Clay's Ark (24 page)

particularly involved in her causes. He did not believe there was anything he could do to keep the country, the world

from flushing itself down the toilet. He meant to take care of his own and do what he could for the others, but he had

few illusions.

Still, he could not keep away from her. She was an earlier, happier compulsion. He let her preach at him because he

was afraid if he did not, she would find someone else with open ears. He knew her family did not like her interest in

him. They were people who had worked themselves out of one of the worst cesspools in the southland. They had

nurtured Jorah's social conscience too long to let it fall victim to a white man who had never suffered a day in his life

and who thought social causes were passe.

He married her anyway, had two daughters with her, even acquired something of a social conscience through her.

Eventually, he began putting in time at one of the cesspool hospitals. It was like trying to empty the Pacific with a

spoon, but he kept at it-as she kept at her teaching until a young sewer slug blew away most of the back of her head

with a new submachine gun. The slug was thirteen years old. He did not know Jorah. He had just stolen the gun and

wanted to try it out. Jorah was handy.

Why had Blake dreamed of her, then recalled her so vividly? And what did she have to do with his driving Rane and

Keira away?

"Are they really your kids?"

He jumped, looked around, was surprised to see that Petra was still there.

"The two girls. Are they your kids?"

"Of course."

"Shit, I felt sorry for them. You were calling them sluts and whores and slugs and sewage-everything you could think

of. One of them was crying."

"But . . . why would I do that?"

"You asking me? Hell, who knows? You hit your head pretty hard against the steering wheel. Maybe you just went

crazy for a while."

"But. . ." But why had he dreamed of Jorah? Such a realistic dream-as though she were with him again. As though the

utterly senseless killing had never happened. As though he could touch her, love her again.

Keira.

His mind flinched away from thinking of her. She was a too-thin, too-frail, younger version of Jorah. She had that same

incredible skin. And she had, Blake knew, more of her mother's steel than most people realized.

Christ, had he tried to rape Keira?

Had he?

The girl was so weak. Could he have tried and failed? "Jesus," he whispered.

"You okay?" Petra asked.

He looked at her, realized she was only a few years older than Rane and Keira. A young girl, still able to drop the car-

rat identity and take pleasure in doing so.

"I'm all right," he lied. "Listen, now that you've told me about the girls, I have to see them. One of them, at least. I have

to apologize."

She looked away. "I don't know if I can bring them."

He understood her, and wished he had not. The girls might not be alone. "Try," he said, "please."

"Okay." But she stopped to kiss him and he was caught up again in the scent and feel of her. She giggled like a

delighted child and lay down with him again.

By the time she went away and came back with Keira, he was badly frightened. He was no longer in control of himself.

Tiny microbes controlled him, had forced him to have sex with a young girl when an instant before, sex had been the

farthest thing from his mind. What had they made him do to his daughter?

Keira came into the room much as she had come into another room-how many days ago? Eli had released her then for a

few painful minutes. Who had released her this time? God, what would Jorah think of the way he was taking care of

their children?

"Dad?"

She had a bruise on the side of her face. It was swollen and puffy. She could not conceal the fact that she did not want

to get near him. And, heaven help him, her scent was as good as Petra's had been.

"Did I hit you?" he asked, looking at her swollen face.

She shook her head. "Rane did."

"Why?"

She stared at him for several seconds. "You don't remember, do you?" She took a step farther back from him. "Jesus, I

wish I didn't."

He said nothing, could not make himself speak.

She went to the window, pushed the drape aside, and seemed to examine the frame. "This house won't burn," she said.

"Light it and it will smolder a little, then go out. Eli's people have tried lighting it a few times. I think one of them was

shot in the attempt."

"They tried to burn the house with us in it?"

"Badger called for help on his radio. They heard him. Or if they didn't hear him, they heard me when I repeated what he

said next to the kitchen window." She turned to face him. "I can hear them sometimes, Dad. When the car people aren't

making too much noise, I can hear them talking. I heard Eli."

"Saying what?"

"That if everything goes okay, the car people will go over to him when their symptoms begin. If it doesn't, if the help

Badger called for actually comes, Eli might have to sacrifice us."

"Sacrifice . . . ?"

"They have some explosives already planted. They don't want to do it, but . . . well, they can't let anyone in the house

leave."

"Kerry, did I rape you?" He had said the words. And somehow, they had not choked him.

She swallowed, went to the door and stood beside it. "Almost."

"Oh God. Oh God, I'm sorry."

"I know."

"Rane stopped me?"

