Zelazny, Roger - Novel 07 (8 page)

 
          
 
"Done," he said. "I will
personally talk with them at whatever office gets involved. You can listen to
what I say. Fair enough?"

 
          
 
Lydia
looked at Vicki.

 
          
 
Go ahead, Vicki indicated.

 
          
 
"All right,"
Lydia
began. "He is in
Colorado
. . ."

 
          
 
It was still dark when I awoke. I was very
thirsty, and my shoulder was throbbing. It took me several moments to recall
what had happened. I leaned forward then and located the water bottle. I rubbed
my eyes, ran my hands through my hair, took another drink.

 
          
 
I pushed the curtain aside and looked out the
window. Rocks, fenceposts, sandy soil…

 
          
 
I checked my watch:
4:35
.

 
          
 
“Would you pull over somewhere?" I called
out "My bladder's busting."

 
          
 
He stopped and let me out. I went over to the
ditch.

 
          
 
"How much longer till the next
switchpoint?" I asked him.

 
          
 
"Half an hour. Maybe less. We're supposed
to meet around five."

 
          
 
I grunted.

 
          
 
"How are you holding up?" he asked.

 
          
 
"I'll be okay," I said. "Any
trouble while I was sleeping?"

 
          
 
"No trouble. Nothing new on the news
either."

 
          
 
I climbed back inside.

 
          
 
It was chilly, so I sat with the blanket
around my shoulders. I took a drink of the bourbon. It would seem that we had
to be free of pursuit after all this time. I ran my hand over my chin. I would
stop shaving, I decided, grow a beard. Let my hair get longer, too. Lay up till
the shoulder was better, then get some simple job. Stay at it three, four
months ... Drift west
Seattle
,
Portland
...

 
          
 
I felt the bump in the mattress. Did I want to
take the pistol with me? Trouble to be found with it. Good to have, though. I
considered concealing it in the sling. Good place for it. Probably ought to
keep it till I recovered. Ditch it then. Wish they had picked a smaller piece,
though.

 
          
 
I withdrew the weapon, tried it in different
positions in the sling. It was least apparent toward the back. Snug enough.
Easy to reach. Almost a shame to pass up such a neat means of concealment.

 
          
 
I removed it and returned it to the place
beneath the mattress. Something to think about, anyway...

 
          
 
Still chilled. I took a long pull at the
bottle. Better, that. Better than aspirin. No reason not to be a little high.

 
          
 
After a time, we slowed, turned off the road
and ground along a rocky surface. Moments later, we halted and he came around
and opened the back.

 
          
 
"Okay, we're here," he told me.

 
          
 
"Where's here?"

 
          
 
"
McKinley
,
Wyoming
."

 
          
 
I whistled.

 
          
 
"We've come a good distance."

 
          
 
He gave me his hand, helped me down. Then he
climbed inside. He gathered the blanket, the pillow, the water bottle, the
fifth, placing them within easy reach on the floor behind him. He groped
beneath the mattress and drew out the pistol. He glanced at me, glanced at the
weapon, then back at me.

 
          
 
"You taking this, too?"

 
          
 
"Why not?" I said, and I accepted
the piece and thrust it into my sling.

 
          
 
A glister of sleekshifting starlight, low, to
my right ...

 
          
 
"What lake is that?"

 
          
 
"Glendo Reservoir."

 
          
 
He stepped down, turned, picked up the stuff.

 
          
 
He rounded the van and I followed him,
becoming aware of a parked vehicle beneath some trees, perhaps a hundred feet
away. The damp air was still, the night empty of sound except for that of our
own progress. As we neared, I saw that it was a long green sedan. The driver
sat smoking, watching us approach. I greeted him, did not recognize him. No
names were exchanged.

 
          
 
My driver nodded to him, loaded my things into
the back, clasped my good shoulder.

 
          
 
"Good luck," he said.

 
          
 
"Thanks."

