Clay's Ark (21 page)

"Damn!" Blake grunted as the car bounced into and out of a hole. "I'm going to turn off as soon as I get the chance."

"We could wind up going twice as far as necessary," Rane said.

"Take another look behind you," Blake told her.

Both girls looked. Keira gasped when she saw how much closer the pursuers were.

"Watch for a turnoff," Blake said. "Any turnoff. I need a road I can see."

Keira leaned back in her seat, eyes closed. "Dad, Ninety-five has 'travel at your own risk' signs all over it."

He glanced at her. She knew what she was saying could not matter, but she had had to say it.

" 'High crime area,' " Rane read over Keira's shoulder. "It's a sewer! I didn't know they existed in the desert."

Blake said nothing. He had treated patients from city sewers -people so mutilated they no longer looked human, would

never look human again in spite of twenty-first-century medicine. What the rat packs did to each other and to

unprotected city-dwellers was not something he wanted to expose his daughters to. They knew about it, of course. The

small armies of police who guarded enclaves kept out intruders, but they could not keep out information. Still, for

sixteen years, he had managed to shield his daughters from the contents of sewers and cesspools. Now he was taking

them into a sewer.

The turnoff they had been hoping for materialized suddenly out of the night, marked only by a dead Joshua tree. Blake

turned. The new road was better-smooth, graded, straight. He increased his speed, slowly pulling away from the

pursuers. The Wagoneer could travel. With it's modified engine it was much faster now than it had been when it was

made-as long as it was not running a half-seen obstacle course.

Just over six miles later, the second dirt road ran into a paved highway-U.S. 95. They had gone from north to northeast.

Now they were headed north again on a road that would take them to Needles-to safety.

Abruptly there were headlights directly in front of them- two cars coming toward them on the wrong side of the

highway. Two cars that clearly did not intend to let him pass.

Reacting without thinking, Blake swung right. To his amazement, he discovered he was turning onto a road he had not

noticed-another paved surface that headed him back almost in the direction from which he had come. Back toward the

ranch.

He was being herded, Blake realized. They were on the eastern side, the wrong side of 95 now, but it had not taken

much to force him to turn the first time. He could be turned again, made to recross the highway. All his effort so far

could be for nothing.

How had Eli's people gotten ahead of him?

He switched out the lights and turned off the road onto a dry wash. At almost the same moment, Keira shut off the

glowing screen of the map. Now, let Eli's people prove how well they could see in the dark. Nothing, nothing would

force Blake back to the ranch-force him out of the profession of healing and into a life of spreading disease. Nothing!

Lights.

A dirt road, smooth and level, cut across the wash just ahead.

And along that road came a car. Only one. It could be a coincidence-some rancher going home, some hermit, a

fragment of a car family, even lost tourists. But Blake was in no mood to take chances with anyone.

He turned onto the dirt road toward the oncoming car. Abruptly, he switched on his lights and accelerated.

The other car braked, skidded through the dust, swerved off the road into a thick, ancient creosote bush.

Blake sped on, knowing the dirt road must lead back to 95. He switched out his lights again, praying.

"That was a van," Rane said. "Eli's people have cars and trucks, but I didn't see any vans."

"You think they let us see everything?" Keira asked.

"I don't think that van was one of Eli's."

"I don't care whose it was," Blake said tightly. "I'm not stopping until I reach either a hospital or the police. We're not

giving this damned disease to anyone else!"

"When Eli comes," Keira said softly, "it will be to kill us, recapture us, or die trying. He won't be frightened into a ditch

by lights."

Blake glanced at her. He could hear certainty and fear in her voice. For once, he realized, he agreed with her. Eli and

his people would do absolutely anything to prevent the destruction of their way of life. He could understand that. The

life they had at their nearly self-sufficient desert enclave was better than what most people had these days. But there

was the disease-no, call it what it was, the invasion. And that had to be stopped at any cost.

He remembered the thing running alongside his car on all fours. Running like an animal, a cat. Jacob. It was possible if

this insanity spread, it was possible that he could have grandchildren who looked like Jacob. Things. Christ!

The highway was ahead, down a slope. It looked empty and safe. Blake felt if he could reach it, he would have a

chance.

He accelerated, swung onto the highway, headed north again.

"We've made it!" Rane shouted.

Keira looked around. "Someone's back there. I can see them."

"Sewage. I don't see any-"

Lights again. Lights behind them, then abruptly, lights in front.

