“I recognize you. God knows, I have reason to! You were once the right-hand man of the infamous Trader.”
Chapter Nineteen
Twenty-four hours later Doc was still not well enough to travel up the trail toward Leadville.
He had become feverish and restless, sleeping patchily during the night and even more restlessly during the day. There had been another nosebleed, though not so severe as the previous one, and he had twice thrown up food.
The fruit and supplies that they’d raided from Ma’s Place were almost gone, and J.B. had asked Mildred to kill a couple of the hairy marmots that proliferated around the open hillside. The pop of her ZKR 551 was quickly swallowed up by the vast space around them. Now their dog-size carcasses were roasting under Jak’s care.
Krysty was becoming uneasy at the delay, even though she recognized that the old man was doing his best. He’d made a couple of tries at carrying on, but each time his wobbling legs and spinning head had let him down, and Jak had helped him to lie down again in the shade.
“I am so sorry,” he kept repeating weakly. “I realize what an anchor I am upon this expedition. If only I could go outside the tent and be some time, like good Captain Oates.” He saw bewilderment on the faces of his friends. “He was a gallant gentleman who went with Scott to the Pole. Suffered terribly from frostbite and slowed down his companions. Blizzards and whatnot. Said he was going outside and would be some time. They all knew he was walking to his death. Wish I could do the same.”
“And that saved all lives?” Jak said admiringly.
Doc coughed. “Well, not exactly. In fact, in a manner of speaking, it didn’t. You see, they all died.”
“Then there’s not much point in your going for a short walk off a high cliff, is there, Doc?” Mildred said, patting him on the wrist. “So put that stupe idea straight in the ‘forget’ file.”
LATE THAT AFTERNOON, with the sun sinking slowly into a dazzlingly beautiful sky of orange and red, Krysty and Mildred walked a little way up a side trail.
“Think he’ll be all right?” Krysty asked, the last bright rays from the west setting her hair ablaze.
Mildred stopped and looked at her. “Now, are we thinking about Dr. Theophilus Tanner or might we be worrying more about Ryan Cawdor?”
“Both, I guess. No, Doc’s more pressing. If any man in Deathlands can look after himself, it’s Ryan. Shouldn’t run into trouble just taking his son to school.”
“I think Doc just needs a break. God knows, I feel a need for a rest sometimes. Just to be able to sit back someplace where there’s no chilling, killing and no switchblade knife. Don’t you feel that, Krysty? I know you do, ’cause you’ve talked about it before, haven’t you?”
Krysty nodded. “Place with good grass and clean water and no cold heart calling to you from the shadows? Me and Ryan and Dean, and our friends coming to visit? It’s my dream, Millie. But every day that passes makes it seem more like a dream that’s never going to come true.”
THEY CAME ACROSS an odd physical occurrence.
An earth slip had severed the track off the main highway, probably very shortly after skydark. Then, some time in the past few years, there had been another slide from higher up the mountain and it had repaired the great gash in the slope, making it possible to walk along it.
“Shouldn’t stay out too long,” Mildred said. “Like to keep an eye on Doc.”
“Will he be well enough to walk on tomorrow?” The woman shook her head, the plaited beads in her hair whispering in the evening stillness. “Who knows? Let’s hope so.”
“Hey,” Krysty said, “there’s a house up yonder.” It was a two-story building, made mainly from wood, with a sharply peaked roof, set into the hillside. A double garage stood at the side. Unusually none of the windows appeared to be broken, and apart from a few missing shingles near the chimney, the roof was intact.
“Let’s go take a look.” Krysty was excited. Because of the speed of the nuke war and the unbelievable death toll it exacted, it wasn’t unprecedented to find an isolated property untouched since the long winters. But there was always a thrill, with the uncertainty of not knowing what might be found.