To much clapping and some hearty cheers, waving the beer can, Lampert took his seat in the wheelchair and Teresa rolled him away. As they negotiated the many twists and turns, she kept up a steady stream of questions for Lampert, most of which apparently centered on early 21st-century politics. Obligingly, Lampert answered each one, but seemed to be losing steam. Finally, as they reached the door to their quarters, the Old Man gave an exasperated kind of sigh and looked up at her.
“Let’s give it a rest, huh kid?” he said, not unkindly. “We’ll talk some more later, but I’m an old man and all this activity’s wearin’ me out.”
That and the beer you drank, thought Justin. But Teresa only smiled and nodded.
“OK, Howie,” she said sweetly. “I go see what we got for eatin’, hey?”
And, tossing her head, she left them alone in the hallway. Justin slowly looked down at Lampert.
“Howie?” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Since when does she—or anyone else—call you Howie? If I may be so blunt as to ask.”
Lampert laughed shrugged. “Since I told ‘em to. It’s what people always called me Before, so…” He paused to peer at Justin for a moment. Then: “Whassa matter, Doc? You ain’t jealous are ya?”
“What?” Justin said abruptly, blinking. “Me? No, of course not! I just find it interesting that you prefer Teresa—a beautiful young woman—to address you so familiarly, while the rest of us seem constrained to—”
“Aw, knock it off, Doc,” Lampert interrupted. “Don’t get your shorts in a knot. She’s way too young for me, anyway. Plus, she’s too damned smart, asks too many damn questions, you know? Anyhow, did you get to talk to the Man? Doctor Zero?”
“Er, well, yes,” said Justin, adjusting. “I did, as a matter of fact.”
“And?” said Lampert. “What’s new with Mr. Kurtz?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Justin shook his head. “I don’t understand. Mr. Kurtz?”
“Din’t ya ever read Heart of Darkness? Joseph Conrad?”
Justin shook again. “I’m afraid not. I’ve heard of it.”
The Old Man snorted. “Eggheads…” he said under his breath. Then: “Well, you should check it out some time, Doc. Good book.”
“And,” Justin coaxed, “what? It’s in some way applicable to our present situation, I take it?”
“Sorta,” said Lampert vaguely. Then he shifted in his chair to look at Justin. “Hey, Doc, do me a favor, huh? Roll me down the hallway. There’s a little balcony-thing down there where I can smoke.”
Justin frowned. “Where did you get cigarettes?” Then he shook his head. “Never mind, I don’t think I want to know. But are you asking me, your physician, to help you to smoke?”
“Yup. How ‘bout it?”
“If I do, will you tell me about this Mr. Kurtz?”
“Sure thing.”
“Fine then,” sighed Justin. “Just don’t tell the AMA, alright?”
“Deal.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Surveying the decaying, overgrown building, the Kid finally decided, after much deliberation, that this was the best place he’d found and that he’d be unlikely to find better. It was secure, for one thing, made of some kind of square rocks and with only two means of access, and not too close to anything else. There was no sign of Howlers having been there, no telltale urine puddles from Rippers or Screamers, and no swarms of Biters. It was a little too close to one of those long ribbons of white-striped black ground, but then, these things seemed to be everywhere out here beyond the woods, so what was he to do?
The place was also partly filled with all kinds of stuff that he didn’t recognize but that he knew, by virtue of their constituent materials, were not made by Nature. He was aware of the fact that there were such things as other people; he’d seen quite a few of them, always at a distance, and had finally concluded that these large versions of himself were something to be avoided. They acted crazy, for one thing, chasing and hurting each other for no apparent reason, and they always seemed to have some odd kind of strange, flame-spouting, incredibly loud weapons that he instinctively feared. They moved around in bizarre box-like things that spewed smoke and noise, like angular animals made of brightly-colored stuff like polished rock, and they seemed to always travel in packs of two or more. All in all, the Kid had decided, they were even worse than his other foes. At least Howlers didn’t have bang-weapons or shiny animal mounts!
In his mind, when he had the rare moment of leisure in which to think about it, the Kid sensed that all of this, the flat black spaces, the weird, intricate objects, the Big People and their noisy things, all meant something. It wasn’t a kinship or familiarity with such things, rather a feeling that it should all signify something, that it related somehow to the Big People, and that he himself was in some way connected to it all.
Maybe it was like the great bug mounds and critter villages he’d encountered, where the animals actually built things; maybe the Big People built things, too. But then again, why did they build things and then either abandon or destroy them? He’d seen plenty of their mounts lying dead by the sides of the black spaces. He’d seen more than a few places like this, his prospective new home, only completely wrecked or burned up. Everywhere he went, in fact, there were little bits and pieces of this alien stuff, and most of it had been obviously damaged or broken. To him, it just didn’t make sense; why build all of these things only to destroy them or leave them behind? The bugs and the critters didn’t do that! What would be the point?
Of course, he’d also had to leave his things behind; the fine pile of hopper pelts with which he’d lined his cave were now long gone. So maybe that was it. Maybe the Big People had had to leave their things when they were attacked. It made sense, but it also meant that, given the sheer amount of places and things not of Nature, there must have been a whole lot of attackers; it would have taken a great many Howlers to account for that! At any rate, it was usually at about this point that something (like the need for food or water) intruded on his thoughts and he’d have to put them away for later. Always, though, the little connections were made, the thoughts linked one to the other, and his conjecture and wondering grew and slowly became theory. In time, maybe he’d finally make sense of it.
Now, though, he had other things to worry about. The new place still needed to be completely checked out, he still had to get water (luckily, there was a small lake only about a quarter mile away), and it would be dark before too long. Cold, too, if he was any judge. He’d have to hunt soon, as well, but he could wait till morning for that. With a resolute nod, he hefted his tire iron and slowly entered his new home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next day, everything seemed to be going well as far as their departure was concerned when the mission was dealt somewhat of a blow. It didn’t derail their efforts, by any means, and it didn’t mean that they were any more or less doomed, but to Justin it felt like someone had punched him violently in the stomach: Teresa wasn’t coming.