“You’re crazy!” she had screamed at him.
“So who isn’t crazy these days?” he had demanded.
“I’m not,” she had said. “And I never will be. Go ahead and flush yourself down the toilet if you want to!”
Her father had only just begun letting her volunteer at the hospital. The boy’s self-destructive stubbornness had upset her, but she had comforted herself with the knowledge that she was stronger than he was. He could have healed completely and gotten work in one of the enclaves. She had told him she would talk her father into helping him. But he had chosen the sewers. She was stronger and smarter.
Or was she merely untested?
She knew the disease organisms were pushing her toward this repulsive man. And she was yielding to them mindlessly. Stephen Kaneshiro had resisted, had not raped her. She could resist, too.
Deliberately, she took another steak. She was not very hungry now, but the meat still smelled good. It was not hard for her to tear into it as messily as possible. She let blood run down her chin and arms, chewed with her mouth open, occasionally smacking her lips. Eventually, she heard the ape make a sound of disgust and stomp away.
The shooting had stopped. Rane was alone in the kitchen—happy to be alone. She thought she might be able to get out the back door if she could get free of the cuffs. Very likely, nothing in the house would cut them. The plastic only looked flimsy. But she thought if she did not fight them, she might be able to slip them. She had seen her father try to do this and fail. But it seemed to her he had not used his muscles effectively, and he had had no fat to help him. She had to try. Anything was better than just sitting and waiting to see what her captors or the disease organism would do to her next.
Several minutes later, as she was freeing one hand through flexibility and control that amazed even her, a young white-haired woman caught her.
If Rane had had time to free her feet, she might have been able to silence the woman before the woman shouted an alarm. As it was, all Rane could do was hop toward her, only to be stopped by the ape who came running to see what was wrong.
The ape grasped her wrists and held them. “Son of a bitch,” he said, grinning. “That’s the first time I’ve seen anybody get out of the jail cuffs. Shit, I’ve tried to get out of a few pair myself. What’d you do, sis?”
He was too close to her. Too close! He smelled almost edible. Irresistible. She pressed herself against him.
“Jesus,” the white-haired woman said. “What is it with these people?”
“You tell me,” the ape said, holding Rane. She rubbed herself against his hairy body, smiling outside and screaming inside. It was as though she were two people. One wanted, needed, was utterly compelled to have this man—perhaps any man. Her hands fumbled with his belt.
Yet some part of her was still her. That part screamed, soundlessly weeping, and clawed with imaginary fingers at the ape’s ugly, stupid face.
Her true fingers quivered, hesitated for a moment at his belt. Then the organism controlled her completely. Her body moved only under its compulsion and her feelings were abruptly reconciled with her actions. Part of her seemed to die.
“Let her alone,” the white-haired woman said. “You can see she’s running on empty. Who knows what crazy thing she might do? Besides, we’ve got to keep her in good shape for the ransom.”
And the ape growled, “You worry about yours, Smokey. The buyers for this one will just have to take her back a little used.” The ape lifted Rane off her bound feet. “At least this kid is young. What the hell do you want with that sick old man you’ve got?” He laughed as he carried Rane away into another room.
The new room was not empty. There were people there, writhing together, moaning, making other sounds that Rane paid no attention to. The ape threw her onto an empty bed. There seemed to be several beds in the room. The ape freed her feet, then casually tore her clothing off. Finally, he climbed onto her and hurt her so badly she screamed aloud. But even as she screamed, she knew that what she was doing was necessary. She could have hurt him back. He did not realize how vulnerable he was, hunching between her thighs; she could kill him. There was a time, she recalled dimly, when she would have used her advantage. But that time was past. His throat, his eyes, his groin were safe from her. She bore the pain somehow, and when he finished, she lay bleeding, uncaring as he shackled her again. This time he bound her, spread-eagle, to the bed.
Sometime later, there was another man. She did not know him, did not recall having seen him before. He did not hurt her as much. Before he touched her, her body felt almost healed. She did not mind what he did, did not mind the man who came after him. By then, she was aware of her body repairing itself. The organism was taking care of her.
She lost track of time, of the men. Once when she began to feel hungry, she asked the man who was with her for food. He laughed at her, but later he brought her food—raw meat and raw vegetables. He unshackled her and watched in amazement and disgust as she ate. Several people had come to watch. They smelled unwashed and wary, but since they did not bother her, she ignored them.
When someone tried to shackle her again, she resisted. There was, it seemed to her now, too much danger in being tied to a bed—or tied at all. She was stronger now, more aware of what was going on around her.
In one corner, a young boy, naked, covered with blood, lay like discarded trash. He did not move. He had clearly been tortured, mutilated. His hands were still shackled. She was certain he was dead, had probably bled to death. His ears and his penis had been cut off.
The woman on the bed near her had been crying hoarsely. Now, filthy, bound spread-eagle across a small bed, she was unconscious. Rane could see and hear her breathing shallowly.
