hours of internal silence, the “noise” factor this morning was nearly overwhelming. She longed for the bliss of independent activity, and sensed it was there, but just beyond her reach.
I just need to figure out how...
Later. It was time to find Merrie—to sort out her cheery pathos from the rest. Merrie, her dear friend with the decisively cheerful framework of happiness-layered fear.
Hm-m, Ren thought. Wherever Merrie might be, it wasn't so far away...
* * * *
Stay on your feet. Don't let them see. Don't let them know. Dustin trudged, one foot in front of the other.
I can do this. He'd only been at it for a few hours. These others? They'd been at it for days, maybe weeks.
Water. I want water. Never in his life had he been this thirsty, without having access to some kind of drink.
The lessons were clear: keep moving if you want to stay alive. There was a dead man behind them, along the route, who could testify.
At other times, in other places, Dusty had been embarrassed—even mortified—by his prat falls and stumbling mistakes because he was out of sync. Now, he had no time to worry about it. He was trudging down a road and people were undoubtedly staring—or averting their eyes, like those surrounding him now. Anything to avoid becoming a part of this. To acknowledge the horror and have to live—or die—with it.
Only, Dusty was a part of it. He didn't fit in, with his different clothes and well-fed frame. He'd always been lanky, but he was positively fat compared with his scarecrow companions. With their spare bodies, just barely fleshed. With their missing teeth and bleeding gums.
Yet, they carried on. The tenacity of the human spirit. He took another step. Then another.
A lesson. If they can do it I can.
This was real. No matter what happened to his wayward body in his own time, some part of his spirit was tenaciously lodged here—and it had taken enough of his physical body with it—
He looked at the machine gun nestled in the guard's arms.
—to ha
ve him killed.
* * * *
“It's daylight,” Josh said. He sat up in the backseat, then proceeded to wipe the moisture off the glass. “Are we outlaws now?”
“Let me sleep,” James demanded. “You couldn't keep your mouth shut all night. Snore, snore, snore. At least keep it shut now—”
“Good thing it kept you awake. Every time you went to sleep the emergency flashers came on...”
“No way.”
“When the rearview mirror wasn't gyrating,” Merrie confirmed. “I don't even want to know what you were dreaming about.”
“I do.” Josh grinned. “The mirror would wiggle slowly at first, then faster, faster, faster—then all of a sudden it would pop up, with a big vibration.”
James was actually blushing. “You can see why I sleep alone,” he muttered.
Merrie grabbed his arm and smiled. “Jamie, if you had someone to enjoy it with—in the flesh—it probably wouldn't be the focus of your dreams.”
“That's right, James. You could be God's gift to women. A Casanova, who could satisfy them in a way no one else could.” Josh sighed. “It's obvious I got the wrong ‘gift'. If I had your talent, I'd be running around, making myself indispensable.”
“Let's go visit Ren,” Merrie suggested. “We can check out the gazebo, too.”
“I'm tired,” James complained. He yawned widely. “Exhausted, actually. All that bouncing stuff across the grass last night.”
“No problem, Jimmy Boy,” Josh assured him. “As soon as we sneak our way in there, we'll ask Ren if you can borrow her closet. If you're going to be watching my back, I want to be sure you're in top form.”
* * * *
Dusty was slammed back, onto the roadway. He lay there, momentarily stunned, and there was shock in the guard's eyes.
That should have done it. A bad tumble had always done it before—had always broken the lock of his concentration, and tumbled him back to his own time.
So he could face the laughter and humiliation in the present.
What's wrong? Dusty knew he'd been hit by something. A car? This wasn't just a tumble; he'd been slammed and tossed.
The guard was signalling him now—using his gun to fill in any gaps their conversation might lack. His meaning was clear, and so were his thoughts. He didn't want to acknowledge what he'd seen, because then he'd be afraid. It didn't suit him to be afraid. Whatever had happened, had obviously been the prisoner's fault.
The man's eyes twitched, and Dusty rolled onto his side. He winced, but made light of it for his glaring guard. It wasn't easy. His gut was on fire nearly as much as his head.
There was an awkward moment, when he tried to get up and couldn't. Dustin guessed that in his own time, there were helpful hands trying to hold him down, and he started to panic. “Thank you,” he muttered, to anyone within range, “but I need to go!” He shook the last of them off, mopped some of the blood off with his sleeve, and pushed himself to his feet.
The guard nodded at him impatiently, and said something in German. Dusty had no idea what it was, but it must have been something like “move out!". As their tattered group trudged forward, several of the other prisoners surrounded him. The guards said nothing when the men held his arms, and offered him support.
Dustin looked at them and felt shame. Compared to them he was like a pampered poodle. He couldn't believe that the worst-off among them should be offering the most pampered help.
* * * *
Ren must have dozed after that. She didn't remember falling back to sleep, but tuning in on Merrie had reassured her. She was curled up, slumbering peacefully, when she awoke to nightmare. Feet stomping on her. Climbing on her and knocking her down. Crushing her until she was drowning, in a sea of other bodies.
Bodies for which hope had expired several days since.
She fought it, but she was packed in too tightly. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe...
Not a nightmare—and not her reality—but Dusty's. She knew it as certainly as she knew that ragged breathing was as much his as hers.
