Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

sleep? I don’t feel good.”

“You’ll have a nice place to sleep any minute now.”

“Huh? Well, show me. I gotta fold up.”

“Any minute. You’ve got to check in first.”

“Huh? Oh, I can’t do that tonight, Zack. I’m in no shape.”

Page 97

“I’m afraid you’ll have to. See me pull that shade down? They’ll be along

any moment.”

Benz stood up, swaying a little. “You framed me!” he yelled, and lunged at

his host.

Moyland sidestepped, put a hand on his shoulder

and pushed him down into the chair. “Sit down, sucker,” he said pleasantly. “You

don’t expect me to get A-bombed just for you and your pals, do you?”

Benz shook his head, then began to sob.

Hobart escorted them out of the house, saying to Art as they left, “If you

get back, tell McCracken that Aunt Dinah is resting peacefully.”

“Okay.”

“Give us two minutes, then go in. Good luck.”

Cleve took the outside; Art went in. The back door was locked, but the upper

panel was glass. He broke it with the hilt of his knife, reached in and unbolted the

door. He was inside when Moyland showed up to investigate the noise.

Art kicked him in the belly, then let him have the point in the neck as he

went down. Art stopped just long enough to insure that Moyland would stay dead, then

went looking for the room where Benz had been when the shade was drawn.

He found Benz in it. The man blinked his eyes and tried to focus them, as if

he found it impossible to believe what he saw. “Art!” he got out at last. “Jeez,

boy! Am I glad to see you! Let’s get out of here-this place is ‘hot.’

Art advanced, knife out.

Benz looked amazed. “Hey, Art! Art! You’re making a mistake. Art. You can’t

do this-” Art let him have the first one in the soft tissues under the breast bone,

then cut his throat to be sure. After that he got out quickly.

Thirty-five minutes later he was emerging from the country end of the chute.

His throat was burning from exertion and his left arm was useless-he could not tell

whether it was broken or simply wounded.

Cleve lay dead in the alley behind Moyland’s house, having done a good job

of covering Art’s rear.

It took Art all night and part of the next morning to get back near the

mine. He had to go through the hills

the entire way; the highway was, he judged, too warm at the moment.

He did not expect that the Company would still be there. He was reasonably

sure that Morgan would have carried out the evacuation pending certain evidence that

Benz’s mouth had been shut. He hurried.

But he did not expect what he did find-a helicopter hovering over the

neighborhood of the mine.

He stopped to consider the matter. If Morgan had got them out safely, he

knew where to rejoin. If they were still inside, he had to figure out some way to

help them. The futility of his position depressed him-one man, with a knife and a

bad arm, against a helicopter.

Somewhere a bluejay screamed and cursed. Without much hope he chirped his

own identification. The bluejay shut up and a mockingbird answered him- Ted.

Art signaled that he would wait where he was. He considered himself well

hidden; he expected to have to signal again when Ted got closer, but he

underestimated Ted’s ability. A hand was laid on his shoulder.

He rolled over, knife out, and hurt his shoulder as he did so. “Ted! Man, do

you look good to me!”

“Same here. Did you get him?”

“Benz? Yes, but maybe not in time. Where’s the gang?”

“A quarter mile north of back door. We’re pinned down. Where’s Cleve?”

“Cleve’s not coming back. What do you mean ‘pinned down’?”

“That damned ‘copter can see right down the draw we’re in. Dad’s got ’em

under an overhang and they’re safe enough for the moment, but we can’t move.”

“What do you mean ‘Dad’s got ’em’?” demanded Art. “Where’s the Boss?”

“He ain’t in such good shape, Art. Got a machine gun slug in the ribs. We