Exposed.
Dasein sensed his mind racing. Exposed. Exposed to what? How?
The sound of footsteps on the lower catwalk behind him brought Dasein whirling around, muscles tense. He heard a compartment door slide open. Papers rustled.
Softly, Dasein worked his way along the catwalk away from the sound. He passed steps, one set leading up, one down, hesitated. He couldn’t be certain whether he was going deeper into the cave complex or out of it. There was another catwalk above him, a rock ceiling dimly visible above that. There appeared to be at least three tiers of catwalks below him.
He chose the steps going up, lifted his head slowly above the floor level of the next walk, glanced both ways.
Empty.
This level was like the one below except for the rock ceiling. The rock appeared to be a form of granite, but with oily brown veins.
Moving as silently as he could, Dasein climbed out onto the walk, moved back in the direction of the ventilator listening for the person he had heard on the lower level.
Someone was whistling down there, an idiot tune repeated endlessly. Dasein pressed his back against a cage, peered down through the openings in the walk. There came a scraping of wood against wood. The whistling went away to his left, receded into silence.
That probably was the way out, then.
He had heard the person down there but hadn’t been able to see him—a fact which could work both ways.
Placing his feet carefully, Dasein moved along the walk. He came to a cross way, peered around it. Empty both ways. The gloom appeared a little thicker to the left.
It occurred to Dasein that up to this point he hadn’t felt the need to worry about how he was going to get out of the cave complex. He had been too intent on solving the mystery. But the mystery remained … and here he was.
I can’t just go marching out, he thought. Or can’t I? What could they do to me?
His throbbing shoulder, memory of the gas jet, the knowledge that two previous investigators had died in this valley—these were sufficient answer to the question, he thought.
Wood slammed against wood off to the front and below. Footsteps pounded along a catwalk—at least two pair of feet, possibly more. The running stopped almost directly beneath him. There came a low-voiced conversation, mostly unintelligible and sounding like instructions. Dasein recognized only three words—“ … back …” “ … away …” and a third word which set him in motion running softly down the dim side passage to his left.
“ … ventilator …”
A man beneath him had said “ventilator” sharply and distinctly.
The pounding of feet resumed down there spreading out through the catwalks.
Dasein searched frantically ahead for a place to hide. There was a sound of machinery humming somewhere down there. The catwalk turned left at about a fifteen degree angle, and he saw the cave walls were converging here—fewer tiers below and smaller compartments on each side. The walk angled more sharply to the right and there was only his walk and the one below, single compartments on each side.
He had put himself into a dead-end side passage, Dasein realized. Still, there was the sound of machinery ahead.
His catwalk ended in a set of wooden stairs going down. There was no choice; he could hear someone running behind him.
Dasein went down.
The stairs turned left into a rock passage—no compartments, just the cave. There was a louvered door on the right, loud sound of an electric motor in there. His pursuer was at the head of the steps above.
Dasein opened the door, slipped through, closed the door. He found himself in a rectangular chamber about fifty feet long, twenty feet wide and some fifteen feet to the ceiling. A row of large electric motors lined the left wall, all of them extending into round metal throats with fanblades blurring the air there. The far wall was one giant metal screen and he could feel air rushing out of it toward the fans.
The right wall was piled high with cardboard cartons, sacks and wood boxes. There was a space between the pile and the ceiling and it appeared darker up there. Dasein scrambled up the pile, crawled along it, almost fell into a space hollowed out of boxes and sacks near the far end. He slid into the hole, found himself on what felt like blankets. His hand encountered something metallic, which groping fingers identified as a flashlight.
The louvered door slammed open. Feet pounded into the room. Someone scrambled up the far end of the pile. A woman’s voice said: “Nothing up here.”
There came the sound of someone dropping lightly to the floor.
There’d been something familiar about the woman’s voice. Dasein was willing to swear he’d heard it before.
A man said: “Why’d you run this way? Did you hear something?”