Get him out...there was a sheen of sweat on her skin and the scent of death in her nostrils. If she couldn't rouse him—get him out of that reality and back to his own—he'd die.
They'd both die—because she wasn't about to leave him. Ren concentrated, willing some of her strength into his aching head.
Please, Dusty...
The next moment the train tempo had changed, and there was a nattering of confused voices. She barely had time for relief when a loud sound jarred her into awareness. She jumped back, slamming her head against the wall as another loud knock sounded on the closet door.
The door opened, spilling light into her dark hiding place.
Josh, Merrie and James were looking at her curiously. “Did we miss something?” Josh asked.
Chapter Fourteen
They dawdled over donuts and coffee in the breakfast nook. It had a built-in booth, which made it the only place in the house to sit, other than the floor. Ren sipped the hot coffee gratefully, lifting her face to the warm sun that was streaming through the window. She'd just told them about Dusty, and it had left her feeling chilled.
Josh took another bite of beef jerky. “That's why Valterzar and Erik went after him,” he said knowledgeably. “They were worried something like this might happen.” He waved a piece of jerky in the air. “Anybody want some?”
Ren was distraught. “He's in so much trouble,” she said. “He's having a hard time coming out of it.”
“That's because it's real,” James said solemnly. “I only remember bits and pieces from Mexico, but he's living it. Dusty's there, in Dachau.”
Merrie's eyes were sad. “So much death there. Such intensity of feeling. He can't help but tune into it.”
“Sort of ‘in his face',” Josh commented, chewing loudly. “You watch yourself, Birdbrain,” he told Ren, recalling how she'd almost killed herself at the hospital. “Don't want you pulling any stunts. Erik's gonna be where Dusty is—not here.”
“Besides,” James said, “we've gone to great personal risk to bring you information.”
Merrie grinned. “Bullshit. You enjoyed kicking Dr. Drewsome's ass.”
“Drewsome was knocking around here last night, Mer,” Ren said.
“Probably mad because he'd been trounced,” Josh chewed. “What about this information, Ren?”
She shook her head. “I can't, Josh. Not till I know Dusty's safe. I wouldn't be able to think.”
“Since when has that ever stopped you?” Josh asked.
“Besides, it's technical. Might take me a while to decipher it.”
Jamie's eyes met Josh's. “She never could lie convincingly,” he said.
“She wouldn't have to if you two weren't such buffoons,” Merrie told them.
“Yes, I would,” Ren replied seriously. “It's just that I never figured on having an audience. There are some things you might not want to know.”
“Are these ‘things’ why Smythe scared you?” Jamie asked.
“Yep. I blurted.” She sighed. “OD'd on the ‘atmosphere’ in his office, and started to panic.” She smiled. “You wouldn't believe it, but he was actually scared of me when I walked in.”
“Things to hide,” Josh said.
“Probably. By the time I left, I'd guessed his password to his files, told him as much—and he'd decided to turn me over to someone else.”
“Boy,” Josh commented, “when you botch up, you don't fool around.”
Merrie was looking at her. She knew her well enough to guess that Ren was still hiding something. “The password thing wasn't the worst of it, was it?”
“Are you telepathic now, too?” James asked. “I wouldn't try to be, if I were you. You have enough problems keeping track of your own thoughts.”
“You don't want to know, so don't ask. Just let it drop.”
“Hm-m. Sounds exciting. Give,” Josh said. “Reward for digging you out of your closet.”
Ren
nodded. Josh would nag her, James would skulk, and Merrie would tease her if she didn't. “The way we come together on things,” Ren whispered, avoiding their eyes. “The way we've always been called a ‘Cluster'. There are some types of fungi—actually slime moulds—that can act independently, but at a chemical signal come together, to function as a unit. It started me thinking. I asked Smythe whether the gene therapy we'd been given...” Her voice tapered off.
“Whether it was human?” Merrie asked, her eyes huge.
Josh shrugged. “That's okay for James,” he said. “The slime mould part, anyway. What about the rest of us?” he asked.
Ren relaxed a little, and took Merrie's hand, to give it a squeeze. She glanced at Jamie, to see how he was taking it. “You okay, Jamie?” she asked.
“Just thinking,” he said. “Remember that time Dusty and I found that fungicide in the lab?”
Ren nodded. “The Benlate.”
“All we did was open it up and look at the stuff, but—”
“—you both nearly died!” Josh exclaimed.
“You don't have to sound so excited about it,” James told him.
Merrie sighed. “Sounds like Dr. Drewsome was the slimeball.”
“Penicillin comes from fungi, and they've been using it for years to help people,” Ren offered helpfully.
“Big difference between ingesting a fungus, and being a fungus, Ren,” James said.
“Yeah,” Josh agreed. “Gives the term ‘relative’ a whole new meaning.”
* * * *
Zar clicked “End” and looked at Erik. He was frowning. “We've got trouble,” he said.
“You're telling me. They don't have any Perrier left.” They were making a quick lunch stop before boarding the train.
Zar knew he was joking, but he wasn't in the mood. “Merrie's not answering her cellphone. Neither are the others.”
Erik shrugged. “Try Ren's work.”
“I did. She didn't show up for work today.”
For the first time, Erik looked concerned. “Josh? Jamie?”
“Both absent without leave.”
“Go back,” Erik said. “I'll catch up with Dusty.”
“What if it's like last time? And you can't stop it?”
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