Parable of the Talents

plans were for us, if they had any, but I don't see how they could have dared to let us go after what they'd done to us.'

'How did you get free? You don't escape once someone's put a collar on you. There's no escape from a collar.'

Unless someone deals with the devil and buys your free­dom, I thought. But I didn't say it. 'There was a landslide,' I did say. 'It smashed the cabin where the control unit was kept—my cabin. The control unit powered all the individual belt control units somehow. Maybe it even powered the col­lars themselves. I'm not sure. Anyway, once it was smashed and buried, the collars stopped working, and we went into our homes and killed our surviving guards—those who hadn't been killed by the landslide. Then we burned the cabins with their bodies inside. We burned them. They were ours! We built every one with our own hands.'

'You killed people...?'

'Their names were Cougar, Marc. Every one of them was named Cougar!'

He turned—wrenched himself around as though he had to uproot himself to move:—and started back toward the corner.

'Marc!'

He kept walking.

'Marc!' I grabbed his arm, pulled him back around to face me. 'I didn't tell you this to hurt you. I know I have hurt you, and I'm sorry, but these bastards have my child! I need your help to get her back. Please, Marc.'

He hit me.

I never expected it, never saw it coming. Even when we were kids, he and I didn't hit each other.

I stumbled backward, more startled than hurt. And he was gone. By the time I got to the corner, he had already van­ished into the CA Center.

I was afraid to go in after him. In his present frame of mind, he might turn me in. How will I get to see him again? Even if he decides to help me, how will I contact him? Surely he will decide to help me once he's had time to think. Surely he will.

sunday, june 3, 2035

I've left the Eureka-Arcata area.

I'm back at the message tree for the night. I brought a flashlight so that I could have light where I wanted it with­out taking risks with fire. Now, shielding my light, I'm read­ing what's been left here. Jorge and Di have left a number, and Jorge says he's found his brother Mateo. In fact, as with Justin, his brother found him. On the northern edge of Gar­berville where there are still big redwoods, Mateo found Jorge's group sleeping on the ground. He had been looking tor them for months. Like Justin, he had run away from abuse, although in his case, the abuse was sexual. Now he's wounded and bitter, but he's with his brother again.

There was no news from Harry. Too soon for him to have gotten back, I suppose. I phoned him several times, but there was no answer. I'm worried about him.

I wrote a note, warning the others to avoid the CA Center in Eureka. I wrote that Marc had been there, but that he wasn't to be trusted.

He isn't to be trusted.

I made myself go back to the CA Center on Wednesday of last week—went back as a sane, but shabby woman rather than as a dirty, crazy man. It took me too long to get up the courage to do that—to go. I worried that Marc might have warned his CA friends about me. I couldn't really believe he would do that, but he might, and I'd had nightmares about them grabbing me as soon as I showed up. I could feel them putting on the collar. I'd wake up soaking wet and scared to death.

At last, I went to a used-clothing store and bought an old black skirt and a blue blouse. From a cheap little shop, I bought some makeup and a scarf for my hair. I dressed, made up, then dirtied up a little, like maybe I'd been rolling around on the ground with someone.

At CA, I got in line with the other women and ate in the small, walled-off women's section. No one seemed to pay any attention to me, although my height was much more no­ticeable when I was among only women. I slumped a little and kept my head down when I was standing. I tried to look weary and bedraggled rather than furtive, but I discovered that furtive wasn't all that unusual. Most of the women, like most of the men, were stolid, indifferent, enduring. But a few were chattering crazies, whiners, or frightened little rab­bits. There was also a fat woman with only one eye who prowled the room and tried to grab bread from your hands even while you were eating it. She was crazy, of course, but her particular craziness made her nasty and possibly dan­gerous. She let me alone, but harassed several of the smaller women until a tiny, feisty woman pulled a knife on her.