Rings of Ice

Chapter 3: Floy

When she woke, it was because the bus was stopping. Gloria was on the parallel couch, still asleep. Once more Zena considered that classic feminine face, that long blonde hair, that artificially full bosom. No matter how tired he was, Gordon always took time to convert to Gloria for repose!

Why didn’t this inversion upset her the way Karen’s antics had? Zena didn’t know. “Sleep on, sleeping beauty,” she murmured, and strode forward.

Thatch, too, remained asleep. Gus and Karen were stretching. “Filling station,” Gus said. “Should be gas here—and we’re down to under five gallons. Which is not much for a bus this size. Maybe food here too.”

“I hope so!” Karen said fervently. She did not look well, but Zena could not tell what was wrong with her. She wished she knew more about drugs.

“We can siphon gas,” Gus said, “if we can find a tube.”

“Or just pump it out of the pump,” Karen said.

“Hey, yes!” he agreed, startled. “I’m thinking too much like a criminal.”

At least he felt some twinge of guilt, Zena thought. But so it had to be. No one would have any use for it after this group passed. The sea was rising.

“You look,” Gus said. “It’s still raining.”

“Sorry, I forgot,” Zena said sharply. But as usual, the irony was wasted on him.

She went out, hunching momentarily as the water soaked her once more. The rain was colder now! If she didn’t catch pneumonia…

Karen followed her, hunching similarly. “Zena, listen,” she called over the noise. “I want to explain—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“You told me at the outset how the men expected—”

“And you told me you were married.”

“My husband’s in California! Do you think I’ll ever see him again?”

That stopped her. California was as good as Mars, as far as accessibility went. If he were not dead already, he might as well be. Karen, therefore, was being practical. Still, that drug addiction—“We have gas and food to find,” Zena said, moving on.

“Yes, of course! But it is important to encourage everyone to participate—”

Zena opened the glass door and stepped inside. It was true that Karen had gotten Gus to contribute a little more to group survival than he might have otherwise, but that hardly seemed to justify the method.

The place had been ransacked. The floor was covered with debris, and the shelves were empty.

“If it’s this bad in a filling station,” Zena asked rhetorically, “how bad is it going to be in a supermarket?”

“They missed the candy machine!” Karen said. “Come on!”

“I never broke into a machine in my life.”

“You may not need candy, but believe me, I do!” Karen found a large screwdriver and began prying.

Disgusted, Zena walked out. She checked the pumps in front, but they appeared to be out of gas. It was evident that many people had been alert to the spoils of anarchy— and much faster to act. But they had been hurried, no doubt eager to get home; a careful search should turn up more than candy bars.

There was a noise, not the rain. Zena looked around before remembering that Karen was at work inside the station, probably hammering on the machine. No sense getting jumpy about sounds.

There were elevated tanks behind. Did they hold reserves of gasoline? Or something else? But they sounded hollow under the beat of rains: indication enough.

She came back around the side. A door said MEN. That reminded her: they needed water to flush the toilet—and water to drink, too. They could always collect rain, but if there were running water here for the bus’s tanks, that would be easier.

She walked around to the WOMEN door and tried the handle. The door was locked.

There was a banging from inside.

Karen?

Zena walked to the front and peered through the glass. Karen was still working on the machine.

Back at the WOMEN door, Zena knocked. “Are you all right?” she called, feeling a bit foolish.

“Locked in!” a childish treble replied. “Help!”

“You can open it,” Zena said. “Pull out the dingus and turn the handle.”

“I can’t!”

“Just a minute.” Zena looked about. After a moment’s search she found a curved crowbar lying on the ground, apparently thrown there by the prior vandals. She picked it up and inserted the sharp end into the crack of the door. Then it became obvious why the lock would not release: the moisture had made it swell tight.

Zena threw her body into it, not concerned about damage. There was a lot of leverage in a crowbar. Something cracked, and she was able to jam the point in deeper. Another heave, and the door pried out, its lock ruined.

A young girl, thirteen or fourteen, was inside. She was dry and rather pretty.

Then a yellow animal attacked. Zena fended it off, batting it away. Her leg stung from a scratch.

“Dust Devil!” the girl exclaimed, stumbling.

It was a little cat. It withdrew, snarling.