Blake was not aware of making the choice not to slow down. Apparently that choice had been made before, once and

for all. He thought he saw a human shape leap from one of the cars, but the car kept coming. At the last instant, Blake

tried to swerve up the slope and around. He did not quite make it. The front left corner of the Wagoneer hit the other

car and Blake's head hit the steering wheel.

There was nothing else.

PAST 21

Zeriam made it.

He almost failed, almost survived. He had done a thorough job on his neck, but it was half-healed when Meda found

him dead. The front of his throat was gaping, but the sides were merely bloody and scarred.

Meda brought Eli to him. When Eli was able to think past shock, past sadness, past the terrible knowledge that Zeriam

would eventually have to be replaced, he examined the man's neck.

"I wouldn't have made it," he said.

"Made what?" Meda asked.

"I wouldn't have died-even if I had managed to cut my throat. I'd heal all the way."

"From a cut throat without a doctor? I don't believe you."

"I was in a couple of dominance fights aboard ship." He paused, remembering, shuddered inwardly. "The first time, I

was stabbed through the heart twice. I healed. The second time, I was beaten literally to a pulp with a chunk of metal. I

healed. Barely a scar. It takes a lot to kill us."

She helped him clean up the blood. It was she who found the letters. They were sealed in envelopes and marked "To

Lorene" and "To my son."

Meda stared at them for several seconds, then looked toward the bedrooms. "I'm going to wake Lorene," she said.

He caught her shoulder. "I'll do it."

She looked down and away from Zeriam. He felt her tremble and knew she was crying. She never liked him to see her

when she cried. She thought it made her look ugly and weak. He thought it made her look humanly vulnerable. She

reminded him that they were still humanly vulnerable in some ways.

For once, she let him hold her, comfort her. He took her out of the kitchen, back to their room and stayed with her for a

few minutes.

"Go," she said finally. "Talk to Lorene. God, how is she going to stand this a second time?"

He did not know, did not really want to find out, but he got up to go.

"Eli?"

He looked back at her, almost went back to her; she looked so uncharacteristically childlike, so frightened. He did not

understand why she was afraid.

"No, go," she said. "But . . . take care of yourself. I mean ... no matter how strong you think this thing has made you, no

matter what's happened to you . . . before, don't do anything careless or dumb. Don't . . ."

Don't die, she meant. She rubbed her stomach, looked at him. Don't die.

PRESENT 22

Blake regained consciousness in darkness.

He lay still, realizing that he was no longer in his car. He was lying on something flat and hard-a carpeted floor, he

thought after a moment. His head ached-seemed to pulsate with pain. And he was cold.

His discomfort kept him from realizing immediately that his hands and feet were bound. Even when he tried to rub his

head and discovered he had to move both arms, he did not understand why at once. He thought there was something

more wrong with his body. When, finally, he understood, he struggled, tried to free himself, tried to stand up. He

managed only to writhe around and sit up.

"Is anyone here?" he said.

There was no answer.

He squinted, trying to penetrate the darkness, fearing that he might be blind. He remembered hitting his head as he

sheared into the oncoming car. He probably had a concussion. And what else?

Finally, dizzily, he managed to turn around, see dim light outlining draperies. He could still see, then.

"Thank God," he muttered.

"Dad?"

He started. "Rane?" he said. "Is that you?"

"It's me." She sounded half awake. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he lied. "Where the hell are we?"

"A ranch house. Another ranch house."

"Another . . . ?"

"It wasn't Eli's people, Dad. I mean, they were chasing us, too, but they didn't catch us. A car gang caught us."

That took a moment to sink in. "Oh God."

"They think they can get a ransom for us. I made them look at your identification. Meanwhile, they've been exposed to

the disease."

"If there was no break in their skins-"

"There was. I scratched one myself. He tore my shirt open and I tore some skin off his arm."

That shook Blake from one kind of misery to another. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. A few bruises, that's all. Before anyone could rape me, they decided I might be worth more . . . intact."

"And Keira?"

"They let her alone too. She's right here. She was awake for a while-said she felt awful. Said she'd left all her medicine

at Eli's."

"Is she tied?"

"We both are."

He tried to see them, thought he could see Rane sitting up.

"Shall I wake Keira?"

"Let her sleep. That's the only medicine she has left now. How long was I unconscious?"

"Since last night. But you weren't always unconscious. Every now and then you'd mumble and move around. And you

threw up. They made me clean it with my hands still tied."

Concussion. And he had lost a day. He had also lost his freedom again. Worst of all, he had spread the disease. He had

failed at all he had attempted. All. . . .

"There's going to be an epidemic," Rane whispered.

Blake inched over toward her, groped for her.