I knew why I had come-it was not just curiosity; I wanted to see them die! I wanted to watch them die, see them dead, with a weary hate that passed all other needs. But now I had seen them dead and I wanted no more of it; I wanted to go home, take a bath, and forget it.
It was not hard work, just monotonous and nauseating. So far I had not seen one live slug, though I had seen many dead ones. I had burned one skulking dog that appeared to have a hump; I was not sure as the light had been bad. We had hit shortly before sundown and now it was almost full dark.
The worst of it was the smells. Whoever compared the odor of unwashed, lousy, diseased humans with that of sheep was no friend to decent sheep.
I finished checking the rooms of the apartment building I was in, shouted to make sure, and went out into the street. It was almost deserted; with the whole population sick with the fever we found few on the streets. The lone exception was a man who came weaving toward me, eyes vacant. I yelled, "Hey!"
He stopped. I said, "You are sick, but I've got what you need to get well. Hold out your arm."
He struck at me feebly. I hit him carefully with my gun and he went face down. Across his back was the red rash of the slug; I avoided that area, picked a reasonably clean and healthy patch over his kidney and stuck in the injector, bending it to break the point after it was in. The units were gas-loaded; nothing more was needed. I did not even withdraw it, but left him.
The first floor of the next house held seven people, most of them so far gone that I did not bother to speak but simply gave them their shots and hurried on. I had no trouble. The second floor was like the first.
The top floor had three empty apartments, at one of which I had to bum out the lock to enter. The fourth flat was occupied, in a manner of speaking. There was a dead woman on the floor of the kitchen, her head bashed in. Her slug was still on her shoulders, but merely resting there, for it was dead, too, and beginning to reek. I left them quickly and looked around.
In the bathroom, sitting in an old-fashioned bathtub, was a middle-aged man. His head slumped on his chest and his wrist veins were open. I thought he was dead but he looked up as I bent over him. "You're too late," he said dully. "I killed my wife."
–or too soon, I thought. From the appearance of the bottom of the tub and by his gray face, five minutes later would have been better. I looked at him, wondering whether or not to waste an injection. He spoke again. "My little girl-"
"You have a daughter?" I said loudly. "Where is she?"
His eyes flickered but he did not speak. His head slumped forward again. I shouted at him, then felt his jaw line and dug my thumb into his neck, but could find no pulse. As a favor to him I burned him carefully through the base of the brain before I left.
The child was in bed in one of the rooms, a girl of eight or so who would have been pretty had she been well. She roused and cried and called me Daddy. "Yes, yes," I said soothingly, "Daddy's going to take care of you." I gave her the injection in her leg; I don't think she noticed it.
I turned to go but she called out again. "I'm thirsty. Want a drink of water." So I had to go back into that bathroom again.
As I was giving it to her my phone shrilled and I spilled some of it. "Son! Can you hear me?"
I reached for my belt and switched on my phone. "Yes. What's up?"
"I'm in that little park just north of you. Can you come? I'm in trouble."
"Coming!" I put down the glass and started to leave-then caught by indecision, I turned back. I could not leave my new friend to wake up in that charnel house, a parent dead in each room. I gathered her up in my arms and stumbled down to the second floor. There I entered the first door I came to and laid her on a sofa. There were people in the flat, probably too sick to bother with her, but it was all I could do.
"Hurry, son!"
"On my way!" I dashed out of there and wasted no more breath talking to him, but made speed. Dad's assignment was directly north of mine, paralleling it and fronting on one of those pint-sized downtown parks. When I got around the block I did not see him at first and ran on past him.
"Here, son, over here-at the car!" This time I could hear him both through the phone and my bare ear. I swung around and spotted the car, a big Cadillac duo much like the Section often used. There was someone inside but it was too dark for me to see whether or not it was the Old Man. I approached cautiously until I heard him say, "Thank God! I thought you would never come," and knew that it was he.
I had to duck to get in through the door. It was then that he clipped me.
I came to, to find my hands tied and my ankles as well. I was in the second driver's seat of the car and the Old Man was in the other, at the controls. The wheel on my side was latched up out of the way. The sudden realization that the car was in the air brought me fully awake.
He turned and said cheerfully, "Feeling better?" I could see his slug, riding high on his shoulders.
"Some better," I admitted.
"Sorry I had to hit you," he went on, "but there was no other way."
"I suppose not."
"I'll have to leave you tied up for the present; you know that. Later on we can make better arrangements." He grinned, his old wicked grin. Most amazingly his own personality came through with every word the slug said.
I did not ask what "better arrangements" were possible; I did not need nor want to know. I concentrated on checking my bonds; I need not have bothered-the Old Man had given them his personal attention.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"South." He fiddled with the controls. "'Way south. Just give me a moment to lay this heap in the groove and I will explain what's in store for us." He was busy for a few seconds, then said, "There-that will hold her until she levels off at thirty thousand."
The mention of that much altitude caused me to take a quick look at the control board. The duo did not merely look like one of the Section's cars; it actually was one of our souped-up jobs. "Where did you get this car?" I asked.
"The Section had it cached in Jefferson City. I looked, and, sure enough, nobody had found it. Fortunate, wasn't it?"
There could be a second opinion on that point, I thought, but I did not argue. I was still checking the possibilities-and finding them somewhere between slim and hopeless. My own gun was gone, as I could tell by the pressure. He was probably carrying his on the side away from me; it was not in sight.
"But that was not the best of it," he went on; "I had the good luck to be captured by what was almost certainly the only healthy master in the whole of Jefferson City-not that I believe in luck. So we win after all." He chuckled. "It's like playing both sides of a very difficult chess game."
"You did not tell me where we are going?" I persisted. I did not know that it would help, but I was getting nowhere fast and talking was the only action open to me.
He considered. "Out of the United States, certainly. My master may be the only one free of nine-day fever in the whole continent and I don't dare take a chance. I think the Yucatan peninsula would suit us-that's where I've got her pointed. We can hole up there and increase our numbers and work on south. When we do come back-and we will! -we won't make the same mistakes."
I said, "Dad, can't you take these ties off me? I'm losing circulation. You know you can trust me."
"Presently, presently-all in good time. Wait until we go full automatic." The car was still climbing; souped up or not, thirty thousand was a long pull for a car that had started out as a family model.
I said, "You seem to forget that I was with the masters a long time. I know the score-and I give you my word of honor."
He grinned. "Don't teach grandma how to steal sheep. If I let you loose now, you'll kill me or I'll have to kill you. And I want you alive. We're going places, son-you and me. We're fast and we're smart and we are just what the doctor ordered."