Saul saw a white flash, and something shoved his head back.
It seemed he was spinning in mid air, and he felt furious. Am I falling to the ceiling again? he thought, but the Arizona reds and greys swirled around him, spinning, and he realized he must have been dreaming. He was still falling in the chasm, deeper and deeper, and it seemed that he’d been asleep. Saul had been falling for a long time. How long ago was it that I let go? he wondered. A day? Two days? More? Around him the chasm was growing dark, the air thinner. He felt furious at himself for letting go. “I am worthless and weak,” he said to the chasm. “This solved nothing – it accomplished nothing. I’ve wasted everything.”
As he spun in mid air, feeling hot and miserable, he felt one of his shoes slip off and go tumbling away. The air buffeting his bare foot felt soft and cool. Saul tried to see the tumbling shoe but everything was a swirl, he was spinning too fast. How long is this going to last? he wondered. There must be a bottom. There’s got to be one.
I’ve been falling for weeks, he realized.
It grew much darker around him. There air felt less hot. His bare foot, he noticed, felt nothing at all. It was numb. He tried to move it but he couldn’t tell if he was successful. He couldn’t see it; his eyes wouldn’t move. He was suddenly afraid, but the fear was dim, impotent. He couldn’t think with words anymore. All he noticed was dim fear, and numbness, and soft wind buffeting his ears. He couldn’t tell if he was spinning anymore; there were no sensations. His vision was speckled with black and yellow dots.
Behind the dots, the swirling of the chasm walls became dim. He couldn’t tell if the chasm was out there or not. The blotches of black and yellow grew, but dimmed as they grew. He couldn’t tell if he was still seeing them.
Saul couldn’t tell if there was air around him; he couldn’t hear anything, he couldn’t feel himself breathe. He couldn’t tell if he was numb anymore. There was no sound. There was no taste in his mouth. His only sensation was the faint smell of dust, and that seemed to last a long while, until his sense of time was gone. Then he couldn’t tell if he still smelled the dust of if he was the dust – it was all the same, somehow.
#
There was a pain in Dodd’s ribs as he sat there, blinking in shock. It took him several seconds to realize the rifle had gone off. The man, Dodd saw, was sliding down the face of the dune, riding a river of sand. The top of his head was shattered, a bloody mush, and his arms and legs quivered in a sickening way.
One shoe was off.
Dodd stared, trembling, then uttered a cry of panic. He’d shot someone. He hadn’t meant to shoot anyone. He stood up, looking down at him, feeling sick. I didn’t mean to do it, he thought. I’m sorry.
He dropped the gun and turned and ran, kicking over the bottle of bourbon, the bourbon pouring out and sinking into the sand.
Back down in the crew truck, one of the machines had recorded Saul’s last images.
The AHL read far up the scale.
38. SMALL PRICK
Even as Dodd ran he knew what was going to happen. His legs were weak under him, his feet landing all wrong, his knees feeling as if they would give out at every stride. There was a dull crashing of liquid inside him; it felt like bile sloshing around.
His balance vanished and he went slamming into the bushes, vomiting as soon as he hit. He vomited long and hard, his head throbbing, and when he was finished he felt just as dead as the man he’d left back in the dunes.
Panting, blowing long tendrils of saliva from his mouth, Dodd worried about what he was going to do. The police would soon be searching for him; they might, in fact, be searching for him now.
It would be dangerous for him to go back to the train station because of the security monitors – he’d be spotted in seconds, he was sure. Going into town would be risky for the same reason.
But he had to go somewhere, because staying in the park would mean getting caught for sure.
Dodd decided he would go to town. His only chance was to get an autocab and leave the area immediately. Pushing himself up, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and took a few deep breaths, tilting his head all the way back. The air was cool and damp, and felt good on his face. He forced himself to his feet and then slowly, cautiously picked his way through the vines and brush toward the looming cityscape beyond.
Once in the open Dodd picked up his pace, walking on a sidewalk, eyes alert for a passing cab. Only a few cars passed on the street, most of them delivery vehicles, none of them taxis. As he entered the city proper he found himself in front of a 24-hour auto-serve coffee shop, the cheap kind he hated. He walked unsteadily to the entrance, shoving the doors open and stumbling inside. There were only a few patrons, and none looked up at his entry. Auto-serve machines took notice of him, however, and whirred to themselves as they waited for him to seat himself. Dodd walked straight to the back, heading toward a pay phone. There was a taxi service number on a yellow sticker right on the phone; Dodd punched in the number then looked around the room, eyeing the machines. They were watching him patiently, ready to serve him.
Bile was rising again in Dodd’s throat; he had to fight to hold it down as he requested taxi service and gave the location listed on the front of the pay phone. After he was finished he rushed into the men’s room and vomited into the sink.
About ten minutes later a robot voice came over the restaurant’s P.A. system and announced that a cab had arrived.
Dodd splashed a double-handful of water into his face, gently shook his head, then looked up at his dim reflection in the unbreakable mirror. His skin had a ghastly grey tint, and stubble marred his cheeks and chin. He leaned down and splashed another double-handful of cold water into his eyes, then dried himself and emerged from the men’s room. The first thing he noticed was a police drone hovering outside the restaurant, right on the other side of the window. Just beyond the entrance, pulled off to the curb, sat his autocab.
The drone bobbed in the air, turning gradually, and drifted around to the entrance. It was right in between Dodd and his cab.
Oh Christ, Dodd thought. Is it coming inside? It appeared so, hovering right in front of the door, but then it started drifting away. It moved slowly on, heading down the street. Dodd waited, breathing hard, wondering if it would come back. The patrons watched Dodd curiously as he crept to the entrance and stared out the glass doors, his eyes on the drone. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the doors open and stepped across the sidewalk to his cab, tumbling into it, shoving his moneycard into the slot and punching in his code. Then he entered in a destination, his home address, and waited as it closed its doors. The autocab sat there with him inside. It did not drive off.
Did it lock me in? he thought. He remembered the locked bank out of which Savina somehow escaped. Dodd felt his hope draining away as he waited for the vehicle to go. Oh hell, he thought, and reached for the door handle. The cab lurched into motion, pulling out onto the street and speeding away. Dodd watched it to make sure it was heading in the right direction; he thought for a moment that it was taking him to jail. That’s silly, he realized.
How would they know who I was? How would they know my moneycard number? The police have some limitations, otherwise I wouldn’t have made it out of the park.
He sighed, slumping in the seat.
Limited or not, they had his fingerprints on the gun and the bourbon. That would lead them straight to his military record, and they would know who he was. Dodd couldn’t see any way out of it, they would get him.
Dodd settled down and tried to catch some sleep during the trip, but it wouldn’t come. Unconsciousness remained cruelly aloof. Dodd could only watch the buildings rush past, and see the occasional car. He kept expecting a police drone or maybe a manned interceptor to stop his cab, but it never happened. He almost wished it would. Dodd felt empty, blank; it was so painfully clear that he’d lost everything. Sheila was gone, his job was gone, his friends were gone. Soon he’d lose his freedom – he could see no plausible way to avoid the police. They would catch up to him before the day was through. Then his money and his chance for a child would be taken away, his life’s savings, his dreams.