 
          
 
I got in, made myself comfortable.

 
          
 
"How are you holding up?" said the
new driver.

 
          
 
"Pretty well. Considering."

 
          
 
I heard the engine chuckle and whisper. An
arc, a spatter of fire as the driver disposed of his weed. The headlights came
on. We moved forward.

 
          
 
A little later the driver said, "It's in
all the news. What was it like?"

 
          
 
"It's mostly waiting," I said.
"Doing it just takes a few seconds. A mechanical action. Then you are
thinking about getting away."

 
          
 
Those few seconds went through my mind again.
I saw them fall. I had already made the mark. I wiped the weapon and leaned
it... so. Then I was crouched, running. I heard the noises behind me, below.
The shot ... my shoulder ... I had left blood. They had probably typed it by
now.

 
          
 
"Nothing special," I said.
"It's all over."

 
          
 
"McCormack is still hanging on, last I
heard."

 
          
 
"It doesn't matter. The gesture is
enough. Hope he makes it."

 
          
 
"Him?"

 
          
 
"A lot of people have learned something.
That's enough. I want to stop thinking about it now."

 
          
 
"You think it will really do some
good?"

 
          
 
"Who can say? I hope so. I tried."

 
          
 
"It might take a few more incidents like
this to really get the point across."

 
          
 
"Incidents, hell! It was a killing.
Someone else can do the next one, if it's got to be. I'm retired."

 
          
 
"You deserve a rest."

 
          
 
My shoulder was throbbing again. I opened the
bottle.

 
          
 
"Want a drink?"

 
          
 
"Yeah, thanks."

 
          
 
He took it, took a slug, passed it back.

 
          
 
I thought of the waiting, of the image of the
Earth in my mind and how I hoped I had changed it ... I looked out the window
at the shadow shapes of rock and scrub, plain and hill. I wished for a little
rain, to rinse things over, for some wind, to blow them dry and clean. But the
land lay still and rugged. So be it. I may dislike it this way, yet it pleases
me also that the grasses are dry and the animals in their burrows. The pleasure
and the pride of humanity are best enjoyed against the heedlessness, the
slumbering power of the Earth. Even when it moves to crush, it adds something.
To isolate oneself too much from it detracts from both our achievements and our
failures. We must feel the forces we live with....

 
          
 
I opened the window and breathed deeply.

 
          
 
Yes. The world was still breathing life into
my lungs, and I was grateful to give it back...

 
          
 
"I really do not like keeping him awake
this long,"
Lydia
said, staring down at her empty coffee cup.

 
          
 
Robertson clamped his jaws, loosened them.

 
          
 
"I don't think it will be too much
longer," he said, "now that the office in
Casper
has been alerted. He may make it out of
Wyoming
before they reach him, though. But with the
Rapid City
people heading out, too, a flier should
reach him before he is too far into
South Dakota
. A green vehicle heading east at this hour
... Shouldn't be too hard to spot. Another half-hour, I'd say."

 
          
 
Lydia
glanced over at Vicki, asleep on the sofa.

 
          
 
"Care for some more coffee?" she
asked Robertson*

 
          
 
"All right."

 
          
 
As she poured, he asked her, "Dennis'
condition ... Isn't it rather unusual for a telepath to be able to operate at
this distance? Leishman is well over five hundred miles from here."

 
          
 
"Yes, it is,"
Lydia
said.

 
          
 
"How does he do it?"

 
          
 
She smiled.

 
          
 
"We are not even certain why it works at
any distance," she said. "But you are correct about the range. It is
unprecedented to sustain contact for this long at this distance."

 
          
 
Robertson drained his cup.

 
          
 
"Then Dennis has never gone out this far
before— even for short periods?"

 
          
 
"No. Frankly, I had thought we would just
be giving you a lead, and that Dennis would have lost contact long before
this."

 
          
 
"It must be hard on the kid. I am
sorry."