he had caught something from Buzzard, not some disgusting disease, but on the contrary… his strength, perhaps? No, not strength. But what then? All right, he told himself. Let’s look at it this way: let’s assume that I didn’t get this far. I was all ready to go, packed, and then something happened, they arrested me, say.
Would that be bad? Definitely. Why bad? Because I would lose money? No, it has nothing to do with the money. That this treasure will fall into the hands of Throaty and Bones? There’s something in that. It would hurt. But what do I care? In the end, they’ll get it all anyway.
“Brrrrrr.” Arthur shivered. “It gets into your bones. Mr. Schuhart, maybe now you’ll give me a sip?”
Redrick got the flask silently. I didn’t agree right away, he thought. Twenty times I told Buzzard to get lost, and on the twenty-first I agreed, after all. I couldn’t take it any more. Our last conversation turned out to be brief and businesslike. “Hi, Red. I brought the map. Maybe you’ll take a look at it, after all?” And I looked into his eyes, and they were like sores—yellow with black dots—and I said “Let me have it.” And that was it. I remember that I was drunk then, I had been drinking all week, I felt really low. Ah, the hell with it. Does it matter? I went. So here I am. Why am I worrying about it? What am I, afraid?
He shuddered. He could hear a long sad sound through the fog. He jumped up and Arthur jumped up too. But it was quiet again, and the only sound was the gravel tumbling down the incline under their feet.
“Must be the ore settling,” Arthur whispered unsurely, barely able to get the words out. “The ore cars have a history—they’ve been here a long time.”
Redrick looked straight ahead and saw nothing. He remembered. It was at night. He woke up from the same sound, sad and long, his heart stopping, like in a dream. Only it hadn’t been a dream. It was Monkey screaming in her bed by the window. Guta woke up, too, and took Redrick’s hand. He could feel the sweat break out on her shoulder against his. They lay there and listened, and when Monkey stopped crying and went back to sleep, he waited a little longer, then got up, went down to the kitchen, and greedily drank a half-bottle of cognac, That was the night he started drinking.
“It’s the ore,” Arthur said. “You know, it settled with time. The dampness, erosion, all kinds of things like that.”
Redrick looked at his pale face and sat down again. His cigarette had disappeared somewhere from his fingers, and he lit another one. Arthur stood a little longer, looking around anxiously, then he also sat down.
“I’ve heard that there’s life in the Zone. People. Not visitors, but people. It seems the Visitation caught them here, and they mutated… they’ve acclimated to the new conditions. Have you heard that, too, Mr. Schuhart?”
“Yes,” Redrick said. “But not here. In the mountains in the northwest. Some shepherds.”
That’s what he’s infected me with, he thought. His madness. That’s why I’ve come here. That’s what I want here. A strange and very new feeling overwhelmed him. He was aware that the feeling was really not new at all, that it had been hidden in him for a long time, but that he was acknowledging it only now, and everything was falling into place. And everything that had seemed like nonsense and the delirious ravings of a crazy old man turned out to be his only hope, the only meaning of his life. Because he finally understood: the only thing he had left in the world, the only thing he lived for in the last few months was the hope of a miracle. Fool that he was, he kept pushing hope away, trampling on it, mocking it, trying to drink it away, because that was the way he was used to living. Since childhood he had relied on nothing but himself. And since childhood this self-reliance had been measured in the amount of money he could snatch, grab, or bite away from the indifferent chaos that surrounded him. It had always been that way, and it would have continued, if he had not ended up in a hole that no amount of money could get him out of and in which it was absolutely useless to rely on himself. And now this hope—no longer a hope, but confidence in a miracle—filled him to the brim, and he was amazed at how he could have lived for so long in the impenetrable, exitless gloom. He laughed and gave Arthur a poke in the shoulder.
“Well, stalker, think we’ll live through this, eh?”
Arthur looked at him in surprise and smiled uncertainly. Redrick crumpled up the waxed paper from the sandwiches, tossed it under the ore car, and lay down, his elbow on the backpack.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s say that the Golden Ball really—what would you wish?”