The girl swept her hand toward it. She caught the hind end of the cat, and picked up the animal, hauling it into the air by its back legs. “This is Dust Devil,” she said. “He’s not a bad cat, really. He just doesn’t like people.”

“If that’s how you treat him, no wonder!”

“He understands about me. Who are you?”

“Zena Emers. You?”

“What?”

“Who are you?”

“Oh! Floy. Floy Sanford. And this is Dust Devil. He—”

“Yes, I know,” Zena said. “What are you doing in here?”

“Well, I came to—you know—and when I got out, they were gone. I didn’t know where to go, so I didn’t go anywhere. And then the door stuck.”

“Who was gone? Your family?”

“Yes.”

“Did something happen to them?”

“No, they just drove off. I wasn’t too surprised, really.”

“Drove off and left you—deliberately?”

“It was sort of crowded. They didn’t much like Dust Devil.”

“That I can understand. But still—how long ago?”

“I don’t know. It was around midnight, and the rain didn’t stop.”

“Midnight! Twelve hours ago?”

“I guess. I slept some. Got any food?”

“I’m here looking for some! And gasoline.”

“Is it still raining?”

Zena, dripping wet before the door that opened out into the endless storm, didn’t bother to answer. So this girl was stranded, deserted by her own family. What was to become of her?

“Floy, how old are you?” If she were older than she looked—

“Fourteen. Dust Devil’s one year, next week. He doesn’t much like people, except me.”

No genius, obviously! A fourteen year old girl with her vicious cat—how would that pair fit into Gus’s prospective harem?

What choice was there? “Come on,” Zena said.

“But it’s raining!”

“Do you want to stay here until it floods? We have a motor-home—and if we can just find gas, we’ll be driving north to the highlands.”

“My folks were going south.”

Was it poetic justice, that those who had deserted this child would die in the flood, while Floy herself survived? Zena led the way out Floy lurched into the doorway, banging against it.

“Watch where you’re going! You’ll hurt yourself,” Zena said sharply.

“I don’t hurt easy.” Floy shoved outside and took a full sprawl on the soaking pavement.

“For God’s sake, girl!” Zena cried, hauling her up by an arm. “Are you sick?” Again that fear of some debilitating disease made her shudder.

“No worse’n usual. Just never was much for moving around.”

Now, holding on to Floy, Zena became aware that the girl was moving with extraordinary lack of grace. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Just clumsy—awful clumsy,” Floy said. “Butterfingers all over. Always been this way—but now it’s worse.”

“Did you suffer nerve damage as a baby?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

It was becoming more apparent why Floy had been left. This child would have been a problem in survival in the best of health. She was a disaster in her present condition.

Zena got Floy into the front office, where Karen had succeeded in breaking open the candy machine. “Sixty-one assorted candy bars!” Karen gloated. “Who is she?”

“She was trapped in the john. Name’s Floy.”

Floy snatched up a candy bar, scattering several others across the floor in the process. “Hey!” Karen yelped. “We need those!”

“She hasn’t eaten for twelve hours or more,” Zena said. “Spare one from your hoard. It isn’t as if it’s such precious food.”

“It’s the vital food,” Karen said.

Zena sighed. What a mishmash of oddballs she traveled with! From what narcotic vision had that dietetic revelation emerged?

There was a feline screech, followed by a human one. Karen shoved something furry away.

“That’s Dust Devil,” Zena said.

Karen wiped her scratched leg. “So nice to have a formal introduction!”

“We’ve got to find gasoline,” Zena said. “Otherwise, we may never leave here.”

“Are you going to take me with you?” Floy asked, sounding indifferent.

“I don’t see what choice we have,” Zena said, shaking her head. “But first you’ll have to understand about—”

“She’s only a child!” Karen interrupted her.

“That’s why she has to understand.”

“Understand what?” Floy asked.

“Never mind.” Karen said.

“Oh, so we’re getting finicky about morality now,” Zena said nastily.

“Age of consent,” Karen muttered, at a double disadvantage because of her position and the presence of the child.

“What’s the age of consent for being deserted in a filling station?”

“What is it you’re talking about?” Floy demanded.

