“The only problem is,” Heather said, “you might get a cow that likes to
chase cars–in which case it can do a lot more damage than a dog.”
“That’s silly,” the boy said, and giggled. “Not if you’re in the car
being chased,” Heather assured him. “Then it’s terrifying,” Jack
agreed. “I’ll stick with a dog.”
“Well, if that’s what you want,” Jack said. “You mean it? I can have
a dog?” Heather said, “I don’t see why not.” Toby whooped with
delight.
The private lane led to the main residence, which overlooked a meadow
of golden-brown grass. In the last hour of its journey toward the
western mountains, the sun backlit the property, and the house cast a
long purple shadow. They parked in that shade behind Paul Youngblood’s
Bronco.
They began their tour in the basement. Although windowless and
entirely beneath ground level, it was cold. The first room contained a
washer, a dryer, a double sink, and a set of pine cabinets. The
corners of the ceiling were enlivened by the architecture of spiders
and a few cocooning moths. In the second room stood an electric
forced-air furnace and a water heater. A Japanese-made electric
generator, as large as a washing machine, was also provided. It looked
capable of producing enough power to light a small town.
“Why do we need this?” Jack wondered, indicating the generator. Paul
Youngblood said, “Bad storm can knock out the public power supply for a
couple of days in some of these rural areas. Since we don’t have
natural-gas service, and the price of being supplied by a fuel-oil
company in this territory can be high, we have to rely on electricity
for heating, cooking, everything. It goes out, we have fireplaces, but
that’s not ideal. And Stan Quartermass was a man who never wanted to
be without the comforts of civilization.”
“But this is a monster,” Jack said, patting the dustsheathed
generator.
“Supplies the main house, caretaker’s house, and the stables. Doesn’t
just provide backup power to run a few lights, either. As long as
you’ve got gasoline, you can go on living with all the amenities, just
as if you were still on public power.”
“Might be fun to rough it a couple of days now and then,” Jack
suggested. The attorney frowned and shook his head. “Not when the
real temperature is below zero and the windchill factor pushes it down
to minus thirty or forty degrees.”
“Ouch,” Heather said. She hugged herself at the very thought of such
arctic cold. “I’d call that more than roughing it,”
” Youngblood Jack
agreed. “I’d call it suicide.” I’ll make sure we have a good gasoline
supply.
The thermostat had been set low in the two main floors of the
untenanted house.
A stubborn chill pooled everywhere, like the icy remnant of a flood
tide. It surrendered gradually to the electric heat, which Paul
switched on after they ascended from the basement and inspected half
the ground floor. In spite of her insulated ski jacket, Heather
shivered through the entire tour. The house had both character and
every convenience, and would be even easier to settle into than they’d
expected. Eduardo Fernandez’s personal effects and clothing had not
been disposed of, so they would need to empty closets to make room for
their own things. In the four months since the old man’s sudden death,
the place had been closed and unattended, a thin layer of dust coated
every surface. However, Eduardo had led a neat and orderly life, there
was no great mess with which to deal.
In the final bedroom on the second floor, at the back of the house,
coppery late-afternoon sunlight slanted through west-facing windows,
and the air glowed like that in front of an open furnace door. It was
light without heat, and still Heather shivered.
Toby said, “This is great, this is terrific!” The room was more than
twice the size of the one in which the boy had slept in Los Angeles,
but Heather knew he was less excited by the dimensions than by the
almost whimsical architecture, which would have sparked the imagination
of any child. The twelve-foot-high ceiling was composed of four groin