“You mean, you do believe?” Arthur asked quickly.
“That’s not important whether or not I believe. You answer my question.”
He really was interested in what such a young boy, a schoolboy just yesterday, could ask of the Golden Ball. He enjoyed watching Arthur frown, tug at his mustache, and look up at him and look away.
“Well, dad’s legs, of course. And for everything to be all right at home.”
“You’re lying,” Redrick said pleasantly. “Keep this in mind, brother. The Golden Ball only grants your deepest, innermost wishes, the kind that if they’re not granted, it’s all over for you!”
Arthur Burbridge blushed, looked up at Redrick once more, and became even redder. His eyes filled with tears. Redrick grinned.
“I understand,” he said almost gently. “All right, it’s none of my business. Keep your secrets to yourself.” He suddenly remembered the gun and thought that while he had the time he should take care of whatever could be taken care of. “What’s that in your back pocket?” he asked casually.
“A gun.”
“What do you need it for?”
“To shoot!” Arthur said challengingly.
“Forget it,” Redrick said firmly and sat up. “Give it here. There’s nobody to shoot at in the Zone. Give it to me.”
Arthur wanted to say something, but kept silent, took the Army Colt from his pocket and handed it to Redrick by the barrel. Redrick took the gun by its warm textured handle, tossed it up in the air, and caught it.
“Do you have a handkerchief or something? I want to wrap it up.”
He took Arthur’s handkerchief, clean and smelling of cologne, wrapped the gun in it, and put it on the railroad tie.
“We’ll leave it here for now. God willing, we’ll come back and pick it up. Maybe we’ll have to shoot it out with the patrol guards. However, shooting it out with them…”
Arthur decisively shook his head.
“That’s not what I wanted it for,” he said sadly. “There’s only one bullet. In case of an accident like Father’s.”
“So, that’s it.” Redrick stared at him. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that. If that should happen, I’ll drag you back here. I promise. Look, it’s getting light!”
The fog was disappearing before their eyes. It was completely gone from the embankment and in the distance it was thinning, melting away and showing the rounded bristly peaks of the hills. Here and there between the hills could be seen the mottled surface of the stagnant swamps, covered with sparse thickets of willows, and the horizon, beyond the hills, was filled with bright yellow explosions of mountain peaks, and the sky above them was clear and blue. Arthur looked back and gasped with awe. Redrick looked too. In the east the mountains looked black, and over them the familiar green wash of color billowed and shone iridescently—the Zone’s green dawn.
Redrick got up, went behind the ore car, sat on the embankment, and watched as the green wash dimmed and quickly turned to pink. The sun’s orange rim came up over the ridge, and purple shadows stretched from the hills. Everything became harsh and in high relief, he could see things as clearly as if they were in the palm of his hand. Right in front, two hundred yards away, Redrick saw the helicopter. It had fallen, apparently, into the middle of a mosquito mange spot, and its fuselage had been squashed into a metal pancake. Its tail had remained intact, only slightly bent, and it stuck out over the glade like a black hook. The stabilizer was also whole, and it squeaked distinctly, turning in the light breeze. The mange must have been very powerful, for there hadn’t even been a real fire, and the Royal Air Force insignia was very clear on the flattened metal. Redrick had not seen one in many years and had almost forgotten what the insignia looked like.
Redrick went back to his pack for the map, which he spread out on the hot mound of ore in the car. You couldn’t see the quarry from here—it was blocked by the hill with the burned-out tree on its rise. He had to go around the hill from the right, along the depression between it and the next hill, which he could also see, completely bare, its slope covered with brown rocks.
All the reference points corresponded, but Redrick felt no satisfaction. His instinct of many years as a stalker protested against the very thought, which was irrational and unnatural, of laying a path between two nearby elevations. All right, Redrick thought, we’ll see about that later. It will be clearer when we get there. The path before the depression led through the swamp, along open flat ground, which seemed safe enough from here. But
