Clay's Ark (15 page)

"You can get a disease from drinking raw milk," Rane said.

"We know that. We're careful-although we're not sure we have to be. We don't seem to get other diseases once we have

this one."

"It's not worth it!"

He looked surprised at her vehemence. "Rane, you'll be all right. Young women don't have anything to worry about. It's

older women and all men who take the risk."

"So I've heard. That means my father could die. And, young or not, my sister will probably die sooner than she would

have without you people. And me. What do I do if I live? Give birth to one little animal after another?"

He turned her around so that she faced him. "Our children are not animals!" he said. "We are not interested in hearing

them called animals."

She pulled free of him, not at all surprised that he let her. "I never cared much for the idea of aborting children," she

said, "but if I thought for a moment that I was carrying another Jacob, I'd be willing to abort it with an old wire coat

hanger!"

She had managed to horrify him-which was what she had intended. She was completely serious, and he, of all people,

had to know it.

"You know they planned to give you to me," he said softly.

"I suspected. So I wanted you to know how I felt."

"Your feelings will change. Ours did. The disease changes you."

"Makes you like having four-legged kids?"

"Makes you like having kids. Makes you need to have them. And when they come, you love them. I wonder . . . What's

the chemical composition of love? Human babies are ugly even when they're normal, but we love them. If we didn't the

species would die. Our babies here-well, if we didn't love them, if we weren't damned protective of them, the Clay's

Ark organism on Earth would die. It isn't intelligent, but, Cod, is it ever built to survive."

"I won't change," Rane said.

He smiled and shook his head. "You're a strong girl, but you don't know what you're talking about." He paused. "You

don't have to come to me until you want to. We're not rapists here. And you . . . Well, you're interesting right now, but

not as interesting as you will be."

"What are you talking about?"

He put his arm around her. She was surprised that the gesture did not offend her. "You'll find out eventually. For now,

it doesn't matter."

They walked away from the heifer and she mooed after them.

"Cows don't seem to get the disease," he commented. "Dogs get it and it kills them. It kills all the types of cold-blooded

things that have bitten us-snakes, scorpions, insects . . . There may not be anything on Earth that can penetrate our flesh

and come away unchanged. Except our own kind, of course. I can't prove it, but I'll bet those cows are carriers."

"The scope attachment of my father's bag could probably tell you that," Rane said. "Though he may not be in any mood

to use it."

"I can use it," he said.

She looked at his face, lineless in spite of his thinness. He was the youngest person she had seen so far-in his early

twenties, perhaps, or his late teens. "You were in school before, weren't you," she guessed.

He nodded. "College. Music major. I got a little sidetracked taking biology and chemistry classes, though."

"What were you going to be?"

"A concert violinist. I've been playing since I was four."

"And now you're willing to give it all up and move back to the twentieth century?"

He stopped at a large wooden bin, opened it, and watched as a couple of dozen chickens came running and gathered

around, clucking. He opened one of the six large metal barrels, took out a handful of cracked corn, and threw it to them.

This was clearly what they were waiting for. They began pecking up the corn quickly before the newcomers who came

in from every direction could take it from them. Stephen threw a little more of the corn, then closed the bin.

"It's almost sunset," he said. "You'd think they'd be too busy deciding where they were going to roost to watch the bin."

"Don't you care that you're never going to be a musician?" she demanded.

He looked down at his hands, rubbed them together. "Yes."

His voice had dropped low into his own private pain. She stood silent, feeling awkward, for once not knowing what to

say. Then he looked up at her, smiled faintly. "It was an old passion," he said. "I haven't touched a violin for months. I

didn't know what that would be like."

"What is it like?" she asked.

He began to walk so that she almost missed his answer. "An amputation," he whispered.

She walked with him, let him lead her out to the garden, passing the Wagoneer on the way. The sight of it jarred her,

reminded her that she should be watching for a way of escape.

"Did you ever see food growing?" he asked, bending to turn a deep green watermelon over and look at its yellow

bottom. "Ripe," he commented. "You wouldn't believe how sweet they are." He was distracting. He moved from one

subject to another, drawing her with him, keeping her emotionally involved in whatever he chose.

"I don't care about food growing," she said. "Listen, Stephen, my father is a good doctor. Let him examine you-maybe

the disease can be cured. If he can't help you himself, he'll know who can."

"We don't leave the ranch," he said, "except to bring in supplies and converts."

"You'll never be a violinist here!"

"I'll never be a violinist," he said. "Don't you think I know that?" He never raised his voice. His expression changed

only slightly. But she felt as though he had shouted at her. She watched him with fascination.