“I thought so, but I wasn’t sure,” the woman said.
“You sure there’s nothing on top of the stores?”
“Look for yourself.”
“Doggone, I wish we could use real lights in here.”
“Now, don’t you go doing something foolish.”
“Don’t worry about me. Doggone that Jenny anyway, getting herself mixed up with an outsider!”
“Don’t pick on Jenny. She knows what she’s doing.”
“I guess so, but it sure makes a lot of stupid extra work, and you know what’s liable to happen if we don’t find him pretty soon.”
“So let’s hurry it up.”
They went out, closed the door.
Dasein lay quietly absorbing the import of what they’d said. Jenny knew what she was doing, did she? What would happen if they didn’t find him?
It felt good to stretch out on the blankets. His shoulder was a steady aching throb. He brought up the flashlight he’d found here, pressed its switch. The thing produced a dull red glow. The light revealed a tight little nest—blankets, a pillow, a canteen half full of water. He drank some of it thirstily, found it heavy with Jaspers.
He supposed nothing in the cave could escape that flavor.
A fit of shivering took over his muscles. The canteen’s cap rattled as he replaced it. When the trembling passed, he sat staring at the canteen in the dim red light.
Nothing in the cave could escape the Jaspers flavor!
That was it!
Exposed!
Something that could exist in this cave—a mould or a fungus, something related to mushrooms and dark places, something that wouldn’t travel … a Jaspers something invaded anything exposed to this environment.
But why was it so important to keep this fact secret? Why the dogs and the guards?
He heard the louvered door open, close, turned off the red flashlight. Someone ran lightly across the rock floor to a point just below him.
“Gilbert Dasein!” a voice hissed at him.
Dasein stiffened.
“It’s Willa Burdeaux,” the voice hissed. “It’s Willa, Jenny’s friend. I know you’re in there, in the place Cal made for us. Now, you listen. Arnulf will be right back from the upper end and I have to be out of here before that. You don’t have much time. There’s too much Jaspers in here for someone who’s not used to it. You’re breathing it and it’s going in your pores and everything.”
What the hell? Dasein thought.
He crawled up out of the nest, leaned out and looked down at Willa Burdeaux’s dark, harshly-beautiful face.
“Why can’t I take too much of it?” he asked.
“Hasn’t that Jenny explained anything to you?” she whispered. “Well, no time now. You have to get out of here. Do you have a watch?”
“Yes, but …”
“There’s no time to explain; just listen. Give me fifteen minutes to get Arnulf out of the way. He’s such a prig. In fifteen minutes you come out of this room. Turn left the way you came in, but go down instead of up. Take the second crossway to your left and after that keep to your left. It’s easy to remember. Left turns only. You want the ramp out of Bay 2-G. I’ve left the ramp’s door unlocked. Lock it after you. It
’ll be about twenty steps straight in front of that door to an emergency gate. The gate’s unlocked. Go out and lock it after you. The Inn’s right across the road. You ought to be able to make that on your own.”
“Apparently, you’ve been rather busy.”
“I was in the office when they sounded the alarm. Now, get down out of sight and do just what I told you.”
Dasein ducked back into the nest.
Presently, he heard the door open and close. He looked at his wristwatch: five minutes to three a.m. Where had the time gone?
Could he believe Willa Burdeaux? he wondered.
There’d been something about that black pixie face, an intensity … Dasein thought of compartments loaded with valuable food, all unlocked. Why should this evidence of a basic honesty alarm him? Perhaps it wasn’t honesty. Fear could control behavior, too.
Could he believe Willa? Did he have a choice?
So this was a trysting place Cal Nis had made for the two of them. Why not? People in love usually wanted to be alone together.
Jenny knew what she was doing.
What did she know?
His mind felt clear and oiled, working at a furious pace. What was the danger in exposure to Jaspers? He thought of that dull-eyed line he’d glimpsed up there in the Co-op.
Was that what happened?
