The runners searched around. The blaster was nowhere to be seen.
"Let it go." Trent shook his head dully, trying to collect himself. "What happened? The light."
"A grenade." The runners puffed with pride. "We stretched a wire across the trail, attached to the pin."
"The bugs control most of this area," another said. "We have to fight our way through." Around his neck hung a pair of binoculars. The runners were armed with slug-pistols and knives.
"Are you really a human being?" a runner asked. "The original stock?"
"That's right," Trent muttered in unsteady tones.
The runners were awed. Their beady eyes grew wide. They touched his metal suit, his viewplate. His oxygen tank and pack. One squatted down and expertly traced the circuit of his transmitter apparatus.
"Where are you from?" the leader asked in his deep purr-like voice. "You're the first human we've seen in months."
Trent spun, choking. "Months? Then ..."
"None around here. We're from Canada. Up around Montreal. There's a human settlement up there."
Trent's breath came fast. "Walking distance?"
"Well, we made it in a couple of days. But we go fairly fast." The runner eyed Trent's metal-clad legs doubtfully. "I don't know. For you it would take longer."
Humans. A human settlement. "How many? A big settlement? Advanced?"
Humans. A human settlement. "How many? A big settlement? Advanced?"
"They're operating successfully? They have tools -- machinery -- compressors? Food tanks to keep going?"
The runner twisted uneasily. "As a matter of fact they may not be there any more."
Trent froze. Fear cut through him like a knife. "Not there? What do you mean?"
"They may be gone."
"Gone where?" Trent's voice was bleak. "What happened to them?"
"I don't know," the runner said. "I don't know what happened to them. Nobody knows."
He pushed on, hurrying frantically north. The jungle gave way to a bitterly cold fern-like forest. Great silent trees on all sides. The air was thin and brittle.
He was exhausted. And only one tube of oxygen remained in the tank. After that he would have to open his helmet. How long would he last? The first rain cloud would bring lethal particles sweeping into his lungs. Or the first strong wind, blowing from the ocean.
He halted, gasping for breath. He had reached the top of a long slope. At the bottom a plain stretched out -- tree-covered -- a dark green expanse, almost brown. Here and there a spot of white gleamed. Ruins of some kind. A human city had been here three centuries ago.
Nothing stirred -- no sign of life. No sign anywhere.
Trent made his way down the slope. Around him the forest was silent. A dismal oppression hung over everything. Even the usual rustling of small animals was lacking. Animals, insects, men -- all were gone. Most of the runners had moved south. The small things probably had died. And the men?
He came out among the ruins. This had been a great city once. Then men had probably gone down in air-raid shelters and mines and subways. Later on they had enlarged their underground chambers. For three centuries men -- true men -- had held on, living below the surface. Wearing lead-lined suits when they came up, growing food in tanks, filtering their water, compressing particle-free air. Shielding their eyes against the glare of the bright sun.
And now -- nothing at all.
He lifted his transmitter. "Mine," he snapped. "This is Trent."
The transmitter sputtered feebly. It was a long time before it responded. The voice was faint, distant. Almost lost in the static. "Well? Did you find them?"
"They're gone."
"But ..."
"Nothing. No one. Completely abandoned." Trent sat down on a broken stump of concrete. His body was dead. Drained of life. "They were here recently. The ruins aren't covered. They must have left in the last few weeks."
"It doesn't make sense. Mason and Douglas are on their way. Douglas has the tractor car. He should be there in a couple of days. How long will your oxygen last?"
"Twenty-four hours."
"We'll tell him to make time."
"I'm sorry I don't have more to report. Something better." Bitterness welled up in his voice. "After all these years. They were here all this time. And now that we've finally got to them..."
"Any clues? Can you tell what became of them?"
"I'll look." Trent got heavily to his feet. "If I find anything I'll report."
"Good luck." The faint voice faded off into static. "We'll be waiting."
Trent returned the transmitter to his belt. He peered up at the gray sky. Evening -- almost night. The forest was bleak and ominous. A faint blanket of snow was falling silently over the brown growth, hiding it under a layer of grimy white. Snow mixed with particles. Lethal dust -- still falling, after three hundred years.
He switched on his helmet-beam. The beam cut a pale swath ahead of him through the trees, among the ruined columns of concrete, the occasional heaps of rusted slag. He entered the ruins.
among the ruined columns of concrete, the occasional heaps of rusted slag. He entered the ruins.
Where had they gone? What had happened to them? Trent wandered around dully. Human beings had lived here, worked here, survived. They had come up to the surface. He could see the bore-nosed cars parked among the towers, now gray with the night snow. They had come up and then -gone.
Where?
He sat down in the shelter of a ruined column and flicked on his heater. His suit warmed up, a slow red glow that made him feel better. He examined his counter. The area was hot. If he intended to eat and drink he'd have to move on.
He was tired. Too damn tired to move on. He sat resting, hunched over in a heap, his helmet-beam lighting up a circle of gray snow ahead of him. Over him the snow fell silently. Presently he was covered, a gray lump sitting among the ruined concrete. As silent and unmoving as the towers and scaffolding around him.
He dozed. His heater hummed gently. Around him a wind came up, swirling the snow, blowing it up against him. He slid forward a little until his metal and plastic helmet came to rest against the concrete.
Towards midnight he woke up. He straightened, suddenly alert. Something -- a noise. He listened.
Far off, a dull roaring.
Douglas in the car? No, not yet -- not for another two days. He stood up, snow pouring off him. The roar was growing, getting louder. His heart began to hammer wildly. He peered around, his beam flashing through the night.
The ground shook, vibrating through him, rattling his almost empty oxygen tank. He gazed up at the sky -- and gasped.
A glowing trail slashed over the sky, igniting the early morning darkness. A deep red, swelling each second. He watched it, open-mouthed.
Something was coming down -- landing.
A rocket.
The long metal hull glittered in the morning sun. Men were working busily, loading supplies and equipment. Tunnel cars raced up and down, hauling material from the undersurface levels to the waiting ship. The men worked carefully and efficiently, each in his metal-and-plastic suit, in his carefully sealed lead-lined protection shield.
"How many back at your Mine?" Norris asked quietly.
"About thirty." Trent's eyes were on the ship. "Thirty-three, including all those out."
"Out?"
"Looking. Like me. A couple are on their way here. They should arrive soon. Late today or tomorrow."
Norris made some notes on his chart. "We can handle about fifteen with this load. We'll catch the rest next time. They can hold out another week?"
"Yes."
Norris eyed him curiously. "How did you find us? This is a long way from Pennsylvania. We're making our last stop. If you had come a couple days later..."
"Some runners sent me this way. They said you had gone they didn't know where."