Clay's Ark (10 page)

good people." Yet it was inevitable that some of them would die.

The daughter Meda was doing her best to add to his burdens by seducing him. She had no subtlety, did not attempt any.

"I'd like to sleep with you," she told him when she got her courage up. He had known since he met her that she wanted

to sleep with someone, and would settle for him. He fended her off gently.

"Girl, what are you trying to do? Get yourself in trouble and get me shot? Your people have been good to me."

"They wouldn't," she said, "if I told them who you are. They think heaven is only for God and his chosen."

He became serious. "Don't play games with me, Meda. I like your honesty and I like you, but don't threaten me."

She grinned. "You know I wouldn't tell."

"I know."

"And if I can keep one secret, I can keep two." She touched his face. "I'm not going to let you alone."

Her touch produced an interesting tingle. She was coming into her time. He had apparently arrived just after her time of

fertility the month before. That had been a blessing. He had been able to avoid the other two young women, but Meda

would not let him avoid her. Now, she had no idea the trouble she was courting. She probably imagined a romantic

interlude. She did not imagine being thrown on the rocky ground and hurt-inevitably hurt.

"No," he said, pushing her away. She was still smiling when he turned from her and began hammering in siding nails.

She watched for a while, and he discovered he enjoyed the attention. He had not believed women outside the crew

would want to look at him with his body so changed. Meda was trouble, but he was sorry when she decided to leave.

She looked as though she had lost a little weight, he noticed.

As she walked away, her brother Christian came out of the main house and stopped her. They were too far from Eli to

worry about his hearing them, but he heard every word.

"That guy been talking to you, Mead?" Christian demanded. Eli could not recall having heard Christian refer to him as

"that guy" before. For Christian this was damned unfriendly.

"Sure he has," Meda said. "I came out here to talk to him. Why shouldn't he talk to me?" Blast her honesty!

"What'd you say to him?"

"What did you do this morning, Chris? Look in the mirror and mistake yourself for Dad?"

"What did he say to you?"

Eli looked at them and saw even over the distance that she smiled sadly. "Relax," she told her brother. "He said no. He

said the family had been good to him and he didn't want trouble."

Christian gave an oddly brittle laugh. "Anybody who recognizes you as trouble has the right idea," he said. "If that guy

were white, I'd tell you to marry him."

Meda watched her brother with visibly growing confusion. Living in the house, Eli had heard enough to know Christian

was her favorite brother. They had shared secrets since childhood. Christian knew how tired she was of being an

isolated virgin, and she knew how nervous he was about becoming a father. Right now, she knew there was something

wrong with him.

"Did you break down and buy some perfume?" he asked. "You smell good."

Eli put down his hammer and stood up. It was beginning. Meda had bathed and she smelled of soap, but she was not

wearing perfume. She was simply coming into her time. If she and her brothers lived, they would have to learn to avoid

each other at these times. Now, however, Eli might have to help them. He stood still, waiting to see whether Christian

could control himself. He realized Meda might not be as much in control as she should be either. He would not let them

commit incest. They would be losing enough of their humanity shortly.

Eli jumped down from the floor of the house and started toward them. At that moment, Christian reached up and

touched Meda's face with one trembling hand. Then, with a strange, whining cry, he folded slowly to the ground, out

cold.

PRESENT 10

When Eli and Keira were gone, Blake opened his bag and turned it on again. He punched in his identity code, then the

words "TIMED SLEEP" and the number three. He hit the deliver button. Moments later, he had a capsule that would

put him to sleep for three hours and let him awake fully alert. Next he ordered a much less precise dosage for Meda.

This he ordered in injectable form-a sleep tab.

He placed Meda's dosage under the pillow he intended to use, then turned off the bag and closed it. He stripped to his

shorts, and got into bed. Remembering Keira, he doubted that he could have slept at all without the capsule. And he had

to sleep. If he did not, Meda would look at him and realize he was up to something. She might even figure out what it

was. He did not underestimate her any longer.

He thought he heard her come in before he dozed off, thought she called his name. He may have muttered something

before the drug took full effect.

He awakened on time, clearheaded, aware of what he must do. The room was full of moonlight and Meda lay snoring

softly beside him. It amused him that she snored. It seemed utterly right that she should.

He was surprised to find himself feeling sorry for her as he eased the sleep tab from beneath his pillow and pressed it to

her thin, bare right arm. She repelled him, but she was not responsible for what she had become.

There was no pain involved, but at his touch, she jumped, came awake, found him leaning over her.

"What did you do?" she demanded, fully alert.

