“I have a male body.”
Now Zena stared. “You say you are a man?”
“A transvestite, if you will, though that isn’t quite accurate. Male body in female clothing.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“The matter is subject to verification, if you insist.”
Zena realized with a growing shock that she meant it “No—I’ll take your word!”
Gloria looked relieved. “Thank you. So you see. I would not be much help in what Mr. Gunter has in mind. I wish it were otherwise.”
Zena rather suspected that it was otherwise, but she wasn’t going to gamble. “Why—”
“Why do I dress like a woman? That would be tedious to explain at the moment. Right now I have to know: is it really going to flood—the way they think?”
Zena sighed. “Yes, it really will.”
“So that there may be hundreds of feet of water?”
“There may be.”
“Then I suppose I’d better explain things to the others. I cannot remain with this group under false pretenses.”
Zena studied her/him carefully. There was no sign that this was not a woman. Could this be some elaborate defense mechanism? Still, she remembered those muscular legs as Gloria had first stepped up into the vehicle. Those would be normal, for a man. She stifled what threatened to become a hysterical laugh. “No, I think you should surprise them with it one romantic evening.”
Gloria smiled—and did the maleness show in that expression now? “I have surprised men most unpleasantly upon occasion,” she said.
Now a peep got loose. Zena covered her mouth. “I can imagine!” Actually she did not find it funny so. Much as acutely embarrassing. But what was the proper reaction to a confidence like this? Either an extremely mixed-up woman stood before her—or a man.
“For a short trip, no confession would be necessary or desirable,” Gloria said. “But in a case like this, with close proximity for many days—”
Zena finally sobered. “I understand.” God, what complications!
They went forward. “Got it all worked out, girls?” Gus demanding, smiling.
“Not exactly,” Gloria said. “About this business of picking up girls—”
“We’re picking up young, healthy people,” Gus said quickly. Zena noted his defensive reaction. What was he hiding?
Gloria shook his head. “I would like to join your party. But there is something I have to tell you.”
“It’s voluntary, of course,” Gus said quickly, becoming accommodating as he saw the plum dropping into his hand. Zena bit her tongue to suppress a nervous giggle.
“I’m afraid you don’t understand,” Gloria said, blushing again. Zena had another moment of doubt: if Gloria were not female, a terrific amount of practice must have gone into that blush! Zena herself very seldom colored.
“Oh-oh,” Gus said. “You married?”
“No, not married! But I’m not—”
“Not another wallflower!” Gus groaned. “Zena here doesn’t much like men, either.”
“Don’t blame Zena,” Gloria said. “The truth is—”
Thatch slowed the vehicle. “Flooded ahead,” he announced.
“Splash on through it,” Gus said irritably, not appreciating the distraction.
“The motor may quit.”
“Then start it again!” Gus returned to Gloria. “Now look, you can’t be squeamish about—”
“You can’t start a wet motor,” Thatch said.
“Then dry it off!” Gus yelled. He had, it seemed, an answer for everything—except what Zena knew was coming. Served him right! “Girls, I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
Meanwhile the flood was close at hand. Obedient to Gus’s directive, Thatch maintained speed and drove into it. The water sprayed high on either side and the bus slowed. Zena heard the wash of liquid against the underside, and it made her nervous. The motor would quit—and there would be no drying it, in this continual rain. Yet delay was intolerable!
Then the vehicle rose out of it and rolled over solid asphalt again. “See?” Gus said smugly.
But they were entering a lowlands section of the highway, and there was more flooding ahead. Gloria did not have opportunity to make his statement before they were splashing again.
The second area was deeper—eighteen inches at least And in the center of it, the motor stalled.
Chapter 2: Flood
Zena felt as though a judge had just passed a sentence of life imprisonment on her. Stuck without power, perhaps two hundred miles from the security of the mountains.
“Start it! Start it!” Gus cried. There was a kind of whine in his voice, reminiscent of his cry for help when hurt.
Thatch tried, turning the ignition switch to the starter again and again, but the motor was dead. Now the beat of rain on the roof seemed louder.
“Let it alone,” Zena said wearily as the battery began to fade. “If we run the current down, we’ll never get it going!”
“We shall have to push it,” Gloria said.
“No!” Gus cried. Now the overtone of desperation was unmistakable. How quickly his confidence degenerated during stress! “The water’s up to the floorboards!”
“Maybe we should leave it here and walk,” Zena said without enthusiasm. One thing she knew: they had to keep moving, or they were all dead.
“No!” Gus screamed. “Start the motor!”
Gloria looked at him with an expression Zena understood, for she felt the same. What was wrong with handsome Gus, that he shied away from anything difficult or messy?
“I hate to get wet again,” Gloria said. “But if you’re right about the flooding, we can’t afford to stay here. One of us will have to steer; the others can get out and—”
“No!” Gus cried again. “Not the girls!”
“We are not made of sugar and spice,” Zena said. “I’ll push.”
“But first,” Gloria said firmly, “I have to tell you—”
Zena had to interrupt. “I don’t think this is the time, after all.” If there were to be a scene, it should be scheduled when all hands weren’t needed for an emergency.
Gloria ignored her. She/he removed his long blonde hair.
Gus and Thatch both stared. Under that fair wig was a dark crew cut.
“She shaved her head!” Gus exclaimed, not catching on.
Gloria opened his blouse and reached inside, around behind his back. In a moment his full bra was unhooked. It came away solidly, leaving a bare masculine chest.
Now Gus comprehended—or thought he did. “A fairy!” he exclaimed.
Gloria turned to him. “Say that again, and I will flatten your nose against your lying face. I am a transvestite, not a homosexual—and I have in the past done police work.”
“Thatch!” Gus cried, falling back.
Police work, Zena thought. Policemen dressed like women, walking through parks at night so as to lure unsuspecting thieves and rapists! But why should such an undercover agent be illegally hitchhiking on the interstate?
Thatch stepped between Gus and Gloria, smaller than either but abruptly possessed of initiative. “What’s the idea, pretending to be a woman?”
“It is not something you would readily understand,” the man said with a dignity marred only by his lipsticked lips and pendant earrings. “I do not like exposing my identity to you in this fashion. But there is work to be done. Stand aside.”
Thatch considered, then yielded to the tone of authority and gave way. The transvestite stepped out of the dress and stood only in lacy feminine panties—but there could now be no question about his physical masculinity. His lacquered fingernails and toenails were incongruous.
“Call me Gordon,” he said, and opened the door. Again the rain blasted in, a terror in its ferocity. “I will push— alone if need be. We’ll talk later.”