'My question wasn't about your name. Don't these people—'
'That's right, Abe.' She smiled, saying the last words loudly, a knot of people coining up to them, stopping. She looked at a pretty older woman at the center of a group of people roughly in their sixties, Rourke judged.
She said, 'Marion—this is my brother, Abe Collins. He finally made it here to join me!'
'Ohh,' the older woman cooed. 'Martha, we're so happy for you—to have your brother with you. Ohh— Abe,' she said, extending a hand Rourke took. The hand was clammy and cold. 'It's so wonderful to meet you after all this time. Martha's younger brother. I hope we'll
see you in church tomorrow.'
'Well, I had a hard ride____I'll try though.' Rourke smiled.
'Good! I know you and Martha have so much to talk about.' The older woman smiled again.
Rourke was busy shaking hands with the others, and as they left, he smiled broadly at Martha Bogen, his right hand clamping on her upper left arm, the fingers boring tightly into her flesh. 'You give me some answers— now.'
'Walk me home, Abe, and I'll try.' She smiled, the smile genuine, Rourke thought.
'I'll get my bike; it's at the corner.' He gestured toward it, half-expect ing that in the instant since he'd last looked for it someone had taken it. But it was there, untouched. 'I suppose you've got a fully operational gas station, too?'
'Yes. You can fill up tomorrow. You should stay here tonight—at my house.
Everyone will expect it.'
'Why?' Rourke rasped.
'I told them you were my brother—of course.' She smiled again, taking his arm and starting with him through the ever-thinning crowd.
'Why did you tell them that?'
'If they knew you were a stranger, then they'd have to do something.' She smiled, nodding to another old lady as they passed her.
Rourke smiled and nodded, too, then rasped, 'Do what?'
'The strangers—most of them didn't want to stay.'
'Nobody's going to think I'm your brother. That was so damned transparent—'
'My brother was coming. He's probably dead out there
like everybody else. God knows how you survived.'
'A lot of us survived—not everyone's dead.'
'I know that, but it must be terrible out there—a world like that.'
'They know Fm not your brother.'
'I know they do,' Martha Bogen said, 'but it won't matter—so long as you pretend.'
Rourke shook his head, looking at her, saying, his voice low, 'Pretend—what the hell is going on here?'
'I can't -explain it well enough for you to understand, Abe—'
'It's John. I told you that.'
'John. Walk me home, then just sleep on the couch; it looks like there's bad weather outside the valley tonight. Then tomorrow with a good meal in you—not just those terrible hot dogs—well, you can decide what you want to do.'
Rourke stopped beside his bike. 'I won't stay—not now,' he told her, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, telling him something more than he could imagine was wrong.
'Did you see the police on the way into town—John?'
'So what?' He looked at her.
ffThey let anyone in, but they won't Jet you out. And at night you won't stand a chance unless you know the valley. I know the valley. Before he died, my husband used to take me for long walks. He hunted the valley a lot—white-tailed deer. I know every path there is.'
Rourke felt the corners of his mouth downturning. 'How long ago did your husband die?'
'He was a doctor. You have hands like a doctor, John. Good hands. He died five years ago. There was an influenza outbreak in the valley and he worked himself
half to death; children, pregnant women—all of them had it. And he caught it and he died.'
'I'm sorry, Martha,' Rourke told her genuinely. 'But J cant stay.'
'We have twelve policemen and they work twelve-hour shifts lately—six men on and six off. Can you fight twelve policemen to get out of town—into a storm?' She stroked his face with her right hand. 'You need a shave. I'll bet a hot shower would be good, and a warm bed.'
Her face flushed, then she added, 'In the guest room, I meant.'
Rourke nodded. There was no strategic reserve site for more than a hundred miles, and Rourke knew that he needed gasoline. The slow going in the storm had depleted his tanks. 'That gas station really has gas?' he