A young girl, tied across another bed, lay watching what happened to Rane. The girl’s wrist and ankles were bleeding in spite of the relative gentleness of the security cuffs. Her body was bruised and bloody and there was something wrong about her eyes.
Abruptly, the girl gave a long, shrill scream. No one was touching her or paying any attention to her, but she continued to scream until one of the men went over and slapped her. Then she was abruptly, completely silent.
“I don’t want to be tied,” Rane said gravely to the man who was struggling to hold her arms. She realized that she was having no trouble avoiding the cuffs. The man seemed weaker than the others who had handled her—though he did not look weaker. Perhaps she was stronger.
Other people laughed when she spoke, but the man trying to tie her did not. “Help me,” he said. “She’s as strong as a goddamn truck! She’s playing with me!”
She was not playing. Abruptly, as a second man seized her, she thrust both away and got up. She was still naked, as dirty and bloody as the young girl. But she was beginning to understand that she was stronger. Perhaps she was not as strong as she would be. She thought not. But she was stronger than anyone would expect her to be—strong enough to escape. Even getting away naked would be better than staying here, having her organisms keep her alive while the car rats thought up new things to do to her.
A black woman with red hair leveled one of the newer automatic rifles at her as she fought off a second attacker. When she saw the gun, she thought she was dead. But at that moment, she heard shouts through the open door.
“Hey, Badger,” someone yelled, “the old man is gone. He kicked out his window!”
“Huh!” the red-haired woman said. “Nobody could kick out one of these windows alone. He’d have to kick out half the wall. Somebody must have helped him!” And as an afterthought, “Where’s Smoke?”
Her father was gone.
He had escaped! He had used his new strength and gotten away! And what about Keira? Perhaps she had gotten away, too. People tended not to pay much attention to her because she looked too frail to try anything. But maybe …
Rane lunged at the redhead. The woman’s attention had been drawn away from Rane. Now, she seemed to react in slow motion as Rane moved.
Rane seized the gun, swatted the woman on the side of her head with the stock, then swung the gun around on the other car rats. Two-hundred-round magazine, fully loaded, set on automatic. A couple of seconds passed, then someone laughed. Maybe a naked girl holding a rifle looked funny. Let them laugh.
Someone made a grab for the barrel. That was a degree of stupidity Rane had not expected. She fired, managed to shoot only the man whose hand had brought the gun to bear on his own belly. She resisted the urge to spray the whole group.
The wounded man screamed, doubled over, fell to the floor. Rane stepped back from him quickly, looking to see whether anyone else was feeling suicidal. As it happened, no one else was armed. People did not come to this room with their guns.
Nobody moved.
“Get your clothes off,” Rane told one of the smaller women.
The woman understood. She stripped quickly, threw her clothing to Rane, glanced sideways at the rat bleeding and groaning on the floor. The red-haired woman had knelt beside him, trying to stop the bleeding with direct pressure.
“Get the hell out of here,” Rane said. “All of you, out!”
They spilled through the doorway ahead of her and she followed close behind, hoping her speed would give her an edge over their numbers and organization. She barely paused to snatch up the discarded clothing. She could dress when she was safe, when she had joined her father and they were on their way to Needles again.
She darted out the door, across the hall, across the large living room. She could see reaction around her, but it was so slow, she knew how fast she must be moving.
But there was noise outside. Motors, vehicles approaching, people shouting. This was what she had distracted attention from. New car people arriving. New car rats on the outside where she had to go. They were already shooting, fighting with Eli’s people. More crossfire for her to be caught in.
She put her back against the wall near the front door and aimed her gun at one of the car rats.
“Open this door,” she said.
“I can’t,” he lied. “It needs a special key.” It could not have been more obvious to her that he was lying if he had worn a sign.
She fired a short burst, and he fell. Now the screaming inside her returned. She was shooting people, killing people. She was going to be a doctor someday. Doctors did not kill people; they helped people heal. Her father had carried a gun for years and never shot anyone. He had escaped without shooting anyone.
But she could not.
The instant she showed indecision, weakness, mercy, these people would cut her to pieces. In this room several were as formidably armed as she was. All she had going for her was terrifying speed and perhaps their belief that they would soon be rid of her one way or another without anyone playing hero. Nothing she had ever heard about rat packs gave any indication they were heroic. At best, they mistook ruthlessness for heroism.
“Open the door,” she said to a second man.
He stumbled quickly to obey.
“You!” she chose a third. “Help him!”
“He doesn’t need any hel—No!”
She had come within a hair of shooting him. He scurried to the first man, then stood by while the first opened the door.
Of course, the instant the door moved, Eli’s people opened fire at it. Someone—one of the new group of car rats, perhaps—managed to run onto the porch, but did not quite make it to the door.
Rane heard all this as she ran from the room. She had never intended to step into the battle at the front of the house. She would never have headed for the front if she had known what was going on there. Once there, however, she had to create a diversion so that she could get to the back door.
