James Axler – Watersleep

“Yeah, well, you ready?”

“For what?” Doc asked innocently.

“Ready to go. I been watching you, Doc. You’re tougher than you look. You can walk.”

“Thank you for the compliment, young man,” Doc said. “Still, there’s nothing we can do but wait…just as your father told you to do.”

“Walking will do you some good,” Dean contin­ued. “We both know Dad’s had enough time to get well ahead of us, Doc. He’s probably already half there.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Voyages into the lion’s den sometimes take longer than planned. Besides, I spoke with your father before his departure, and he said you had agreed to wait two days. A double hold, is how he put it to me.”

“Actually he said a couple of days, Doc. Or mebbe he said a couple of hours. The way I look at it, a couple hours have long passed. Now, are you coming or do you want to stay here with the muties and the peace lovers?”

“You would do well to speak to your elders with a touch more respect, Dean,” Doc said, a hint of flint sparking into his voice. He smiled tightly, showing off his perfect white teeth. “As evidenced yesterday with our hostess and now with me, you shall live much longer. I rather liked your flattery from a few moments ago. I would recommend you go back to the ploy of attempting to attract with sweet honey as op­posed to vocal vinegar.”

“No ploys. You coming or staying?”

“I’m trying to read.” Doc sighed. “Readers are more educated, and as such, tend to be survivors.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t live forever, Doc. Even a time-traveling dog like you,” Dean said, leaving Doc alone with his book.

Doc reopened the book and tried very hard to con­centrate on the words of Eliot—one of the few poets from the twentieth century that Doc actually liked— but the poetry kept sliding off the page and out of his mind. Instead, he imagined Ryan’s reaction if he found out Dean had been allowed to go off into the unknown alone.

‘”I grow old…I grow old…I shall wear the bot­toms of my trousers rolled,'” the old man read aloud as he stared down at the page. Doc pondered this for a full sixty seconds before he stood.

“I shall not!” he announced, looking at the cover of the book. “And yes, Mr. Eliot, I, Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner, do indeed dare to eat a peach!”

When Doc walked outside the tent, the Le Mat se­cure on his leg and the familiar black walking stick in one hand, Dean was waiting.

“Figured you might come around,” Dean said.

“Have I become that predictable?” Doc lamented.

“No, but I was counting on you doing the right thing.”

“The right thing is remaining here, safe and snug and fed,” Doc replied. “But our friends have left us, and I suppose someone must play the role of cav­alry.”

“That’s what I think.”

“Let me return this book, and we shall be on our way,” Doc said, stepping past the boy and heading for the storage tent where he had browsed through the small commune library.

“What changed your mind?” Dean asked, jogging to keep up with Doc’s long strides.

“The mermaids, lad. The mermaids started singing to me.”

Dean shook his head. There were times Doc didn’t make a bit of sense.

“Why don’t you keep the book, Doc? I doubt they’d ever miss it.”

“Perhaps not. But who knows how many copies of this wonderful work survived the end of the civilized world?” Doc replied. “No, Mr. Eliot is much safer here with these good people than with me.”

After Doc returned the copy of the book, he headed back toward the main road.

“Wrong way,” Dean said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.” The boy headed for the northern side of the commune, where the small farm and gardens were maintained.

“Excuse me, young Dean, but I believe the road to our destination is that way,” Doc said, pointing southward.

“Got something to pick up first. Found out about it last night from Chico.”

“And who is Chico?”

The pair now approached a small fenced area. A young Mexican boy about Dean’s age was standing at the gate.