And now, after he had blurted out his half story, Mildred was helping him to one of the beds. He was breathing fast and heavy, sweat spangling his forehead and sticking strands of snow-white hair to his skull. His head turned wildly from side to side as he lay, the whites of his eyes all that showed as his eyes rolled in their sockets.
“Shit, the old fool’s really got himself worked up about something,” Mildred stated. “I need some kind of sedative to calm him. His heart will burst, the way his blood pressure’s going.”
Ryan crouched beside them. “No. He was trying to tell us something important. The last thing we need is him out of his head on something.”
“Ryan, I’m not disagreeing with you,” Mildred said through gritted teeth, “but unless we get him calmed down, we’ll never find out what the old fool means.”
The one-eyed warrior nodded. “I know where the medic is in this ville. I’ll take you.”
Mildred rose to her feet, turning to Krysty. “Keep an eye on him,” she said with a trace of worry in her voice. “It’d be just like the crazy buzzard to buy the farm before telling us something important.”
JAK KNEW exactly where he was headed. He had listened to Doc’s story, and although finding it hard to fully understand the rambling tale, he could grasp enough through the old man’s excitement to realize that it was vitally important that Ryan know of it. So he sent Doc back to the unit to tell his tale, while the albino took it upon himself to find Dean.
As with many things, Jak would have found it impossible to explain why he knew Dean wouldn’t be with the others. But something was telling him that Dean had gotten himself into big time trouble. He knew that his little exploration of a few days before had whetted the boy’s appetite for the ville, and for nosing out his suspicions of Jenna and her activities. In a way, Jak wished he hadn’t mentioned the metal door at the end of the isolated corridor.
Sure, the albino had gotten drunk the night before, completely insensible. But not before some alarm bell in his brain had registered the fact that he had seen Dean wandering on the periphery of the main hall. The youngster wasn’t taking the opportunity to get drunk—in fact, there had been a clearness to his eyes and bearing, even at such a distance, as to suggest he was staying sober for a purpose.
And although Jak hadn’t mentioned this to Doc, he had an idea what that purpose may be.
Jak’s instincts had imprinted the route to that isolated corridor on his mind, and he had an almost perfect recall. The fact that he still had so much alcohol running through his system failed to slow him.
There were few people about; only those who were going about their daily tasks, those vital to the running of the ville. The other inhabitants were still shaking off the aftereffects of their celebrations. So Jak had few people to delay him, or to ask awkward questions.
But a few could be more than enough. On the way to the corridor he sought, Jak made a few detours— mostly to throw off the suspicion of any who may be observing him, and partly to scout any areas where Dean may have ended up if he had taken a wrong turn. The youngster was good, but not yet that good.
Jak had hoped to find Dean lost, as he worried about the time lag between Dean’s disappearance and his search beginning. If the boy had found the door and had gotten beyond, then his not reappearing was a bad sign.
A bad sign that got worse as Jak neared the beginning of the corridor. It led off the last few desultory units, occupied by those who could no longer complete any useful tasks for Raw. They were given food and shelter still, but necessity and the harsh mode of life—even in such a fair and ordered society—meant they were exiled to areas where others didn’t wish to live.
From the units, Jak could hear snoring and groaning as the celebrations took their toll on the old and infirm inhabitants. It would be useless to ask them if they had seen Dean. Even if it wouldn’t arouse suspicion, it was doubtful whether many of them could remember their own names at this point.