Dasein fought down a seige of trembling.
Ten minutes after three, the moment of decision, came more quickly than he wanted. He had no choice and knew it. His shoulder had gone stiff and there was a painful burning along his scraped chest and stomach. Favoring his shoulder, Dasein eased himself down off the storage pile.
The ramp door was unlocked as Willa had promised. He let himself out into a darkened side yard, hesitated. The stars overhead looked cold and close. It was cold. He felt goose pimples along his arms. There was no sign of a guard out here, but he glimpsed lights and motion far up on the hillside.
Lock the ramp door, she’d said.
Dasein locked the door, darted across the yard. It was a narrow gate in the chain fence. The hinges creaked and he thought the latch unnaturally loud. There was a hasp and padlock. He closed the lock.
A narrow path led along the fence to the road. There was the Inn across the way—dark, but inviting. A dim yellow light glowed through the double doors. Using the light as a beacon, Dasein limped down the path and across to the Inn.
The lobby was empty, most of its lights turned off. There was the sound of snoring from the switchboard room behind the desk.
Dasein slipped quietly across the lobby, up the stairs and down the hall to his room.
The key—had he turned it in or left it in the truck? No … here it was in his pocket. He opened the door softly, stepped into the darkness of his room. He’d spent only one night in this room but it suddenly was a haven.
The truck! It was still up there on the road to Porterville. The hell with it. He’d hire a ride up tomorrow and drive it down.
That Willa Burdeaux! Why had she done this?
Dasein began slipping out of his clothes. He wanted nothing more than a hot shower and bed. It was slow work undressing in the dark, but he knew a light might tell someone what time he’d returned.
What difference does that make? he asked himself. His clothing, torn, smeared with dirt, still stinking of the cave, was evidence enough of where he’d been and what he’d done.
Abruptly, he felt he no longer could sneak around.
Angry at himself, he turned on the light.
Directly ahead of him on the bedstand was a bottle of beer with a note attached to it. Dasein lifted the note, read it: “This isn’t much, but it’s all I could get. You’ll need it in the morning. I’ll call Jenny and tell her you’re all right.—Willa.”
Dasein picked up the bottle, looked at the label. There was a blue stamp on it: “Exposed January 1959.”
5
A steady, loud pounding invaded Dasein’s dream.
He felt he was trapped inside a giant drum. Reverberations beat through his brain. Each drumbeat became a stab of pain along his temples, through his shoulders, across his stomach.
He was the drum! That was it!
His lips were dry. Thirst spread a scabby dustiness over his throat. His tongue was thick, fuzzy.
My God! Would the pounding never stop?
He awoke feeling he’d been caught in a caricature of a hangover. The blankets were twisted around his body, immobilizing his injured shoulder. The shoulder felt better, and that was a relief, but something had to be done about his head and that insane pounding.
His free arm was asleep. It tingled painfully when he tried to move it. Sunlight filtered through a tear in the curtain on the room’s single window. One thin ray outlined in dust motes stabbed across the room. It dazzled him, hurt his eyes.
That damned pounding!
“Hey! Open up in there!”
It was a masculine voice from outside.
Dasein felt he knew that voice. Marden, the CHP captain? What was he doing here at this hour. Dasein lifted his wristwatch, stared at it—ten twenty-five.
The pounding resumed.
“Just a minute!” Dasein shouted. His own voice sent waves of pain through his head.
Blessedly, the pounding stopped.
Dasein gasped with relief, twisted himself out of the blankets, sat up. The room’s walls began going around and around in a mad circle.
For the love of heaven! he thought. I’ve heard of hangovers, but nothing like this.
“Open the door, Dasein.”
That definitely was Marden.
“Right with you,” Dasein rasped.
What’s wrong with me? he wondered. He knew he’d had no more than the beers with dinner. They couldn’t possibly explain his present malaise. Could it be delayed reaction to the gas?
Beer.
There was something about beer.
