arms around herself for warmth and picked up the flashlight and radio. It would be dark soon; she’d have to find a place to sleep, perhaps play the radio for a few more minutes. The batteries were weakening, even though she had played it sparingly. She walked out of the cul-de-sac and stared at a forest of fan-trees climbing a steep reddish- brown mound.
On top of the mound was a many-faceted black polyhedron, each facet sporting a silvery needle about a yard long. There were many others like it on the island. She hardly noticed them now. Walking around the mound took about ten minutes. She entered a shallow valley the length of a football field, its sides lined with gently curving black pipe as thick as her waist. The pipe vanished in a dimple at the end of the valley. She had slept in such junctions before. She walked to the end of the valley and knelt down near the depression. She ran her hands over the surface of the dimple; it was quite warm. She could lie here for the night, under the pipes, and be fairly comfortable.
The sky glowed brilliant purple to the west. The sunsets were usually orange and red, subdued; the horizon had never looked so electric.
She turned on the radio and pulled the speaker dose to her ear. She had turned down the volume to conserve the batteries, even though she suspected that was ineffective. The short wave transmitter in England, ever-faithful, came on immediately. She adjusted the knob and hunched deeper under the pipes.
“…riots in West Germany have centered around the Pharmek facilities housing Dr. Michael Bernard, suspected carrier of the North American plague. While the plague has not yet spread beyond North America, tensions run high. Russia’s sealed borders and…” The signal slid and she readjusted.
“…famine in Romania and HunCary, now in its third week, and no relief in sight…”
“…Mrs. Thelma Rittenbaum, noted Battersea psychic, reports that she has had dreams of Christ appearing in the middle of North America, raising the dead and preparing an army to march on the rest of the world,” (A shaky woman’s voice on a tape of poor quality spoke a few unintelligible words.)
The rest of the news was about England and Europe; Suzy enjoyed this most of all, since occasionally it seemed the world might be normal, or at least recovering. There was no hope for her home; she had given up hope weeks ago. But other people, elsewhere, might be leading normal lives. That was comforting to think about.
Not that anybody, anywhere, knew or cared about her.
She turned the radio off and curled up tighter, listening to the hiss of liquid flowing in the pipes, and low, deep groans from someplace far below.
She slept, surrounded by blackness with patches of stars showing between the outlines of the pipes. And when, in the middle of a warm dream about shopping for clothes, she awoke-
Something was wrapped around her. She stroked it drowsily—soft warm, like suede. She fumbled for the flashlight and flicked it on, running the circle of light across her covered legs and hips. The covering was pliable, light blue with indefinite green stripes—her favorite colors. Out from under the covering, her arms and head were cold. She was too sleepy to question; she pulled the cloak high and slipped back into her dreams. This time, she was a young girl, playing in the street with friends from years ago, friends who had since grown up and in many cases, moved away.
Then one by one the buildings were torn down. They all watched as men with huge sledgehammers came along and knocked the brownstones down. She turned to see how her friends were reacting and they were all grown up, or grown old, receding from her and calling for her to follow. She began to cry. Her shoes were stuck to the pavement and she couldn’t move them. When all the buildings were gone, the neighborhood was a level lot, plumbing sticking up in the air, a toilet leaning crazily on a pipe where some upper floor must have once been.
“Things are going to change again, Suzy.” Her shoes loosened and she turned to see Cary, embarrassingly naked.
“Jesus, aren’t you cold?” she asked. “No—it wouldn’t matter. You’re just a ghost.”
“Well, I suppose,” Cary said, smiling. “We just all wanted to warn you. You know? It’s all going to change again, and we wanted to give you a choice.”
“I’m not dreaming am I?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “We’re in the blanket. You can talk to us when you’re awake, too, if you want.”
“The blanket…all of you? Mom and Kenny and Howard?”
“And lots of others, too. Your father, if you want to talk to him. It’s a gift.” he said. “Sort of a going-away present. We all volunteered, but then there’s a lot more of me, and all the others, than we strictly need.”
“You’re not making sense, Cary.”
“You’ll make it. You’re a strong girl, Suzy.”
The dream background had become nebulous. They both stood in orange-brown darkness, the distant sky brightening to orange as if there were fires on the horizon. Cary looked around at the surroundings and nodded. “It’s the artists. There are so many artists, scientists, I kind of feel lost. But I’m going to be one of them soon as I decide. They give us time. We’re honored, Suzy. They know we made ’em and they treat us real good. You know, back there,” he gestured at the darkness, “we could live together. There’s a place where all of ’em think. It’s just like real life, the real world. It can be the way it used to be, or the way it’s going to be. Any way you want.”
“I’m not joining Cary.”
“Nah. Didn’t think you would. I didn’t really have any choice, when I joined, but I don’t regret it. I wouldn’t have ever been as much in Brooklyn Heights as I am now.”
“You’re a zombie, too.”
I’m a ghost.” He smiled at her. “Anyway, part of me’s going to stay with you, if you want to talk. And another part’s going away when they change.”
“It’s going back the way it was?”
He shook his head. “It’ll never be the same. And…look, I don’t understand all this, but it won’t be too long before there’s another change. Nothing’s ever going to be the same.”
Suzy looked at Cary steadily. “You think being naked would tempt me?”
Cary looked down at his image. “Never thought about it,” he said. “Shows you how casual I’m getting. Can’t you change your mind?”
She shook her head firmly. “I’m the only one who didn’t get sick,” she said.
“Well, not the only one. There’s about twenty, twenty-five. They’re being taken care of, as best we can.”
She preferred being unique. “Thanks a lot,” she said sarcastically.
“Anyway, wear the blanket. When the change comes, wrap up in it real tight. There’ll be a lot of food left over.”
“Good.”
“I guess you’re going to wake up now. I’ll get out of the way. You can see us when you’re awake, too. For a while.”
Suzy nodded.
“Don’t throw it away,” he warned. “Otherwise you’ll get hurt.”
“I won’t”
“Well.” He reached out and touched her crossed arms with a spread palm.
She opened her eyes. Dawn was pale orange-gray above the pipes. The surface of the dimple and the pipes themselves were cold.
Suzy wrapped the blanket tighter and waited.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Paulsen-Fuchs stood in the observation chamber, leaning forward on the table, eyes lowered. He had had enough of staring at what lay on the cot in the containment lab.
Bernard had lost his human form in the early morning. The cameras had recorded the transformation. Now, a gray and dark brown mass lay on his bed, portions extending to the floor on two sides. The mass moved fitfully, sometimes experiencing a short, violent shudder.