“There are five of us,” Zena explained, deciding she was being unfair to Karen. There were things that should not be discussed too frankly, here. “Six, counting you—and it’s going to be crowded and difficult.”

“That’s all? Story of my life,” Floy said. “I thought maybe you had a sex maniac aboard.” She walked to the glass window and looked at the streaming water.

Karen stared after her. “Palsy?” she whispered.

Zena shrugged. “Human being.”

“I don’t like being alone,” Floy said. “If I hadn’t had Dust Devil—”

“We can’t take the cat!” Zena exclaimed.

“That’s what I thought. So I guess I’ll stay here.”

“You can’t stay here. In hours it’ll flood!”

“Dust Devil’s all I have.”

Zena sighed again. “Maybe we’ll all stay, with no gas.”

“There must be cars we can siphon it from,” Karen said. “Or other stations nearby.”

“Yes.” Zena shook herself. “There have to be.”

Karen had gathered all the candy bars into an oily cloth and made a bundle of them. “We’d better go back.”

“Wait—someone’s coming,” Zena said, seeing a tall shape.

It was Gordon. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Rhetorical question,” Zena said. “He always says that. Gordon, meet Floy and Dust Devil.”

“Pleased to know you both,” Gordon said without hesitation. “You’ll be joining our party, of course. Let me carry Dust Devil.”

“Careful,” Floy warned. “He doesn’t much like—”

“Cats and I understand each other,” Gordon said, lifting the little feline without protest. “Come, dear—take my arm.”

“Gee,” Floy said, flattered. She took firm hold of him and walked with much less difficulty.

Zena turned to find Karen already looking at her. Both were amazed. This was a talent Gordon had not had opportunity to show before.

“What are you going to be when you’re adult?” Gordon inquired as they stepped into the rain.

“A dancer,” Floy confessed shyly.

Zena bit her tongue.

“I know something about dancing,” Gordon said. “Have you ever seen the Drunken Sailor’s Hornpipe?” He leaned away from her and did an intricate little step, with the cat waving precariously. The whole thing was ludicrous, in this downpour. “Or did you mean ballet?”

“Ballet!” Floy cried, laughing. “You crazy?”

“Only when the wind is north-northwest.”

“That’s Shakespeare,” she said. “You thought I wouldn’t know.”

“You caught me!” he admitted. “By the way, Floy— we’re almost out of gasoline. Do you know where there’s another station, close?”

“There’s gas right here,” Floy said.

Zena shook her head. “Pump’s empty, and so are the big tanks out back.”

“Under the ground,” Floy explained. “Pump won’t bring it up because the power’s off. I heard them talking about it, through the wall. You have to work it by hand.”

Zena clapped her hand to her forehead. Power off—of course! Naturally the pumps weren’t operating.

“My dear, you have sharp ears,” Gordon said. “Come meet the others. Watch the step, now—it’s slippery.”

“The guy’s a genius,” Karen exclaimed as the two disappeared inside the bus. “Kooked, but smart!”

Zena continued to stare after them. “He must have empathy. He says he’s miscast in his body, and she’s handicapped in hers. It’s a lesson to me.”

It took them more than an hour to break open a pump, decipher the mechanism, and crank the gasoline out by hand. But when it was done, they had eighty gallons of gas in their two tanks, plus sixteen more stashed in assorted cans. Enough to take them well into the mountains, even if they never found another refill. Floy, however accidentally, had already done them an enormous favor, and earned her keep.

Now they were six, plus the cat—and it was crowded. The motor-home was designed to accommodate six, but the manufacturer had obviously not intended them all to be confined to it for twenty-four hours a day without relief.

Two were always resting or asleep on the rear couches, and two were always in the seats up front. That left two—and Dust Devil—in limbo, awake and active with nothing to do. The cat seemed to feel that all comfortable furniture was reserved for him, and he was ready to battle for his rights. The flooded sections of the highway were almost a relief.

Zena washed some clothing in the bathroom and hung it over available edges for whatever drying it could manage. Her legs were tired from standing while the bus jolted. But Thatch was sleeping on the dinette-alcove bed. He could have used the one that came down from the ceiling above the rear bed, but Gus didn’t like anyone there when he was with Karen. That left Zena the sodden floor.

“I’m awake,” Thatch said. “Sit down.”

