Mackenzie roused himself fretfully. “I hope you had some sleep during the day. We’ve got a lot to do. We don’t need to have me deliver a theatrical harangue, do we?”
“What’s on your mind?”
“We can’t keep thinking in stopgap terms an hour at a time. We’re going to be here a while-we’ve got to plan it out.”
“How long can we stay here and live, Mackenzie?”
“Earle can’t be moved any distance.”
Earle spoke with drunken thickness. “Leave me. If there’s a chance you can get out-”
“Shut up, Earle.” He wished there were some way to avert Earle from feeding in the trough of his guilt: things were bad enough without having to dissuade Earle from martyrdom at every turning.
“We’ll get out in time,” Mackenzie said. “We’ll need clothes on our backs-shoes on our feet.”
There was a burst of inverted laughter from Jay. “Where’s the department store out here? I must have missed it on the way in.”
“You’ve got to stop fighting me.” Mackenzie’s head ached. He fought to concentrate. “This isn’t dead ground. Things live in it. Animals, birds, plants. We’ve got to be predators, that’s all.”
“We’re plastic people from a transistorized civilization two thousand years removed from all this,” Jay said with stubborn cynicism. “I don’t see how we can wipe that out overnight.”
Shirley began to speak but Mackenzie held up a restraining hand. Jay’s last words rattled around in his head-something vitally important: he reached for it, chased it around his mind. An answer was there-he had to find it. The same answer that had eluded him all through the day. What?
Plastic.… Then he had it and he bolted to his feet.
Jay’s head rocked back. He stared at Mackenzie in sudden terror.
Mackenzie was turning, searching the slope, reconstructing last night’s scene. The truck had been-there. He walked toward it as swiftly as he could. Something jabbed his heel and he almost turned his ankle; it made him stop and proceed more cautiously-all they needed was another cripple.
Jay limped after him. “What is it, man?”
“That blessed beautiful plastic God damn raincoat.”
12
It wasn’t where he remembered it falling. Something heavy sank through his throat-a hollow sensation of abject fright.
He went down on his knees and searched. “Help me find it-it’s got to be right around here.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Little rectangle of clear plastic. Folded up. Maybe eight inches by four inches.”
“What good would that do us?”
He made no answer; he swiveled desperately on his knees, pawed at the ground, searched the pale silver earth in starlight. So clearly last night he’d seen Duggai’s scheme; he’d kicked the raincoat out of the truck knowing it could make the vital difference-then forgotten it perversely in the tangle of fears.
He groped, widening the furious search. Had Duggai found it, tossed it back into the truck? But Mackenzie had been watching him for just that-hadn’t seen Duggai stoop to pick anything up. Then where had the God damn thing gone?
“This what we’re looking for?”
Jay was thirty feet away. Mackenzie gawked at him, got his feet under him, crossed the slope lifting his feet as if from a white-hot surface. “Wind must have blown it around.”
“I don’t see what good it’ll do-it won’t even keep the sun off anybody.”
Mackenzie unfolded the packet. The plastic smelled musty. He stretched it out. Through it he could see the stars.
“Thank God.”
“Mackenzie, I swear to God I’m going to-”
“Come on.” He moved away muttering: “Duggai’s watching us of course. We’ve got to pick a spot he can’t see. If he knew what we were up to he’d come down here one fine noon and cut it to ribbons. We need a hollow-maybe some brush to screen it from him.”
Jay stopped behind him. “You’re going around the bend, Mackenzie. You’re babbling. Incipient paranoia.”
“Come on, damn you-over here, this’ll do.”
It was a dry ravine with irregular V sides not more than three feet deep at the center but it made an S-bend here and clumps of catclaw stood on either bank. You couldn’t see the bottom if you weren’t standing directly above it.
Jay approached with wary stealth. Mackenzie climbed down into the ravine. “Give me a hand. We’ve got to dig.”
“Again?” But Jay came painfully down the sloping bank and waited for instruction.
They scooped a bowl in the bottom of the ravine. Mackenzie used the unfolded raincoat as a pattern: they made the bowl a few inches smaller in diameter than the plastic.
The bowl sloped down to a bottom about two feet deep where Mackenzie carefully built up a large cup of earth, molding it like a piece of pottery. He cut half a sleeve off the raincoat, slit it open and used it for a liner in the cup. It had a capacity of perhaps three quarts-more than enough. The plastic liner ought to prevent anything from seeping into the ground.
The cool subsoil was slightly damp to the touch. That would be enough moisture to start the action; later it would have to be fed with earth and succulents.
Jay followed his instructions as if mesmerized. His initiative was pretty much gone. He didn’t ask questions and Mackenzie perversely volunteered nothing, withholding knowledge because mystery cemented his power. There was still the possibility of mutiny-Jay’s tractability of the moment might not last.
Mackenzie laid the raincoat carefully across the top of the open bowl of earth. He made gestures and Jay imitated his actions: they anchored it down all the way around with heaped earth and stones until the thin plastic was stretched like a drumhead across the top of the hole in the ground. Then Mackenzie placed a small stone in the center of the plastic to make it sag, the stone hanging directly above the plastic-lined cup beneath.
He knew it would work in theory.
But I’ll believe it when I see it.
The spines of the Senita scraped off easily with the knife-like rows of kernels slicing off a corncob. They sucked thin watery sap out of the cactus pulp until their throats no longer constricted in spasms. Mackenzie cut up the rest of it in chunks and dropped them into the hole under the taut plastic.
Jay was dubious. “It’s bone dry in there, Mackenzie.”
“Wait for the sun.”
Mackenzie tested the knife blade with his thumb. When the three of them went back across the hill toward Earle they hobbled like cripples. His feet felt twice their normal size. He limped painfully back into the bushes, impelled by rumbling volcanic pressures inside him. The beginnings of dysenteric diarrhea-unavoidable but frightening: if it got bad enough it would sap every vestige of strength. It ran through him painfully; he cleaned up as best he could with greasewood fronds; then he made his way as far as Earle’s bush and sat down, taking his weight on one palm to lower himself and sitting awkwardly on the side of one buttock to twist the soles of his tortured feet toward the air.
Shirley said, “Not to be gruesome, Sam, but how long has it been since you had a tetanus shot?”
“We get one every spring. Forest Service manual.”
“Then that’s all right. The rest of us could be in a bad way if you went lockjaw on us.”
Jay said, “A bad way compared to what?”
A sheaf of Shirley’s cutoff hair-the strands they hadn’t used up on Earle’s splints-lay weighted with a rock. Mackenzie considered it and leaned back on his elbow and propped his cheek against his palm. An ant climbed his arm and he flicked it away.
“Earle’s probably going to have chills tonight. We’ll need wood and dry tinder. Shave off some parings of that man-zanita bark. Bust up ocotillo and catclaw-it should make good kindling. Any of this brush around here will burn.”