“I'm not doing it for you, Blaine. It's for me. I need you.”
“Have you found out why yet?”
“Not yet,” Smith said.
Blame's eyes, adjusting to the gloom, could make out the outline of the zombie's head and shoulders. “What now?” he asked.
“Now you’re safe. We can bring you underground as far as New Jersey. From there you’re on your own. But I don't think you should have much trouble then.”
“What are we waiting for now?”
“Mr. Kean. I need his permission to take you through the passageways.”
They waited. In a few minutes, Blaine was able to make out Mr. Kean's thin shape, leaning on the big Negro's arm, coming toward him.
“I'm sorry about your troubles,” Kean said, sitting down beside Blaine. “It's a great pity.”
“Mr. Kean,” Smith said, “if I could just be allowed to take him through the old Holland Tunnel, into New Jersey —”
“I'm truly sorry,” Kean said, “but I cannot allow it.”
Blaine looked around and saw that he was surrounded by a dozen ragged zombies.
“I've spoken to the hunters,” Kean said, “and I have given them my guarantee that you will be back on the surface streets within half an hour. You must leave now, Blaine.”
“But why?”
“We simply can't afford to help you,” Kean said. “I was taking an unusual risk the first time, allowing you to defile Reilly's tomb. But I did it for Smith, because his destiny seems linked with yours in some way. And Smith is one of my people. But this is too much. You know we are allowed to live underground upon sufferance only.”
“I know,” Blaine said.
“Smith should have considered the consequences. When he opened that grating for you, the hunters poured in. They didn't find you, but they knew you were down here somewhere. So they searched, Blaine, they searched! Dozens of them, exploring our passageways, pushing our people around, threatening, shouting, talking on their little radios. Reporters came too, and even idle spectators. Some of the younger hunters became nervous and started shooting at the zombies.”
“I'm very sorry about that,” Blaine said.
“It wasn't your fault. But Smith should have known better. The world of the underground is not a sovereign kingdom. We exist on sufferance only, on a toleration which might be wiped out at any time. So I spoke to the hunters and the reporters.”
“What did you tell them?” Blaine asked.
“I told them that a faulty grate had given way beneath you. I said you had fallen in by accident and had crawled into hiding. I assured them that no zombie had been involved in this; that we found you and would place you back on the surface streets within half an hour. They accepted my word and left. I wish I could have done otherwise.”
“I don't blame you,” Blaine said, getting slowly to his feet.
“I didn't specify where you would emerge,” Kean said. “At the very least, you'll have a better chance than before. I wish I could do more, but I cannot allow the underground to become a stage for hunts. We must stay neutral, annoy no one, frighten no one. Only in that way will we survive until an age of understanding is reached.”
“Where am I going to come out?” Blaine asked.
“I have chosen an unused subway exit at West 79th Street,” Mr. Kean said. “You should have a good chance from there. And I have done one more thing which I probably shouldn't have done.”
“What's that?”
“I have contacted a friend of yours, who will be waiting at the exit. But please don't tell anyone about it. Let's hurry now!”
Mr. Kean led the procession through the winding underground maze, and Blaine brought up the rear, his headache slowly subsiding. Soon they stopped beside a concrete staircase.
“Here is the exit,” Kean said. “Good luck, Blaine.”
“Thanks,” Blaine said. “And Smith — thanks.”
“I've tried my best for you,” Smith said. “If you die, I'll probably die. If you live, I'll keep on trying to remember.”
“And if you do remember?”
“Then I'll come and visit you,” Smith said.
Blaine nodded and walked up the staircase.
It was full night outside, and 79th Street seemed deserted. Blaine stood beside the exit, looking around, wondering what to do.
“Blaine!”
Someone was calling him. But it was not Marie, as he had expected. It was a man's voice, someone he knew — Sammy Jones, perhaps, or Theseus.
He turned quickly back to the subway exit. It was closed and fastened securely.
28
“Tom, Tom, it's me!”
“Ray?”
“Of course! Keep your voice down. There's hunters not far away. Wait now.”
Blaine waited, crouched beside the barred subway exit, peering around. He could see no sign of Melhill. There was no ectoplasmic vapor, nothing except a whispering voice.
“OK,” Melhill said. “Walk west now. Quickly.”
Blaine walked, sensing Melhill's invisible presence hovering near him. He said, “Ray, how come?”
“It's about time I was some help,” Melhill said. “That old Kean contacted your girl friend and she got in touch with me through the Spiritual Switchboard. Wait! Stop right here.”
Blaine ducked back against the corner of a building. A heli cruised slowly by at housetop level.
“Hunters,” Melhill said. “There's a field day on you, kid. Reward posted. Even a reward for information leading to. Tom, I told Marie I'd try to help. Don't know how long I can. Drains me. It's hereafter for me after this.”
“Ray, I don't know how —”
“Cut it out. Look Tom, I can't talk much. Marie has fixed a deal with some friends of hers. They've got a plan, if I can get you to them. Stop!”
Blaine stopped and found shelter behind a mailbox. Long seconds passed. Then three hunters hurried by, sidearms ready. After they turned a corner, Blaine was able to start walking again.
“Some eyes you have,” he said to Melhill.
“The vision's pretty good up here,” Melhill said. “Cross this street fast.”
Blaine sprinted across. For the next fifteen minutes, at Melhill's instructions, he wound in and out of streets, advancing and retreating across the battleground of the city.
“This is it,” Melhill said at last. “That door over there, number 341. You made it! I'll see you, Tom. Watch —”
At that moment, two men rounded a corner, stopped, and stared hard at Blaine. One said, “Hey, that's the guy!”
“What guy?”
“The guy they got the reward out for. Hey you.”
They ran forward. Blaine, his fists swinging, quickly chopped the first man into unconsciousness. He whirled, looking for the second, but Melhill had the situation well in control.
The second man had his hands over his head, trying to guard himself. A garbage can cover, levitating mysteriously, was clanging angrily around his ears. Blaine stepped forward and finished the job.
“Damn good,” Melhill said, his voice very weak. “Always wanted to try ghosting. But it drains… Luck, Tom!”
“Ray!” Blaine waited, but there was no answer, and the sense of Melhill's presence was gone.
Blaine waited no longer. He went to number 341, opened the door and stepped in.
He was in a narrow hallway. At the end of it was a door. Blaine knocked.
“Come in,” he was told.
He opened the door and walked into a small, dingy, heavily curtained room.
Blaine had thought he was proof against any further surprises. But it gave him a start all the same to see, grinning at him, Carl Orc, the body snatcher. And sitting beside him, also grinning, was Joe, the little Transplant peddler.