'Not to mention a long nose to butt into other people's business.'
'What are friends for?'
'I'm beginning to wonder.'
'Cynic.'
'Is there a point to the description of Tracy's emotional life?'
'No. Just wanted you to know I think she's pretty terrific. Too young, of course, lacking my maturity and sophistication. But still…' Her voice trailed off.
Eric put the flare down and turned in his chair. 'Just what are you suggesting?'
'Nothing.'
'Bullshit. I know you. I'm being set up.' He dropped to his knees and shuffled over next to Annie, squeezing her hands in his. 'Nothing's going to happen to you. Not while I'm around.'
Annie smiled lightly, but a tear rolled down her cheek. 'I know that. But accidents can happen. Disease. That damn haze in the sky. Something you can't control. I just want you happy. You and the kids.'
'So you're doing some preliminary matchmaking.'
She shrugged, wiped her eyes with her sleeve. 'My last horoscope told me to be organized.'
Eric leaned forward and hugged her tightly, crushing her next to him. She felt thinner than three months ago, but then who wasn't? He felt a tear slide down his cheek and he wasn't sure if it was from his eye or hers. It didn't matter. He hugged her closer.
Urgent knocking on the door. 'Dr. Ravensmith! Dr Ravensmith!'
Eric lifted Annie to her feet, rearmed the crossbow while she unlocked the door.
Philip Marcus rushed in, holding his bow in one hand, grasping his aching side with the other. 'Gotta hurry, Dr. Ravensmith. They want you right away.'
'Who, Philip?' Eric asked, lowering his bow.
Philip struggled to catch his breath. 'The Council. Emergency session. They sent me after you.'
'What's it about?'
He shook his head, gulped air. 'Don't know. Except, they want you to go into Dead Zone.' He looked at Annie, then at his feet.
'Okay, Philip, you run ahead. Tell them I'll be right there.'
'But they told me to bring you right back. Stay with you all the way.'
Eric's expression didn't change, but there was a chill in his voice. 'Run ahead, Philip.'
'Yes, sir,' Philip said, turned, and fled.
Eric pulled a black turtleneck sweater over his head, started strapping his quiver and knife on. 'I'll just see what they want. Don't worry.'
Annie nodded, looked around the tiny room. Two mattresses. A Coleman lamp. Four cardboard boxes, one for each of them to keep their clothes. A flashlight for night trips to the latrine. Four long bows, three small, green fiberglass models that had been liberated from the university's athletic department for Annie and the kids, and Eric's thicker Bear bow, the gift from Big Bill Tenderwolf. A wooden desk, the only thing left over from Coach Ryder except the cigar smell. And a box of equipment for making arrows that Eric had brought back in the early days of scavenging, when most people weren't sure what they needed. How often had Annie and Eric seen people darting about with TV sets? Cameras? Jewelry?
But Eric had known what to do. Had brought them back to the university, helped them establish University Gimp, set up the hospital, saved the food that had been stored in the cafeteria. Planned the water supply. Decided which buildings were worth defending, strung the barbed wire fence surrounding the camp. Had refused a seat on the Council, but reluctantly accepted-temporarily-the job of Security Chief.
At night he'd walk the perimeter, checking the guards. Annie had seen him staring off, eyes searching the hazy horizon, looking for a familiar face. In their room he slept lightly, startled by every noise, a loaded crossbow within easy reach. He was waiting, she knew. Waiting for Dirk Fallows.
'Maybe Fallows is dead,' she said suddenly as he buckled his utility belt. 'Or wasn't even in the state when it happened.'
'Maybe.'
'Or maybe he's too busy surviving to worry about some dumb macho grudge.'
Eric stuffed his quiver full with bolts. 'Maybe.'
Annie sighed heavily. 'He's out there, right?'
He turned to face her. The orange light from the window streaked down his face, making his scar look like an open wound, bleeding. 'Right.'
She took his face in her hands, stood on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips, her eyes pressed closed. As if she could force out the memory of Matt Southern, who'd taken three men into the Dead Zone last month in search of generator parts. None had returned.
'Take care,' she said.
'Count on it,' he smiled and dashed out the door, the crossbow clutched in one hand, the arrows rattling against each other as he ran.
She closed the door, fastened each lock in turn, started gluing strips of vinyl seat covers to wooden shafts.
12.
'This is not a request, Eric,' Dr. Donald Epson said angrily. 'It's a direct order from the Council.'
'And if I refuse?'
'Are you refusing?'
Eric leaned his crossbow against the wall, hung the quiver of bolts over the metal stock. The five members of the Council sat at a long table in the conference room at the back of the bookstore where Billy Mendoza, who once ran the bookstore, used to hold weekly poker games with a few faculty and administrators. Billy used his winnings to send his Cuban mistress to Florida once a year to visit her mother. Eric had sat in on a couple of those games, personally contributing to her Florida fund both times. It had been Eric's idea to include the bookstore as part of University Camp because it had been built last year under strict earthquake-endurance guidelines. And, as with the library, because the books were valuable commodities, though only Eric had seen why at the time.
'I'm waiting for your answer, Eric,' Dr. Epson said sternly, brushing his thick gray moustache from his lips. He was Council chairperson and always sat tinkering with a rubber mallet which he used as a gavel. He was a short, compact man who had managed to salvage a couple neckties and a sports jacket from his home, and wore them now like a badge of authority. Before the quake he'd been Dean of Instruction at the university, a competent but not well-liked man who the faculty prayed would take an early retirement. His wife had been visiting relatives in New Jersey during the quake, which was not unusual -since she had a lot of relatives and spent most of the year traveling to visit them. 'Well, Eric? Let's hear it.'
'Take it easy, Donald,' Trevor Graumann said. 'Eric doesn't need to be lectured by you.'
Eric glanced up at Trevor and smiled. As the old man had predicted that night at dinner, he'd survived the earthquake with plenty of supplies to see him through. And if he'd stayed in his house with his hidden shotgun, he'd have been fine for months. But some feelings are stronger than survival, and he'd gone out looking for Eric's mother. When he finally returned, his home had been ransacked and all his goods stolen. Not that it mattered; Maggie's death had taken the life out of him. He stayed holed up in his ravaged house until Eric caught up with him, made him his family's adopted uncle, and nominated him onto the Council in his own place.
The three other Council members were Griff Durham, once the biggest real estate broker in the county and the leading Republican fund raiser; Dr. Joan Dreiser, their only medical doctor, whose pre-quake practice had been limited to dermatology; and Toni Tyler, a state representative who'd come home for her daughter's wedding the day before the quake hit. The daughter and groom were both killed.
'Well, Eric,' Dr. Epson persisted. 'We don't have time for your little waiting games. We explained the situation to you and expect you to fulfill your obligation to this Council and the community.'
Eric laughed.