He touched her hair, thinking he would have to hit her again, not wanting to hit her, not wanting to hurt her at all.

Perhaps that was what she saw in his expression-if she could see him well enough to read his expression. She smiled

uncertainly, turned her face to meet his caressing hand.

Then the smile vanished. "Oh God," she said. "What have you done?" She reached for him, but her hands had no

strength. She tried to get up and almost slid out of bed. Finally the drug stopped her. She moaned and slipped into

unconsciousness.

Blake stared at her, feeling irrationally guilty. He straightened her body, placed her in a more comfortable-looking

position, and covered her. She would awaken in three or four hours.

He dressed, looked around the room, noticed at once that his bag was gone. He looked through the closet and in the

bathroom, searched the bedroom, but the bag was not to be found. Finally, desperately, he forgot the bag and began

searching for the key that would let him out of the room. Since he already knew where it was not, he began by

searching the one place he had ignored: the bed and Meda herself. He found it on a chain around her neck. It hung

down inside her gown where he could not have touched it normally without awakening her.

Seconds later, he let himself out of the room. Feeling his way carefully, silently, he reached the front door. He

wondered just before he let himself out whether these people posted a watch. If they did, he was probably finished. He

hoped they had enough confidence in their ability to handle their prisoners not to bother with guards.

He slipped out and closed the door behind him. From where he stood on the porch, he could see no one. Things looked

confusingly different in the moonlight. For several seconds, he could not find the car. It had been moved. He feared it

had been hidden and he would have to risk stealing another. Then he saw it in the distance near one of the outhouses.

Getting it started without his key would be no problem if he had time to disconnect the trap-alarm system. The alarm

itself was sound and indelible dye sprayed over any would-be thief. If the thief persisted, he was sprayed with a nausea

gas. The gas was utterly disabling whether it was breathed or merely came in contact with the skin. A car -even a fuelgulper like this one-was a prestige item. The automobile age had peaked and passed. People who drove cars or rode

motorcycles now were either professional drivers, the rich, law-enforcement people, or parasites. The pros, the rich,

and the police usually went to even greater, deadlier lengths than Blake had to protect their vehicles.

Hugging the shadows, Blake worked his way toward his car. He had reached it and used his own special catch to get

past the hood lock when someone spoke to him.

"You don't have to do that. I have the keys."

He turned sharply, found himself facing Keira. Solemnly, she handed him his keys. He stared at them.

"I took them," she said. She shrugged. "Now you won't have to worry about touching me."

"You exposed yourself just to get the keys?" he demanded.

"No." She was in shadow. He could not see her well enough to be certain of her expression, but she sounded odd. He

took the keys and her hand, held both for a moment, then hugged her tightly, probably painfully, though she did not

complain. Then he held her by her shoulders and spoke what he strongly suspected was nonsense. "Meda says the

disease is transmitted by inoculation, not contact. Don't touch your mouth or scratch your skin until you wash."

She did not seem to hear. "I hit him, Dad."

"Good. Get in the car."

"He had some books-made of paper, I mean-and an old bookend in the shape of an elephant. It was made of cast iron."

"Get in, Kerry!"

"I didn't want to hurt him. I didn't think I could hit him hard enough to do any real harm." She got in through the door

he had opened.

He started to close the door, then instead squatted beside her. "Kerry, did you hear anything about Rane? Do you know

where she is?"

"With Ingraham and Lupe. I don't know which house they're in."

She did not know. And how many people would he wake up if he tried to find out? One would be enough to recapture

him. He had not even been bright enough to get himself another knife -not that the first one had done him any good.

What he needed was a gun.

"Daddy, I heard something," Keira said.

He froze, listened, heard it himself-someone moving around carelessly in the house nearest to him. It may have been

just someone going to the bathroom, but it frightened him. He rounded the car in a few long steps, got in, and heedless

of noise, started the engine. At that moment, someone opened the door of the house from which the noise had come. It

was a man, a stranger, who actually managed to catch the car as Blake swung it around toward the rocky trail that led

down from the ranch. The stranger tried to tear Blake's door open as Ingraham had earlier. But with the car moving and

his body inadequately braced, he failed to break the lock. He was dragged several yards as Blake picked up speed. As a

final gesture, he managed to release his hold with one hand, raise his fist, and smash it into the window beside Blake's

head. Like the lock, the glass held. It broke, cracks raying outward in all directions from the impact of the blow, but it

did not shatter. Its breaking amazed Blake. The glass was special, expected to stop bullets with less damage. Blake

realized again how powerful these people were. If they caught him, they could literally tear him limb from limb.