Slowly so as not to dislocate his neck, Dasein turned his head toward the bedstand. Yes, there was a beer. Willa had thoughtfully provided an opener. He levered the cap off the bottle, drank hungrily.
Waves of soothing relief spread out from his stomach. He put down the empty bottle, stood up. Hair of the dog. he thought. Hair of the Jaspers dog. The bottle was redolent with the mushroom tang.
“Are you all right in there, Dasein?”
To hell with you, mister, Dasein thought. He tried to take a step, was rewarded with instant nausea and a wave of dizziness. He leaned against the wall breathing slowly, deeply.
I’m sick, he thought. I’ve caught something.
The beer felt as though it had begun to boil in his stomach.
“Open this door, Dasein! Now!”
All right—all right, Dasein thought. He stumbled to the door, unlocked it, stepped back.
The door was flung open to reveal Al Marden in uniform, the captain’s bars glistening at his neck. His visored cap was pushed back to reveal a sweaty band of red hair.
“Well,” he said. “Haven’t we been the busy one?”
He stepped into the room, closed the door. He carried something round and chromed in his left hand—a thermos. What the devil was he doing here at this hour with a thermos? Dasein wondered.
One hand against the wall to steady himself, Dasein made his way back to the bed, sat on the edge.
Marden followed.
“I hope you’re worth all this trouble,” he said.
Dasein looked up at the narrow, cynical face, remembering the glimpse he’d had of the high-wheeled bush buggy wheeling down the road out there with Marden steering, and the dogs beside him. That had been a proper setting for this man. There was an elevated look about him, a peering-down-at-the-world’s-stupidity. What was it about him? Was it the Santaroga look? But what had the Porterville deputies seen, then? What had the man in the Chrysler seen.
Do I look that way? Dasein wondered.
“I brought you some coffee,” Marden said. “You look like you could use it.” He opened the therm
os, poured steaming amber liquid into the cup-top.
A rich smell of Jaspers rode on the steam from the cup. The smell set Dasein trembling, sent a pulsing, throbbing ache through his head. The ache seemed timed to a wavering reflection on the surface of the coffee as Marden presented it.
Dasein took the cup in both hands, tipped his head back and drank with a gulping eagerness. The coffee produced the same sensation of soothing as the beer.
Marden refilled the cup.
Dasein held it beneath his nose, inhaled the Jaspers rich steam. His headache began to fade. There was a hunger in him for the coffee that he realized went beyond the cravings from a hangover.
“Drink up,” Marden said.
Dasein sipped the coffee. He could feel it settling his stomach, his mind coming alert. Marden no longer appeared superior—only amused.
Why was a hangover amusing?
“The Jaspers, that’s what gave me the screaming fantods, isn’t it?” Dasein asked. He returned the cup.
Marden concentrated on restoring the cap to the thermos.
“A person can get too much of it, eh?” Dasein persisted, recalling what Willa Burdeaux had said.
“Overexposure too soon can cause a hangover,” Marden admitted. “You’ll be all right when you get used to it.”
“So you came up to play the good Samaritan,” Dasein said. He could feel the beginnings of anger.
“We found your truck up on the Porterville road and got worried about you,” Marden said. “You can’t abandon a vehicle like that.”
“I didn’t abandon it.”
“Oh? What’d you do?”
“I went for a walk.”
“And caused one helluva lot of trouble,” Marden said. “If you wanted a tour of the Co-op and the storage caves, all you had to do was ask.”
“And I’d have had a nice safe guided tour.”
“Any kind of tour you wanted.”
“So you came up to arrest me.”
“Arrest you? Don’t talk stupid.”
“How’d you know where I was?”
Marden looked at the ceiling, shook his head. “You’re all alike, you young folks,” he said. “That Willa’s too damn’ romantic, but she doesn’t lie worth git all. None of us do, I guess.” He turned his glance full of cynical amusement on Dasein. “You feeling better?”