"What for? To leave as a legacy for those unborn who never will be?" Ruth's complexion had always been fair, but now it was very pale, emphasized by the crooked pink scar on her forehead that intersected with her right eyebrow, giving her a perpetually quizzical expression. The strain of living underground had told on them all. Everyone was pale because the sunlight was too fierce on the unprotected skin; everyone was subdued because of the inevitability of what was to be--had to be. Hence Ruth's skepticism about the work that still went on regardless.
"Art Hegler's doing the job he was trained for; it occupies his mind," Chase said mildly. "Would you rather he took up embroidery?"
"Art's harmless enough, I guess." Ruth sighed. "I just don't see the purpose, the reason behind it all--Maxwell and Hegler and all the others beavering away on their own crackpot schemes like a pack of mad scientists."
"Does that include me?"
"It includes all of us. We must be crazy."
"We could always leave, if you want to. The question is--"
"I know what the question is, Gavin. Why leave when there's nowhere else to go. At least we're safe here." She laughed shortly. "Safe to rot. Safe to die. Safe from everything but . . ." Her voice sank to a rasping whisper and she closed her eyes.
Chase looked at her for a moment and then took her hand. It felt limp and lifeless. "What about you," he said, "writing up medical research notes from ten years ago? Some might find that rather strange and pointless."
"It's for my own amusement."
"What Art and the others are doing is probably for theirs--and who knows, they might come up with something."
Ruth opened her eyes. "If they do," she said, pressing his palm to her breast, "I hope they won't expect the Nobel Prize."
Night enveloped them with the dramatic abruptness of the desert. Above them the stars wavered and blinked with the rising heat, like a purple sequined cloth shimmering in the breeze. Except there was no breeze: The desert was inert, silent, pulsating heat in waves so that it was like walking through hot sticky syrup.
They had abandoned everything but their weapons. Hours spent scrambling over rocks and fighting their way through thorny brush in the searing sunlight had taken all their strength and there was none left for anything that didn't contribute directly to their survival.
Dan pretended to drink, merely moistening his lips, and gave Jo the last few drops from the canteen. He estimated that they had crossed the border and were back in Utah. The nearest access point to the tunnels could be only two or three miles away, but that still left an underground walk of perhaps ten miles before they reached the Tomb. Was it better to go underground or continue on the surface where they could make good time? Three hours steady march would see them back at the Tomb, whereas it could take at least twice as long in the tunnels.
There was, however, a bigger dilemma than that. Were they being followed, and if so, by whom? At Echo Canyon, a few miles back, he thought he'd glimpsed movement behind them. Had the mutes picked up their trail? If so, they were leading them back to the others, revealing the Tomb's location. And what had happened in the tent? Those white grubs . . . where had they come from? He shuddered at the memory.
Jo screwed the top on the canteen and slung it around her neck. "Will they have lights?" "What?"
"If they're following our trail they'll need lights, won't they, to see by? So we should be able to see
That hadn't occurred to him. But see whom, for God's sake? Mutes? Prims? Men with guns in Sherman tanks? Or somebody else. Something else . . .
They had both stopped and were straining their eyes to penetrate the dense velvety darkness that seemed almost palpable. "I can't see anything, can you?" Jo said, sounding relieved.
"No. What if they can see in the dark?"
"You mean like cats?"
"It's possible."
"How?"
Dan looked at her, seeing the polished glint of her eyes in a smudge of pale yellow, which was the barrier cream caking her face. They had removed their gauze masks and goggles the minute the sun had dipped over the horizon. "Most of the mutes have impaired faculties, but some of them have developed heightened senses to compensate. There was one I came across near Adamsville last year who could actually smell water, you know, like animals can. And somebody else I heard of who had infrared vision. If they've got that they won't need any light."
"You'd make a great morale officer."
"Sorry. Thinking out loud."
"Then think of something cheerful and let's keep moving while you're doing it."
Ten minutes later they heard what sounded like a cry in the distance. Human or animal? Was there any animal life left in the desert? They listened intently but heard nothing more.