“Thanks.” She sank to the edge of the bunk, relieved to get the weight off her feet.

He swung his own feet to the floor. He was dressed, of course; night clothing was pointless in this circumstance. They had fallen into the habit of changing whenever it was necessary to go outside, so that each person had a dry set of clothing waiting inside. Zena had thus seen more of the others than she liked, and shown more of herself. Gus’s eyes did not help.

“Some dream!” Thatch said.

“Dream?” He seldom volunteered anything, and it had not occurred to her that he would have dreams. Now she was curious.

“That I was home with my family,” he said.

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I don’t have a family. Never did. Only foster homes.”

“You were an orphan?”

“Not exactly. Illegitimate.”

She found herself both gratified and upset by this confidence. She was glad he now felt free to talk about himself, but appalled at the bleakness of his background. Still, it helped her to understand him. He had never had a normal family, no real roots. Thus, never a chance to develop the sense of security or interdependence of a family relationship.

Gus must have become that family. Dictatorial Gus, like an arrogant father, giving orders that were not to be gainsaid. Yet Gus was weak, too—like some fathers—and that side of him brought out Thatch’s loyalty. Thatch’s entire lost childhood, the good and the bad, given a twisted fulfillment through this odd subservience.

So she had a comprehension of the man, of sorts. Still, it twisted something in her gut. What was comprehensible was not necessarily acceptable.

Thatch misunderstood her silence. “I did have a father. I just never knew who he was, so I never missed him. And my mother—”

Zena sat up straight. “Mother!” she exclaimed.

Thatch looked perplexed. “Something wrong?”

“What have I been thinking of? My mother lives on the coast!”

“So does mine,” Gordon said from the driver’s seat. Zena had forgotten that he and Floy were within hearing. They had not been snooping; it was almost impossible to hold a private conversation here.

“This flooding—” Zena said.

Gordon slowed the vehicle, so that he could pay more attention to the conversation. That was one of the little ways he showed his priorities. People always came first. “Do you think the sea itself will rise? I assumed that there was only a limited amount of water available to circulate, so that it had to be rising into the atmosphere from the ocean as fast as it falls on land. When this disturbance passes—”

Zena sidestepped that. “The runoff will wash right through the coastal cities. Supplies will be cut. There’ll be looting. I want to get my mother out of there!”

“I see your point. Where is she?”

“Jacksonville. It’s almost on our route.”

“My folks are in Norfolk.”

“Maybe we couldn’t drive all the way in, but we could get close enough to hike the rest of the way,” she said eagerly. “Fetch her out—she’s a widow, my father died two years ago.”

“What nonsense is this?” Gus demanded, coming up from the back room.

“With all our driving problems,” Gordon said, “we never thought of other people. Our relatives—”

“We can’t go looking for relatives!” Gus exclaimed. “We’ve got six here now—a full crew!”

“My mother will die, alone in that city!” Zena cried.

“What city?”

“Jacksonville.”

“We’re past Jacksonville! Can’t turn back now.”

“What?” Zena asked. “We can’t be.”

“You think we’ve been standing still while you’ve been sleeping? The intersection for Jacksonville was at the Suwannee crossing, where we rowed the bus. We’re in Georgia now.”

“We can’t be that far along,” Zena said. “There are other roads—”

Karen came up. “She’s got a point, Gus. We have to make a side trip for food supplies, too.”

Why was food always on Karen’s mind, especially sweet food? If she really had that big a hunger, she should weigh two hundred pounds, Zena thought resentfully.

“If we go wandering into flooded cities, we’ll never make it to high ground!” Gus said. “We have to save ourselves; we can’t do any more than that—but we could do a hell of a lot less than that by diverting our energy and wasting time.”

“Do you call saving lives wasting time?” Zena cried, beginning to sound distressingly hysterical in her own ears.

“How many people live in Jacksonville?” Gus demanded. “A million? You want to save one old woman and let the rest wash out to sea?”

“That’s heartless!” Zena said, feeling tears in her eyes. She saw Karen nodding, and felt a surge of gratitude for that silent support. After the way she had spoken to Karen, and thought about her…

“No, it’s practical,” Gus said. “We can’t save the world; we can’t save even a fraction of it. If we load ourselves down with useless people, we won’t even save ourselves.”

