“It could be,” she said. “Heaven knows, it gets down to simple basics.”
“In which case,” I said, “we’d best be getting on.” We went down the slope and struck another rock-littered ravine and followed it until it joined another valley, this one a little wider and easier for traveling.
We found a tree that was almost buried beneath a great grapevine and I clambered up it. Birds and little animals had been at the grapes, but I found a few bunches that carried most of their fruit. Picking them, I dropped them through the branches to the ground. The grapes proved somewhat sour, but we didn’t mind too much. We were hungry and they helped to fill us up, but I knew that we’d somehow have to manage something other than grapes. We had no fishhooks, but I did have a jacknife and we probably could cut willow branches and rig up a brush seine that would net some fish for us. We had no salt, I remembered, but hungry enough, we could manage without salt. “Fletch,” said Cynthia, “do you think we ever will find
Elmer?” “Maybe Elmer will find us,” I aid. “He must be looking for us.”
“We left the note,” she said.
“The note is gone,” I reminded her. “The ghouls found the note, remember? They’d not have left it for him.”
The valley was a little wider than the one we followed from the cave, but it never broadened had out.
Rather, the hills seemed to get larger and move in on us. Now there were great rock cliffs that rose a hundred feet or more on either side. It became a less pleasant valley. Progressively, it grew more eerie and frightening. Not only was it stark, but silent. The creek that flowed through it was broad and deep, and there were no shallows or rapids. The water did not talk; it surged atong with a look of terrible power.
The sun was low in the west and with some surprise I realized that we had traveled through the day. I was tired, but not tired enough, it seemed, to have walked all day long.
Ahead of us I saw a cleft cutting back into a cliff. The crest of the cliff was crowned with massive trees and occasional ragged cedars clung precariously to its face.
“Let’s take a look,” I said. “We’ll have to find a place to spend the night.”
“We’ll be cold,” she said. “We left the blankets.”
“We have fire,” I said.
She shuddered. “Can we have a fire? Is it safe to have a fire?”
“We have to have a fire,” I told her.
The cleft was dark. The walls of stone enclosed it and we could not see to the end of it because the dark deepened as the fissure ran back into the rock. The floor was pebbles, but off to one side, a little back from the entrance, a slab of rock was raised somewhat above the floor.
“I’ll get wood,” I said.
“Fletch!”
“We have to have a fire,” I said. “We have to chance it. We’ll freeze to death without it.”
“I’m scared,” she said.
I looked at her. In the darkness her face was a blur of whiteness.
“Finally I am scared,” she said. “I thought I wouldn’t be. I told myself I wouldn’t be. I said to me I’d tough it out. And it was all right as long as we were moving and out in the bright sunlight. But now night is coming, Fletch, and we haven’t any food and we don’t know where we are . ..” 1 I moved close to her and took her in my arms and she I came into them willingly enough. Her arms went around me and clutched me tightly. And for the first time since it all had happened, since that moment I had found her sit’ ting in the car as I walked down the steps from the administration building, I thought of her as a woman and I wondered, with some surprise, why it should have been that way. First, of course, she had been nothing but a nuisance, popping up from nowhere with that ridiculous letter from Thorney clutched tightly in her hand, and since then we’d been run ragged by the events that had come tumbling over one another and there’d been no time in which to think of her as a woman. Rather, she had been a good companion, not doing any bawling, not throwing any fits. I thought somewhat unkindly of myself for the way that I had acted. It would not have hurt me to pay her a few small courtesies along the way, and thinking back, it seemed that I had paid her none.
“We’re babes in the woods,” she said. “You remember the old Earth fairy tale, of course.”
“Sure, I remember it,” I said. “The birds came with leaves …”
And let it go at that. For the tale, when you came to think of it, was not as pretty as it sounded. I couldn’t quite I remember, but the birds, it seemed to me, had covered | them with leaves because they were quite dead. Like soj many other fairy tales, I thought, it was a horror story. I She lifted her head. “I’m all right now,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
I put my fist underneath her chin and tilted up her face. I bent and kissed her on the lips.
“Now let us go and get the wood,” she said.
The sun was nearly gone, but it still was daylight. Lying along the foot of the cliff, we found scattered wood. A lot of it was cedar, dead branches that had fallen off the trees clinging to the bare face of the rock.
“It’s a good place to have a fire,” I told her. “No one can see it. They’d have to be directly opposite the opening to see it.”
“What about the smoke?” she asked. “This is dry wood,” I said. “There shouldn’t be much smoke.”
I was right. The wood burned with a bright, clean flame There was scarcely any smoke. The night chill had not settled in as yet, but we huddled close beside the blaze. It was a friend and comfort. It beat back the dark. It drew us together. It warmed us and made a magic circle for us.
The sun went down and out beyond the cleft dusk closed in rapidly. The world went dark and we were alone.
Something stirred out beyond the circle of the fire, at the outer edge of dark. Something clicked upon the rock.
I leaped erect and then I saw the blur of whiteness. His metal body shining in the firelight, Wolf trotted in to us.
From his steel jaws hung the limp form of a rabbit.
Wolf was hell on rabbits.
Chpater 17
O’Gillicuddy and his gang arrived when we were Finishing off the rabbit. Without salt, it was somewhat short of tasty, but it was food and the only thing we’d had all day had been grapes. Just the fact of eating made life seem a bit more stable and ourselves not entirely lost.
Wolf lay between us, close beside the fire, stretched out, with his massive head resting on his metal paws.
“If he’d only talk,” said Cynthia, “it wo”uld be very nice. 1 Probably he could tell us what Was going on.” I “Wolves don’t talk,” I said, chewing the shinbone of the! rabbit. I “But robots do,” she said. “Elmer talks. -Even Bronco; talks. And Wolf here really is a robot. He isn’t any wolf. He’s just made to look like one.”
Wolf shifted his eyes around, to look first at one and, then the other of us. He didn’t say a word, but he beat hid metal tail upon the rock and it made a terrible racket. -“Wolves don’t beat their tails,” she said. “How do you know that?” “I read it somewhere. Wolves don’t beat or wag their tails. Dogs do. Wolf is more like a dog than a wolf.”
“It bothers me,” I said. “Here he was, to start with, thirsting for our blood. Suddenly he turns around in his way of thinking and is a pal of ours. It doesn’t make much sense.”
“I’m beginning to believe,” said Cynthia, “that nothing on the Earth really makes much sense.”
We sat by the fire, enclosed in the magic circle. The firelight flickered and flickered yet again and there seemed to be a strange sense of motion all around.
“We have visitors,” Cynthia said quietly.
“It’s O’Gillicuddy,” I said. “O’Gillicuddy, are you there?”
“We are here,” said O’Gillicuddy. “There are many of us. We come to bear you company in this wilderness.”
“And to bear us word, perhaps?”
“Yes, indeed. Word we have to bear.”
“We would have you know,” said Cynthia, “word or not, we are glad to have you here.”
Wolf flicked an ear, as if there were a fly, but there wasn’t any fly. Even if there had been, it would not have bothered Wolf.