Someone shot at her as she ran, but she was too quick. In the kitchen, she stopped, turned, fired a short burst at the door she had just run through. That should stop any pursuit. She hesitated, saw a flash of color at the door, sprayed the doorway again. Then she went to the back door. If it required a key, she might be trapped. That depended on how thoroughly bulletproof the house was.
Her hand flew over the various locks that did not require keys. She had to shoot the last one off, though at least it came off. As she fired, however, someone else fired at her, hit her in the lower back.
She fell to her knees, tried to swing around, but was shot again. This time, the impact of the bullet spun her around. She held on to her rifle somehow and managed to spray the other side of the room. She heard screaming, knew she had hit something.
She released the trigger only when, briefly, through a haze, she thought she saw her sister staring at her over a counter, through a doorway. Then, because she was propped up against the door, unable to move her legs—unable even to feel her legs, she sprayed the last of her bullets into the car rats as they showed themselves. She had the satisfaction of seeing the ape fall before someone shot her again.
The disease organism was merciless. It kept her alive even when she knew she must be almost cut in half. It kept her conscious and aware of everything up through the moment someone stood over her, shouting, then seized her by the hair and held her head up as he began to saw slowly at her throat with something dull.
Past 27
THE WOMEN HAD BECOME frightened of Eli—frightened for their children. Gwyn’s daughter by Eli was beginning to toddle around on all fours and Lorene’s daughter by Zeriam clearly had the same physical abnormalities. She would be another quadruped, another precocious, strong, beautiful, little nonhuman. Eli could see that. He watched the children in grim silence.
The women sat Eli down and talked to him. Gwyn spoke for them all for a change while Meda sat withdrawn and silent.
“We don’t like being afraid of you,” Gwyn said, leaning forward against the dining table around which they had gathered. “We need you.” She glanced sideways at Meda. “And we love you. But we’re afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” he demanded harshly. He did not care what the women had to say. His own misery over the children consumed him.
“You know of what,” Gwyn said. “Even the kids know. They don’t understand, but they’re scared to death of you.”
He stared at her in bitter anger. She had brought the others together against him. They had never united against him before. He was father or foster father to all three kids—all three hopelessly nonhuman kids. No one had the right to tell him how he should feel about them.
“Eli, you love them,” Meda whispered finally. “You love them all. You’d have to go against your deepest feelings to hurt them.”
“We won’t let you hurt them,” Lorene said.
“We can’t change them,” Gwyn said. “And no matter how you feel … if you try to hurt them, we’ll kill you.”
Eli stared at her, amazed. She was the gentlest of the three women, the one most likely to need reassurance and want protection.
“We will kill you,” she repeated very softly. She did not flinch from his gaze. He looked at Meda and Lorene and saw Gwyn’s feelings mirrored in their faces.
He reached across the table, took Gwyn’s hands. “I can’t help what I feel,” he said. “I know it hurts you. It hurts me. But—”
“It scares us!”
“I know.” He paused. “What in this world is going to happen to kids with human minds and four legs? Think about it!”
“Who says they have human minds?” Meda asked.
Eli glared at her.
“They’re obviously bright,” she said, “but their minds may be as different as their bodies. We can teach them, but we can’t know ahead of time what they’ll become.”
“No,” he said. “We can’t. But we know the world they’ll have to spend their lives in. And I know what their lives will be like if they can’t fit in—and, of course, there’s no way they can fit in. You think sewers and cesspools are bad? Try a cage. Bars, you know. Locks.”
“Nobody would—”
“Shit! They’re not going to be cute little kids forever. To ot
her people, they wouldn’t look like cute little kids now. And we’re not going to live forever to protect them.”
The women stared at him bleakly.
“I’ll tell you something else,” he said. “These kids are only the first. You know there’ll be more. If anything happened to me, you’d go out and find yourselves another man or two. Hell, you’ll do that even if nothing happens to me. We’ll probably bring in more women, too. Our organism won’t let us ignore all those uninfected people out there completely.”
No one contradicted him. The women could feel the truth of what he was saying as intensely as he could.
“What are we doing?” Lorene whispered. “What are we creating?”
Eli leaned back, eyes closed. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself,” he said. “I’ve got an answer now.”
They all faced him, waiting. He realized then that he loved them. He wondered when he had begun to love them—three plain women with calluses on their hands. Answering them would not be an act of love, but it was necessary. If anyone deserved to know what he thought, they did. “We’re the future,” he said simply. “We’re the sporangia of the dominant life form of Proxi Two—the receptacles that produce the spores of that life form. If we survive, if our children survive, it will be because we fulfill our purpose—because we spread the organism.”
“Spread the disease?” Lorene asked.
“Yes.”
“Deliberately? I mean … to everybody? After you said—”
“I didn’t say we should spread it deliberately. I didn’t say we should spread it at all. I said we won’t survive, and the kids won’t survive, if we don’t. But I’ll tell you, I don’t think they or we are in any real danger. Once we knew what to look for on Proxi Two, we found the organisms in almost every animal species alive there. Some were immune—herbivores tended to be immune—and though I can’t prove it, I suspect a lot of species had been driven into extinction.”