Lumler scowled. “Not much I can do about that. Guess they’ll just have to trust me. You’ll have to trust me.”
“Yeah, well,” said Santiago, without hesitation, clapping Lumler’s broad shoulder, “once I tell ‘em about Officer Nails there, it should be a little easier. Now, let’s go find you some normal clothes. Cause if we walk in with you wearin’ that, Nails or no Nails…”
“Yeah, alright,” said Lumler. “An’ we should get the fuck outta here, anyway. We’ll just leave Nails. They’ll find him soon or later.”
“Agreed,” said Santiago, and exhaled a deep, pent-up breath. Looking up at Lumler, he grinned again, a dopey sort of relieved look on his face, and then led the way out.
“Man, this is weird,” he said, shaking his head. “One minute I think I’m gonna be grabbed or shot by the police, the next I’m walking away with the Deputy Chief. And he’s…” he trailed off.
“Turned coat?” finished Lumler. “Gone traitor? Trust me, pal, it’s a hell of a lot weirder for me!”
“Yeah,” said Santiago, nodding at the sound of approaching sirens. “Well, one thing for sure, if we stay here much longer, we’ll both go to the cells. Now c’mon. Let’s blow.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Got the Sick, got the Sick!
No more fun, no more tickety-tick!
Gonna jump on the burnin’ pyre,
Say goodbye to all the sinners and liars!
Knowing nothing of spelunking or geology or anything pertinent to such subterranean pursuits, Justin was at something of a loss when it came to planning their next move, but he knew that a few things were essential. A source of light, for one thing, and more rope, plus all the rest of their meager possessions, food, and water. But beyond that, he was stumped. Who could say what they might need down in this purported tunnel system?
Bowler had not been exactly forthcoming when it came to relating his experience, traumatized and fearful as he’d been, but finally Justin had pried enough out of the young man to be satisfied that they should definitely go down into these tunnels in search of Mr. Lampert. He had no idea what the “monsters” Bowler spoke of actually were, of course, probably some figment of Bowler’s imagination or a simple exaggeration, but then again, it didn’t matter to him in the least. If Lampert was down there, then there he must go, monsters or not.
He’d listened to the opinions of the others, as well, Erin’s misgivings that anyone might have when faced with this sort of endeavor, fears of cave-ins and poison gas and such, plus Teresa’s mythic lore about “muties” and “trogs”, but again, they made little impression. Lampert was the only thing that mattered.
Now, having spent the rest of that day returning to the ruined SA and gathering everything they could carry that seemed evenly remotely useful, they were just finishing a very satisfying meal of packaged, good old fashioned, pre-Fall junk food. All but the Kid, that is. After one sniff of a bag of Nacho-flavored Krillo Chips, he produced a nasty-looking chunk of some kind of meat from his rabbit-skin bag and made his own dinner.
The sun was about an hour from setting and the evening had turned cool, with a hint of low-slung clouds. After covering the hole with debris, they had cleared out a corner of the SA, the less ruined part in the back room, in which to spend the night, but no one seemed overly eager to turn in. Justin was wracking his mind, trying to think of what he hadn’t thought of, so to speak, when Erin Swails gave a little laugh and shook her head. Justin looked over at her.
“What is it?” he asked gently. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, I was just thinking,” said Erin wistfully. “Remember when those guys from the so-called U.S. Government flew over New Atlanta? That dinky little plane and those stupid leaflets, the Official Proclamations?”
Justin nodded and frowned. “Yes, I remember. What was that, about three years ago? What about them?”
“Oh, just the futility of it, I guess. I mean, here the whole damn planet is dying and these guys still think they’re in control! Typical, I suppose. But think about it. I mean, does anyone think there’s really still a president in the White House? And if there is, was he elected? And even if he was, does it even matter? Hell, what would he be president of? Don’t you need citizens to have a president? And these guys who survived the Fall, they spent all their time and all that energy in printing leaflets, flying around dropping ‘em on us. I don’t know, for some reason I was just thinking about it and, well, it’s just so ludicrous that it’s funny!”
Justin smiled crookedly. “I suppose so,” he said. “It did seem sort of futile, at that. I’m sure Mr. Lampert would find it quite amusing! But then, we saw all kinds of futile schemes, didn’t we? I suppose people just did what they thought they had to do. Even us.”
“Yeah, I know,’ said Erin. “Desperate times and all that.”
Justin was about to say something more but then came up short when he noticed that Teresa was staring at him. The Kid had settled down into a sort of fetal position ball and Bowler just sat and stared, but Teresa was gazing at Justin, very intently, and with something more than conversational interest. Something a lot more. Suddenly he felt flushed and whatever Erin was saying went in one ear and out the other. Reminiscences, chit-chat, and even planning could wait. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than simply to be alone with Teresa. But where could they be in private? The SA was far too cramped, they had no tent or vehicle, and the others were around.
Pragmatic as always, though, Teresa solved the problem for him. Rising, she jerked her head in a come-with-me gesture and then turned and walked away, off across an open field toward a stand of willow trees. The way her hips rolled and the perfect round globes of her behind all but jerked him to his feet and suddenly he felt a powerful lust like a physical hunger.
Lamely, he stammered something to the others about waiting here, that he’d be back, and then, uncaring of their indulgent nods, trotted to catch up. In passing, he noticed that the Kid tried to follow, wont as he was to trail Teresa literally everywhere, but Erin, bless her soul, managed to distract him and keep him from tagging along.
Teresa led them to the willow trees, a half-mile or so from the SA across open countryside, where they found a small pond, shallow but cool and clear, around which the trees had clustered like a protective wall. Beneath the drooping branches were broad open spaces matted with fallen leaves, like little arbors, and they walked slowly around the pond to a particularly beautiful spot. Here Teresa carefully lay down her shotgun, plus a small pistol and a couple of knives from her pockets, before she turned to him and, with no further ado, flung her arms around him and clamped her mouth to his.
“Missed you, Case,” she said breathily, the dying rays of the sun reflecting in her perfect eyes. “Missed you a lot!”
“I missed you, too,” said Justin, melting. “More than you’ll ever know.”
Teresa beamed, managing to be both sexy and comic at the same time, and started to undress.
“Shut up, Doc,” she said. “An’ let’s us get busy!”
An hour later, the sun having set and the heat of their coupling cooling in the night breeze, Justin propped himself on an elbow and simply stared at Teresa. After some time, maybe feeling the gaze, she languidly looked over at him.
“Yeah?” she said. “Somethin’ on yer bean?”