Part 7 (2/2)
”Now what the h.e.l.l are you doing here?” he demanded. ”How did you get here? What did you do to Nicky?”
”The way I got here, I walked. I didn't see any Nicky.”
”You come past the gate?”
”Yes.”
”Can't you read? Didn't you see the signs?”
”I saw them. But I had to come up here and talk to somebody about my little girl. She joined up here. Maybe you know her. Kathy McGraw? I'm her daddy, Tom McGraw.”
”Oh, for G.o.d's sake,” the man said. The girl didn't relax her weapon.
”Can I get up?”
”Shut up,” the girl said. ”What are you going to do, Chuck?”
”What the h.e.l.l can we do? Put him in C Building and wait for Pers to get back.”
The girl gasped and said, ”Oh, Jesus! Look at what's coming, Chuck.”
A huge young blond man was coming across the field, carrying a fair-sized dead buck across his shoulders.
”G.o.d d.a.m.n you, Nicky, why'd you leave the gate?”
He approached and eased the deer to the ground, rolled his shoulders to loosen them. ”And this man came in, huh? Oh, great! I ought to kick you loose from your head, fellow.”
”You're the one should be kicked, Nicky,” the girl said.
”That sucker came right out onto the road and looked at me and ran back in. I shot too fast and missed and gutshot him, and you can't leave an animal go running off like that. I followed him a mile and a half, fast as I could go. What'd you expect me to do, Nena? I killed him, gutted him, and brought him in.”
”It isn't what I expect you to do,” she said. ”It's what Brother Persival expects.”
”You can get up,” Chuck said.
After I stood up, I looked at Nicky. His face was troubled. ”Boring d.a.m.n duty,” he said. ”Hang around down there eight hours at a time. n.o.body ever comes. And then when you leave for a couple minutes, some d.a.m.n fool climbs the fence.”
”He's hunting his daughter. She used to be here,” Chuck said.
”What was her name?” Nena asked me. She, appeared to be in her early twenties. Olive skin, slender face, very dark eyes. She had that excess of bursting health which gives the whites of the eyes a bluish tint. No makeup. The long dense black lashes were her own.
”Katherine McGraw. She'd be twenty years old by now. Reddish-brown hair and blue eyes and some freckles when she was younger. Maybe they went away”
”Got a picture of her?”
”The best picture we had of her, it was when she was thirteen, and after Peg died, that was my wife, d.a.m.n if I could find it. I looked all over for that picture. She was a pretty child. She ought to be a good-looking woman. Her ma was.”
”You don't know what new name she took?”
”She never said. In those postcards.”
”I can't help you. I don't know if anybody can-or wants to, Mr. McGraw. People that join up don't go back to the lives they had before.”
”Where did everybody go from here?” I asked. No answer. They urged me along and shut me up in C Building. It was a cement-block building about ten feet square, with two windows with heavy wire mesh over them. There was a wooden chair, a tree-trunk table, a stained mattress on the floor, and a forty-watt bulb hanging from a cord from the middle of the ceiling. There was a ragged pile of religious comic books, a musty army blanket, a two-quart jug of tepid drinking water, and a bucket to use as a toilet. They had taken my belt, shoelaces, and duffel bag. The door was solidly locked. I heard some bird sounds, and that was all. I wondered if they had all left.
Darkness came, and there was a quick light rain on the corrugated roof of my prison. I heard a distant motor noise and tried to decide if it was coming or going. When the sound did not change, I realized it might be a generator, the engine turning over at an unchanging rpm. So I tried my light bulb again, and it went on. It did not help the decor.
Two of them came and unlocked my door. They had a dazzling-bright gasoline lantern, an automatic weapon at the ready, and a tin bowl full of stew. They were two I had glimpsed before at a distance. One was a sallow blond girl with very little chin, and the other was a young man with an Asian cast to his features.
No harm to object. After all, I was Tom McGraw. ”Why are you people pointing guns at me all the time? d.a.m.n it, I'm not some kind of criminal. I don't like being locked up like this. Where's my stuff you took away from me? I got my rights. You people are all gun-happy.”
”Shut up, Dads,” the Oriental said, and they closed the door and locked it.
Even though I had to eat it with a little white plastic spoon, I found the venison stew delicious. And it had been a long time since I had enjoyed the taste of anything. The lack of interest in eating had leaned me down a little over the past weeks.
There was a cook in the camp. Even a slight taste of wine in the stew. Boiled onions, carrots, celery, tomatoes. And a lot of it. After my dinner I read a religious comic book. All about Samson yanking down that temple. Samson looked like Burt Reynolds. Delilah looked like Liz Taylor. The temple looked like the Chase Bank.
After I turned my light off, I stretched out in my clothes on the dingy mattress and covered myself with the musty sheet. And in the darkness, I went over what I knew. I followed Meyer's injunction. Never mix up what you really know with what you think you know. Don't let speculation water down the proven truths. Leap to conclusions only when that is the only way to safety.
People talking outside my door awakened me. I knew it was late. I realized it was just the changing of the guard. I heard the clink of metal and a yawning good night and went back to sleep.
In the morning I was escorted down to a rus.h.i.+ng tumbling icy creek by Nicky and the chinless blonde. She carried the weapon. I carried the soil bucket in one hand and held up my trousers with the other. I had asked politely for my belt, and they told me to shut up. They pointed me to the place on the bank where I could wash out the bucket in the fast water. Then I was allowed to go upstream to a place where I could dash some of the icy water into my face. Big Nicky was sullen. The blonde was trying to cheer him. When he answered, I found out her name was Stella. So I had four names out of the group of eight. They marched me back to C Building, again carrying the bucket, now empty, and holding up my trousers. I asked when they expected Mr. Persival, and they,told me to shut up. An hour later I was given cold scrambled eggs and cold toast on a pie tin, with another plastic spoon. They had changed cooks.
At midmorning I saw an interesting tableau from my window. I do not think they realized that I could see it. I had to get my face close to the screen and look slantwise. Two couples. Nena and a young man. Stella and a young man. Out of uniform. Casual clothes. Each carried luggage. Suitcase, or small bedroll or duffel bag. Chuck stood off to one side, watching them closely. He had a whistle in his mouth and what was apparently a stopwatch in his hand. I could not understand the instructions he yelled at them. They walked close and lovingly, laughing and talking together, looking at each other, not at their surroundings. When the whistle blew, they would s.n.a.t.c.h at the luggage, yank it open, remove an automatic weapon, let the luggage fall to the ground, stand with their backs to each other, leaning against each other, almost, in a little deadly square formation, hold the weapons aiming out in four directions, and revolve slowly.
Then they would repack and do it again. I think I watched fifteen rehearsals. Their time improved noticeably. I guessed that they had it down to just about four seconds before Chuck ended the exercise. Four seconds to change from two couples, lounging along, laughing together, to an engine of destruction.
I disobeyed one of Meyer's rules. I made an a.s.sumption or two. I a.s.sumed that they planned to put on. their little act in a crowded place, like an airport or a shopping plaza, and the guns would be loaded, and people would be blown apart while still caught up in a horror of disbelief.
But why? They worked so very hard at it. They seemed so dedicated and intent. These were bright young people, very fit and disciplined. Playing a, strange, strange game.
The noon meal was more venison stew. Still tasty.
The black van arrived in the late afternoon. It pa.s.sed my window before I could see anyone in it. But I saw the gold cross painted on the side.
At least twenty minutes pa.s.sed before my door was unlocked. Chuck said, ”Strip and pile everything on the floor right in front of the door here. Fold it and pile it. Everything.”
”d.a.m.n it all, I want to know why I'm-?”
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