"Yes." She hesitated. "Rane stopped us. I ... I wasn't exactly fighting."

He frowned, repelled and uncomprehending.

"Don't look at me like that," Keira said. "I know how I smell to you-and how you smell to me. I had to see you to be

sure you were okay. But. . . I'm afraid of you-and of myself. It's so crazy. Rane hit me mostly to get my attention so I'd

stop fighting her when she tried to pull me away. She said when she hit you, you didn't seem to feel it." Keira rubbed

her face. "I sure felt it."

Blake moved away from her because he wanted to move toward her so badly. "Were you hurt otherwise?"

"No."

"How do you feel?"

She stared past him, surprising him with the beginnings of a smile. "Hungry," she said. "Hungry again."

Keira believed she was going to live. She felt stronger and hungry. Her hearing was startlingly keen. That was enough

for her. The fact that she was still a captive, still the carrier of a dangerous disease, still caught between warring gangs

had almost ceased to matter to her. Those things could not cease to matter to Blake.

When Petra had taken Keira away, he went over the bare room as he could not have with bound hands and feet. He

peeled back the rug, looking for loose flooring. He examined the walls, even the ceiling. Finally, he examined the

closetlike bathroom- a toilet, a sink, and a tiny window that did not open. None of the windows opened. The air

conditioning was good. The air stayed fresh and probably would until Eli decided to foul it, but the air-conditioning

ducts were too small to be of use to Blake.

Because he was desperate, Blake tried pushing at the glass -or the plastic-in the window. It was only one small pane. It

might be breakable.

It did not break. But the frame gave a little. Blake took off his shirt, wrapped his right hand in it, and as quietly as he

could, began trying to pound the entire window out. Even if he knocked it loose, the hole would be almost too small to

crawl through. But he felt stronger now, and anything would be better than sitting around like a caged animal, waiting

for someone else to decide his fate.

When his right hand tired, he continued the pounding with his left. The muffled sound was loud to him, but no one else

seemed to notice. He realized now that he could not trust his hearing to tell him what sounds might be reaching normal

people.

Finally, the window fell out onto the ground. The noise that it made when it hit and bumped against the house was

loud. Blake heard someone call out, then heard the sound of approaching motors. Frightened, he hesitated. Keira had

said Badger had called for reinforcements. What if he escaped from one group into the hands of another? On the other

hand, if he stayed where he was, the window would be discovered and he would be shackled again. They would take no

more chances with him.

As the sounds of approaching motors grew louder, he made up his mind. He was at the rear of the house. He could not

see the road or the approaching cars or cycles so he was certain the newcomers would not be able to see him. Eli's

people might see him, but he did not think they would shoot. He hoped he could escape them too and get real help.

Medical help, finally. Meanwhile, he prayed they would rescue the girls and keep them safe -since he could no longer

trust himself near them.

He feared that if he reached a town, a hospital, his chances of seeing the girls again would be slim. They would be

going into Eli's world, going underground, becoming whatever the organism would make of them. He would be

beginning a war against the organism.

He managed to squeeze out of the window, leaving a little skin behind, and drop quietly to the ground. He ran toward

the rocks, expecting at every moment to be shot in the back or accosted from the rocks by Eli's people. But in front of

the house, the approaching cars had arrived and the shooting had begun. All the hostilities were there.

Blake ran on. From the rocks, he could climb into the hills and get a look around. He could find out where the road

was, figure out which way was north. He could head for Needles-on foot this time. He could do the necessary things-

give his warnings, get the research started.

He moved quickly, but with no feeling of triumph this time.

He wondered whether Rane and Keira would understand his leaving them. He wondered whether they would forgive

him. He knew better than to suppose he would forgive himself.

A jack rabbit leaped into his path, and without thinking, he leaped after it, caught it, snapped its neck. Before he could

reflect on what he had done, he heard human footsteps. And before he could take cover in the rocks, someone shot him.

He felt a burning in his left side. Terrified, he dropped the dead rabbit and fled to shelter among the rocks. Moments

later, frightened and hurting, he stopped. Someone was following him noisily, perhaps trying to get another clear shot.

He concealed himself behind a jagged wedge of rock and waited.

PAST 25

By the time it was certain Jacob Boyd Doyle was not normal, there were two more babies with the same abnormalities.

Jacob never crawled. At six months, he humped along like a big inchworm. Two months later, he began to toddle on all

fours, looking disturbingly like a clumsy puppy or kitten. He walked on his hands and feet rather than crawling on