“Useless people!” Zena cried. “You mean anyone who won’t haul on a pulley or serve as a sex object?”

“No!” Gus said, growing heated. Then he paused. “But looking at it your way, maybe the answer is yes.”

“My way!”

“Now we’re fighting among ourselves,” Gordon said. “Believe it or not, I can see both sides—and both have merit.”

“What both sides?” Zena demanded. Her body was shaking.

“His side: we have to get to high ground as rapidly as possible, so we can park without danger of getting flooded out, and can begin foraging for survival supplies. We can’t delay even a day, because that might get us trapped behind deep water and an impassable current. And all our members have to be young and healthy, or the group will be too weak to stand up.”

“Good summary,” Gus agreed. “This is the second deluge, you know—literally. According to the Annular Theory—”

“We aren’t all strong or healthy,” Zena began. But even in the heat of argument she couldn’t speak the obvious about Karen and Floy.

“Your side,” Gordon continued, turning to Zena. “Survival of this small group is no good if it is accomplished at the price of dehumanization. We can’t preserve our bit of civilization by ruthlessly writing off relatives and ignoring the plight of those most in need. And somewhere in Jacksonville there are bound to be supplies that we shall need for the long haul.”

“That’s it!” Zena exclaimed. “You think just like a woman.”

“Thank you,” Gordon said. “Hardly surprising, since I am a—”

“Don’t start that again, either!” Gus cried.

Gordon paused, and it was almost as though his lip curled. “I propose a compromise. We head for Jacksonville —but only if the road is open and unflooded. If we make it there, we search for Zena’s mother. If we can’t find her within six hours, we give it up. We give up all relatives—mine included.”

“But that—” Gus started, realizing the scope of the compromise.

“Put it to a vote,” Gordon said. “We’re a democracy, aren’t we? Maybe it was something else when it started, but everybody has something to contribute to our survival and so everyone has a fair say.”

Gus wanted to protest that too, but Karen put her hand on his arm. “I think that’s fair, don’t you?” she murmured to him.

Gus glanced at her, obviously unwilling to set her against him. Again, Zena felt that turn in her stomach. What means was Karen using to achieve what ends? Was she trying to help the group, or Zena—or herself?

“I proposed the vote, so I’ll exclude myself,” Gordon said. “Ladies first. Floy?”

“Gee—” Floy began, flattered at the designation.

“Oh, go ahead and see Jacksonville!” Gus said. “But you’re making the same mistake as before.”

That was another strike at Zena: the lost hour when they had searched in vain for the black girl.

“I’ll turn east at the next interchange,” Gordon said. “We’ll find it.”

The chance came within two miles. Gordon turned, and they were soon on a two-lane road. There were traffic lights here, but all were dead, and there was no other traffic. Gordon drove on through without pausing.

Then they approached a city or town: no road signs remained visible, but stalled cars blocked the road, forcing maneuvering. Zena peered through window and rain at the buildings, and thought she saw faces peering back at her. Children’s faces, but not animated. The effect was eerie.

“Look at that!” Floy cried, pointing ahead.

It was a store, a supermarket—and it was burning. The rain stifled the flames outside, but the interior was gutted. Several shapes lay before the broken glass frontage. They resembled human bodies.

“There must have been a battle royal,” Gus said. “They got hungry and fought over food—and now it’s all gone up in flames.”

“None left for us,” Floy said wistfully.

A man ran out before the bus, waving his arms in the air. Gordon slewed to avoid him, then gunned the motor. They heard a faint shout over the rain-beat—and saw other figures emerge from buildings ahead.

“Suddenly I don’t like this!” Gordon said. “They’re crazed—and if we stop, they’ll get aboard—and we may not get moving again.”

Glass shattered. Then they heard the sound of the gun. Someone had shot out the kitchen window.

“Turn around!” Gus screamed. “Get us out of here— before they hit the motor or tires!”

Abruptly Zena saw the utter futility of her effort. They had hardly come five miles toward Jacksonville, and already they were under fire. They could never make it— and the chances were that her mother, trapped in a worse area than this because of the denser population and lower terrain, was dead already.

