Helen
It didn’t take Helen long to find the lair of her three would-be assailants, even moving as carefully as she was. The place was less than a hundred yards distant, just around the bend in the channel.
She spent five minutes studying it, before she crept forward. The “lair” was just that—a habitation fit more for animals than men. The lean-to propped against the sloping wall of the channel reminded her of a bird’s nest. Made by a very large and very careless bird. The shack—even that term was too grandiose—had been assembled from various pieces of wreckage and debris, lashed together with an assortment of wire and cordage. At its highest, it was not tall enough for even a short adult to stand up. From one end to the other, it measured not more than fifteen feet. There was no opening at her end, so Helen supposed that whatever entrance existed was on the opposite side.
She hesitated, but not for long. Her water was getting low and so, soon enough, would her food. There might well be something in that lean-to, however unpalatable. Besides, she had no choice but to go past it—unless she wanted to retrace her steps back toward her captors—and so she might as well investigate it along the way.
The decision made, she moved quickly, racing toward the lean-to on quick and almost silent feet. If there were more men lurking within, she saw no reason to give them any more warning than necessary. One or two, she was certain she could handle. More than that, she could outrun them.
But there were no men in the lair to pose any danger to her. Instead there was something infinitely more dangerous—a moral dilemma.
The boy, she thought, was probably not more than twelve years old. Hard to tell, due to his bruises and emaciation under the rags. The girl was perhaps Helen’s own age. But that was even harder to determine, despite the fact that she wore no clothing at all. The girl didn’t have bruises so much as she seemed a single giant bruise.
Helen removed the filthy blanket and gave the girl a quick examination. The examination, for all its brevity, was both thorough and fairly expert. Her father had also seen to it that Helen received first aid instruction.
When she was done, and despite her recognition that an immense complication had just entered her life, Helen felt relieved. Immensely relieved, in truth. Less than half an hour earlier, for the first time in her life, she had killed people. Despite her concentration on her own predicament, some part of Helen’s soul had been shrieking ever since. Now, it was silent. Silent and calm. If ever men had deserved killing, those men had.
Since she entered the lean-to, the boy had huddled silently against one side, staring at her with eyes as wide as saucers. Finally, he spoke.
“You won’t hurt my sister, will you?” he whispered. His pale eyes moved to the battered figure lying on the pallet. The girl, for her part, was conscious. But she was just staring at Helen through slitted eyes, as if she were blinded by the light. “I don’t think Berry can take much more hurting.”
He started to cry. “I don’t know how long we’ve been here. It seems like forever since they caught us. We were just looking for food. We weren’t going to steal any from them, honest. I tried to tell them.”
Helen heard the girl whisper something. She leaned over.
“Go away,” were the words. “They’ll come back soon.”
Helen shook her head. “They’re dead. I killed them.”
The girl’s eyes popped open. “That’s a lie,” she whispered. “Why are you lying?”
Helen looked at the boy. “What’s your name?”
“Larens. People call me Lars.”
Helen jerked her head. “Go down the channel, Lars.” She pointed the direction. “That way. Just around the bend.”
He didn’t hesitate for more than a few seconds. Then, scurrying like a mouse, he scrambled out of the lean-to. While she waited for him to return, Helen did what she could to help Berry. Which wasn’t much, beyond digging out some food and wiping off the grime with the cleanest rag she could find. Fortunately, while Helen didn’t find much food there were enough water bottles that she was able to use some of it to wet the rag.
Throughout, other than an occasional hiss when Helen rubbed over a particularly sore spot, Berry kept silent. The girl was obviously weak, but Helen’s principal fear—that the girl’s wits were gone—soon proved false. As best as she could, given her condition, Berry tried to help by moving her limbs and torso to accept the rag.
Still, it was obvious that the girl was in no condition to walk. Helen wondered what was taking Lars so long to return. But while she waited she started assembling the makings of a stretcher. Or, at least, a travois—she wasn’t sure Lars would be strong enough to hold up his end of the thing.
“What are you doing?” whispered Berry, watching Helen dismantle part of the lean-to. Helen had found two rods which she thought would make a suitable frame. She had no idea what they had been originally, nor even what they were made of. Some kind of artificial substance she didn’t recognize. But, for all that they were a bit more flexible than she would have liked, they were about the right length and, she thought—hoped—strong enough.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Helen explained. “There are some people chasing after me. Just as bad as those three. Worse, probably.”
That news caused Berry to sit erect. Try to, at least. The effort was too much for her. But, again, she gave evidence that her mind was still intact.
“If you—you and Lars—can get us maybe two hundred yards, there’s a crossover to another channel. And after that—not far—there’s another. That one leads up, and then down. That’ll be hard. I’ll try to walk, but you’ll probably have to carry me. But if we can get down there it’s the perfect place to hide.”
For a moment, something like pride seem to come into the battered face. “That’s my secret place. Mine and Lars’. ” Softly: “It’s a special place.”
Helen had already decided that she would have to take the two children with her. In truth, the “decision” had come automatically—even though she understood that she was almost certainly ruining her chances of escape. Now, for the first time, she realized that Lars and Berry would be an asset as well as a liability. She was quite certain that they were two of the small horde of vagrant children who were reputed to dwell in the lower reaches of the Loop. Castoffs of castoffs. They would know the area—their part of it, at least—as well as mice know their cubbyholes and hideaways. Helen would be moving slower, but at least she would no longer be moving blind.
She heard Lars re-entering the lean-to.
“What took so—”
She closed her mouth, seeing the object Lars was gripping. She recognized the knife. It had belonged to one of her assailants. Lars had apparently wiped it off, but the blade was still streaked with drying blood.
Lars’ eyes were bright and eager. On his hands and knees, he scurried over to his sister and showed her the knife.
“Look, Berry—it’s true! They can’t ever hurt you again.” He gave Helen an apologetic glance. “I think they were already dead. But I made good and sure.”
Berry managed to lift her head and stare at the knife. Then, smiling for the first time since Helen had met her, she laid her head back down. “Thank you, brother,” she whispered. “But now we have to help Helen go away to our special place. There are more men coming to hurt her.”
Less than ten minutes later, they were on their way. Lars, somewhat to Helen’s surprise, proved strong enough—or determined enough—to carry his end of the stretcher. He had trouble at first because he refused to relinquish the knife. But, soon enough, he discovered the obvious place to carry it.
As they stumbled as quickly as they could down the channel, Helen found it hard not to laugh. She’d read about it, of course, in her beloved adventure books. But she’d never actually thought to
Suddenly, she felt better than she had since she was first abducted. She actually had to restrain herself