"Why?" she asked. "What's holding you here?"

"I belong here. These are my people now."

"Why? Because they gave you a disease?"

"Yes."

"That doesn't make sense!" she said angrily.

"It will."

His apparent passivity infuriated her. "You were probably nothing as a violinist. You probably didn't have anything to

lose. That's why you don't care!"

His face froze over. "If you want to get rid of me," he said, "go on saying things like that."

In that moment, she realized she did not want to get rid of him. He seemed human and the others did not. Just a few

minutes with him had made her want to cling to him and avoid the stick people and animal children who were her

alternative. But she would not cling to him. She would not cling to anyone.

"I don't care what you do," she said. "I don't understand why anyone would want to stay here, and you haven't said

anything to help me understand."

"Nothing I say would really help." He sighed. "When your symptoms start, you'll understand. That's all. But try this. I

was married. My wife played the piano-played it maybe better than I played the violin. We had a son who was only a

year old when I saw him last. If I stay here, my wife can go on playing the piano. The world will go on being a place

where people have time for music and beauty. My son can grow up and do whatever he wants to. My parents have

some money. They'll see that he has his chance. But if I try to turn myself in, I know I'll lose control and spread the

disease. I would begin the process of turning the world into a place with no time for anything but survival. In the end,

Jacob and his kind would inherit everything. My son . . . might never live to be a man."

She was silent for several seconds when he finished. She found herself wanting to say something comforting, and that

was insane. "You've sacrificed my family to spare yours," she said bitterly.

He pulled an ear of corn from its stalk, husked it, and began eating it raw. He tore at it like an animal, not looking at

her.

"Someone sacrificed you, too," she said finally. "I know that. But Jesus, isn't it time to break the chain? You and I

could get away together. We could get help."

"You haven't heard me," he said. "I knew you wouldn't. Listen! We're infectious for as much as two weeks before we

start to show symptoms-except for people like you who won't have two weeks between infection and symptoms. How

many people do you think the average person could infect in two weeks of city life? How many could his victims

infect?-and with an extraterrestrial organism. There's no cure, Rane, and by the time one is found-if one can be found-it

will probably be too late. It isn't only my family I'm protecting. It's everyone. It's the future. As Eli told me, the

organism is a damned efficient invader."

"I don't believe you!"

"I know. Nobody believes it at first. I didn't."

Rane walked away from him as he picked a tomato and began to eat. He never washed anything. Ate them just as they

grew out of the dirt. Rane had never seen food growing this way before, but it did not impress her. She wondered

whether they fertilized it with the contents of the outhouse and the animal pens. It was just the sort of filthy

anachronistic thing they might do.

She climbed some rocks-huge, rough rounded mounds of granite-and stood on top, staring down. To her surprise, she

saw the road winding below. Then Stephen was beside her. She started violently to find him there in a space that had

been empty a second before. He must have leaped up, almost the way Jacob would leap.

"We can all jump," he said. "We can run pretty fast, too. You should remember that."

"I wasn't trying to get away."

"Not yet. But remember anyway." He paused. "Do you know how they caught me seven months ago?"

"You've only been here seven months?"

"I drove right into their settlement," he said. "I'd gone to see my folks in Albuquerque and on my way home, I decided

to do some exploring. I discovered a mountain road that wasn't on my maps, and thought I'd find out where it led. I

found out."

"Why were you driving?" Rane asked. "You should have flown."

"I loved to drive. It was a kind of hobby. I'll bet your father has the same affliction."

"Yeah. He has a Porsche and a Mercedes at home. He won't even drive them outside the enclave."

"A Porsche? You're kidding. What year?"

She looked at him, saw excitement on his face for the first time and laughed. Something familiar at last. Car craziness.

"1982 Porsche 930 Turbo. My mother used to call it his other wife. My sister and I figured it was his other kid."

He laughed, too, then sobered. "It's getting dark, Rane. We should go in."

She did not want to go in-back to Lupe and Ingraham. Back to hands that made her cringe. Stephen's hands did not

make her cringe any longer.

"I don't have a house, yet," he said. "I have a room in Meda's house."

She could not look at him now. She had never slept with a man. The thought of doing so now with a stranger-even a

likable stranger confused and frightened her. The thought of conceiving a child in this place-if you could call them

children-terrified her.

"Back to Lupe, then," he said. He put his arm around her, and startled her by snatching her up and jumping off the

rocks. They landed safe and unhurt amid stalks of corn. She thought she weighed at least as much as he did, but her