Gordon turned the bus around, skidding on the slick pavement. Figures were all around them, brandishing sticks and pistols. Gordon backed up rapidly, and there was a bang and a scream. He plunged forward—and another figure went down. The bus jerked violently, first the front, then the rear.

Zena clawed her way toward the bathroom, but didn’t make it. She vomited on the hall rug.

Now Gordon was speeding well above the safe rate, back through the half-living town, one hand on the horn almost continuously. “Gloria could cry,” he muttered wistfully.

“To think,” Karen said as she hung on to the kitchen sink, “that this was once a typical, peaceful, conservative suburban community—three days ago.”

A hand came down to help Zena up. It was Gus. “I didn’t mean it to be like this,” he said. Then he lurched into the bathroom and spewed the content of his own stomach into the little sink.

Zena understood.

Miraculously they escaped with no worse damage than the broken window. Thatch put cloth across it, and they resumed travel on the comparatively safe interstate. They had won through to higher ground. The dancing lakes of the lowlands were replaced by the ugly erosion of the slopes. And mischief of another nature.

Gordon was driving again, Floy keeping him company. They had settled into shifts: Gus and Karen, Gordon and Floy, Thatch and Zena. Night was coming, though this made less difference in the rain than it would have ordinarily. At the moment the non-driving shifts were confused, for Gus and Thatch were snoozing at the rear. Zena was playing honeymoon bridge with Karen in the alcove.

“One diamond,” Zena bid, considering her dummy.

“One h—” Karen responded as a tire blew out.

The bus lurched. Gordon had been doing twenty-five, his maximum safe speed in the rain. But as the vehicle slewed about, it seemed like seventy.

A second tire blew. The bus bumped to a halt.

“Something in the road,” Gordon said. “Glass or nails—had to happen sometime. We’ve been lucky until now.”

“You’re too damn philosophical!” Floy complained. “If you aren’t going to swear, do you mind if I do?”

Gus and Thatch came up, single file. “Blowout?” Thatch asked. “I can fix it.”

“No you don’t!” Gus said. The others looked at him. Was Gus actually volunteering?

“Think it through,” Gus continued. “Glass from an accident—and no dead cars in the road? Why didn’t the rain wash it out?”

“We don’t know it’s glass,” Zena said.

“All the same, don’t go out there till we’re sure!”

“How can we be sure what it is without looking first?” Floy asked.

“Not what, who!”

“It’s a paranoid suspicion,” Zena said. “We haven’t seen any other people since—”

“Since this morning,” Karen said.

“Find weapons,” Gus said. “We’ve got hammers, screwdrivers—”

“I’ll change those tires myself,” Zena cried, disgusted. Gus would rather invent fantastic outside conspiracies than face the prospect of work. She stepped down and pushed open the door.

A heavy hand fell on her shoulder, hauling her into the night. She screamed. Another hand clamped over her mouth. She bit it.

Then it was a wild nocturnal struggle. She threw someone over her shoulder, but was borne down by another. Figures tumbled out of the door.

There was a snarl, whether animal or human she could not guess. A man screamed, horribly. Zena’s attacker jerked away and ran off through the rain.

Zena stood. Another shape loomed, framed by the lights of the bus. She settled into a defensive posture.

“Zena?” It was Gordon’s voice.

Her body suddenly felt weak. “Yes! Are the others—?”

“Yes. Only Floy and I came out. Didn’t want to risk fighting among ourselves. I think there were only two ambushers. You’re quite a scrapper!”

“I was terrified! You drove them off.”

“Not I,” he said. “Gloria wields a wicked hatpin, but I use my fist—and that scream came before I could mix in.”

A yellow streak went up the steps and under the dinette table. “Dust Devil!” Zena said, comprehending the scream. “What an ally in a night fight!” She followed the cat in to see what it carried. The object was small and whitish under the blood. “Oh-oh!”

“Let me see that!” Gordon said, putting his hand on the cat. “My God!”

“What is it?” Karen demanded.

“An eyeball,” Gordon said.

“Nonsense! That little creature couldn’t have—” She paused looking at Floy. The girl was licking off her fingers.

“Let’s get those tires fixed before the ambushers come back,” Gus said. “You see, I was right.”

Thatch already had a wrench. He went to the front.

