She also thought she knew why people in Palestine were calling. It wasn't just because they felt like burying the hatchet with Elizabeth. They were scared, too. Mrs. Snodgrass and Gran had gone down there to shop. Had they brought the disease with them? Nobody knew, not yet.
When the ambulance came back to Elizabeth two days later, no one seemed much surprised. Hearing the siren screech, Beckie worried that it was coming for Justin or his uncle. Outside of the Snodgrasses, they were the people she knew best here. And she'd needed that hug Justin gave her. If he'd tried to make it into something more than she needed . . . But he hadn't, so she didn't need to worry about that—yet, anyhow. It wasn't as if she didn't have plenty of other things to worry about.
And the ambulance didn't stop at the motel up near the county courthouse. The siren kept right on coming, and the ambulance pulled up three doors away from the Snodgrasses' house. A middle-aged woman burst out of the house, calling, "Come quick! Fred's got it, sure as anything!"
The men in the biohazard suits raced into the house. When they came out a few minutes later, they had a man—presumably Fred—on a stretcher. An IV drip ran down into his arm. They put him into the ambulance and slammed the doors. The ambulance sped away, red lights flashing.
"Fred Mathewson," Mr. Snodgrass said glumly. "He's hardly been sick a day in his life till now."
How do you know? Beckie almost asked. But in a town like this, Mr. Snodgrass would know. She offered the most hope she could now: "Maybe he isn't sick with . . . this."
"Maybe." But Mr. Snodgrass didn't sound as if he believed it. "Bessie sure thinks he is, though. And why would they come out if they didn't?" That only proved he had good reasons not to believe.
"They could be wrong," Beckie said. "He could have the flu or something, and his wife could be panicking."
"Bessie Mathewson wouldn't panic if she found a baby rattler in her coffee cup," Mr. Snodgrass said. He knew the woman and Beckie didn't, so she shut up. He went on, "I just wonder why I haven't caught it yet."
"So do I," Gran said. "I thought I did a couple of times. I may yet." She couldn't stand having other people around who were sicker than she was. "I don't know how much longer I can go on."
Probably about another thirty years, Beckie thought. Even if Gran always complained that she was about to shuffle off this mortal coil, she seemed ready to outlast people half her age. Everybody could see it but her. Besides, her aches and pains gave her something else to grumble about.
"Well, we've all been exposed, that's for sure," Mr. Snodgrass said. "The one I worry about is Rebecca here. I've pretty much lived my life, and so have you, Myrtle. Rebecca's got hers all out in front of her. Cryin' shame to see that go to waste."
Gran only sniffed. She might have lived a long time, but she wasn't ready to check out yet. Beckie didn't suppose she could blame her. Who was ready to up and die, when you got right down to it? Terminally ill patients in a lot of pain, sure. Their time really was up. Anybody else? No.
Mr. Snodgrass looked in the direction of Parkersburg. "I wonder when we're going to give Ohio something to remember us by," he said.
"Maybe you already have," Beckie said. "Ohio would keep it quiet if you did." Virginia wasn't we to her, and never would be. She'd stay a Californian all her life. If you lived in California, why would you want to move anywhere else?
"I don't reckon we've done anything," Mr. Snodgrass said. "You're right—Ohio wouldn't blab, not unless they found a way to lick it. But the consul'd be all over the TV and the radio and the papers and the Net. He'd want people to know we were hitting back."
That made more sense than Beckie wished it did. "I just wish the war would stop so we can go home," she said.
"Don't hold your breath, even after it does stop," Mr. Snodgrass said.
"Huh?" Beckie said brilliantly. Even Gran looked surprised.
"Don't hold your breath," he repeated. "Don't you reckon they'll stick you in quarantine before they let you go home? Even if you don't come down sick—and I hope to heaven you don't—you've sure enough been exposed."
Gran let out a horrible squawk. It had no words. Had it had any, it would have meant something like, Oh, no! Beckie felt the same way. And, again, Ted Snodgrass was bound to be right. California wouldn't want to see her and Gran again till it was sure they weren't carrying the latest bioplague. How long would her home state need to decide? She imagined a glass cage with an air filter about three meters thick at one corner and an air lock for passing in food. It wouldn't be just like that—she hoped—but that was the picture that came to mind.
For that matter, what airline would let her and Gran on a plane? Half the passengers—more than half—might be infected by the time they got off.
She wanted to cry. If you lived in California, why would you want to move anywhere else? Suddenly, she had an answer. Because your own state wouldn't let you back in, that was why.
"I wish I never came back here," Gran said. By the way she scowled at Beckie, it might have been her granddaughter's fault. Before long, Gran likely would think it was. She wouldn't blame herself, that was for sure.
Before Beckie could ask who'd wanted to see her relatives before she died, thunder rumbled off in the west. For a moment, Beckie took that for granted. You hardly ever saw rain in the summertime in L.A., but it happened all the time here. But even in Virginia, you didn't see rain on a bright summer day.
If it wasn't rain .. . "Is that. . . guns?" Beckie hesitated be fore the last word, as if she didn't want to bring it out. And she didn't. The deep rising and falling roar went on and on.
"Don't be silly," Gran said.
But Mr. Snodgrass was nodding. "That's guns, all right. Now—are we giving the dirty Ohioans what-for, or are they invading us?"
"Turn on the TV," Beckie said.
He did, but slowly. "I wonder if I really want to know," he said. "If those . .. people are in Parkersburg, they'll grab the hospital—either that or they'll blow it sky-high. My poor Ethel." He sat in front of the screen with his head in his hands, the picture of misery.
Eight
The artillery fire was getting closer. Justin was sure it was louder than it had been the day before. Virginia didn't want to admit that Parkersburg was lost, but it seemed to be.
"What do we do when somebody else gets sick?" he asked Mr. Brooks. One of the things he most hoped was that the coin and stamp dealer would stay healthy. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in this little town on his own. For one thing, he would start going hungry unless his mother could transfer him some money—the credit cards belonged to Mr. Brooks. Justin was supposed to be nothing but a kid along for the ride. He wanted that supposition to stay true.
"Maybe they haul them down to Charleston," the older man answered. "Or maybe they decide the Ohioans are going to take Elizabeth, too, and so they're welcome to all the diseased people in it."
"That's—disgusting," Justin said. It also sounded a lot like the way governments thought, especially during wartime. Then something else occurred to him. "If we're occupied and Charleston isn't, how do we get back to the home timeline?" How do I get back to Mom? was part of what he was thinking. The way he said it, though, sounded much more grown-up.
"Good question," Mr. Brooks said. "If you don't have any other good questions, class is dismissed."
What did that mean? Justin saw only one thing it could mean: Mr. Brooks had no idea how they'd get back to Charleston, which meant getting back to a transposition chamber. Justin sent him a resentful look. What good were adults if they didn't have the answers when you really needed them?
Sometimes there weren't any good answers. Was this one of those? It better not be, Justin thought, not that he saw anything he could do about it. He didn't want to get stuck here the rest of his life. Oh, it wouldn't be horrible, not the way getting stuck in a low-tech alternate that had never heard of antibiotics or anesthesia would be. But it still seemed backward next to the home timeline. And he would be a foreigner wherever he went, a foreigner with a tremendous secret he could never tell.