“And post a guard!” Gus said.

“I’ll stand guard,” Zena said.

“Better be a man,” Gus said. “One look at your silhouette and they’ll jump you.”

“Leave my silhouette out of this!” Zena snapped, realizing that her shirt had been torn in the fray. “But I don’t think they’ll be back.”

Gordon came up with a broom. “I want to be sure that road is clean.”

Zena could tell just by walking that nails were scattered across the highway. This had been an ambush, all right. Probably the men had slept nearby, waiting for the sound of blowouts. Lucky they hadn’t had guns.

Gordon came up to her. “Take this,” he said, putting something into her hand. It was a hatpin—the wickedest she had ever held. The point was super-sharp, and the thing was a good eight inches long.

“Remind me never to fight with Gloria!” she said.

“Don’t fight with Floy either,” he murmured. “I believe her coordination improves when she acts instinctively— and she has a killer instinct, same as that cat.” He moved on, carefully sweeping the wet pavement.

Yes indeed, she thought. Innocent, clumsy little Floy— and a scream in the night, part beast, part human agony. A girl licking off her fingers, and a cat chewing contentedly on an eyeball. That pair could take care of themselves.

Gloria, too, with her murderous hatpin. How quickly the predator manifested in adversity!

But she had to give Gus credit too. He had been the first to suspect the ambush. And the first to gird for an indefinite rain, by setting up with the bus and heading for high ground. And he had been right twice about the perils of turning back—for any reason. He had his faults, which were colossal—but he also possessed those devious qualities of leadership and foresight necessary to form this group and get it to safety in time.

In fact, this ill-matched little party might be destined for survival after all.

It looked as though Thatch were finishing up, so she went over. “Did you speak to Gus about Karen?” she asked.

“Yes.” He knocked a nut tight and stood up, pocketing a patching kit. It must have been quite a repair job under these conditions, yet he had not complained.

“And?”

“He said he’d take care of it.”

“What does he know about drug addiction? Have you seen how lethargic she gets? And this darn preoccupation with sweets. If he lets her off, there’s no telling what will happen in the next emergency.”

“He knows what to do.”

“Why don’t you ever know what to do, Thatch? Your brain is as good as his.”

“No. I never went to college.”

“That’s irrelevant! Look how you fixed these tires.”

Thatch shrugged and started to walk toward Gordon, who was now detectable only by the continuous sounds of sweeping.

“You do all the work,” Zena continued, pacing him. “While he—didn’t you see what he and Karen were up to, last time we used the pulleys?” That reminded her of another thing. “What steps do you think he’ll take to stop her drugs, when she’s giving him that?”

But Thatch didn’t answer, and she felt cheap. He didn’t need her to aggravate the situation!

They came up to Gordon. “I think it’s clear, now,” Gordon said. “Most of the nails are behind us, anyway, and there won’t be more traffic along this stretch. I just wanted to be extra sure.”

Thatch nodded, and the three started back. “I’m really beginning to believe that this rain will never stop,” Gordon said. “I know some of you have maintained that fact all along, but you can’t blame me for being skeptical. I got to thinking, while I swept—if it doesn’t stop, and if civilization is wiped out—we may be stuck with each other for a long time.”

Zena wanted to comment, but didn’t dare. Gordon was coming to grips with the reality. Thatch hadn’t been asked a direct question, so he did not respond.

“In that case,” Gordon continued, “we should have to begin pairing off. That’s not so hard for the rest of you; Gus and Karen already have, and the two of you—”

“What?” Zena yelped.

“But for me, it’s difficult, because I’m in the wrong body.”

“Floy’s in the wrong body too,” Thatch said.

“Yes. So it would seem to be up to you,” Gordon said.

“What are you talking about!” Zena exclaimed indignantly.

“Carrying on,” Gordon said.

“What does that mean?”

But they had reached the bus, and Gordon elected not to elucidate. Zena had to stew by herself.

Inside, Floy had found some food coloring and fixed up green and blue breadcrusts. “It’s Dust Devil’s birthday,” she announced. “He’s one year old along about now.”

In a moment Gloria appeared from the bathroom. “Happy birthday, DD!” she cried.

With an eyeball for an appetizer, Zena thought. The shape of things to come?