“That doesn’t make a lot of sense,” said Laurie. “If they want to help out and they can help out, why aren’t they allowed to?”
Jeff pulled up a standard office chair—unlike Ace he was not comfortable on the tall drafting stools—and sat down, looking squarely at the two kids. “Ten years ago, there was no Public Benefit contract at all. There were plenty of people out there, physically ill and willing to do anything that might advance the understanding of their disease and give them a chance, no matter how slim, at recovery. The courts then would not permit it because it was seen as part of the ‘cruel and inhuman punishment’ prohibitions, and as worse than laboratory use of animals for experimentation. That prevailed until the AIDS crisis, because AIDS was so very deadly, and there were so few ways to slow it down. If the courts had not approved the Public Benefit contract—and the Standard Public School Blood Screen—AIDS might still be killing people everywhere.”
“Why would anybody object to those things?” Laurie asked, more baffled than ever.
“For many reasons, but I’ve told you what the usual legal reasons were.” He looked over at Ace. “And without the Public Benefit contract, most of the staff would not be allowed to work here.”
“Yeah,” said Ace. “To work here you have to test positive for TS. The only exceptions are people like Jeff Taji there, who had to sign an exemption agreement with the Disease Control Center when he went to work, holding them blameless if anything happened to him because of his occupation. Right?” This last was directed to Jeff with a large smile.
“Right,” said Jeff wearily.
Ace got off his stool. “I need a cup of coffee. Any of you like one? Or an orange juice?”
Both Jeff and Mason opted for coffee; Laurie wanted the orange juice.
“I’ll come with you,” Mason volunteered. “I’ll help carry things.”
“Good idea,” said Ace, patting Mason’s shoulder with a dinner plate-sized hand as they went into the long hall that ran the length of the floor.
“I heard my Dad’s in the hospital,” said Laurie after more than three minutes of silence.
“That’s too bad.” Jeff did not know how to draw her out and knew better than to force her to speak.
“I guess it would have happened anyway, but I feel like I did it to him. I mean, the way TS is all over the place, it doesn’t matter that I carry it, does it? It would be in San Diego whether I had it or not, wouldn’t it?” She was pleading with him, though she sounded as if she were giving a report in class. “I didn’t make him sick, did I?”
“No,” said Jeff; his uncertainty must have shown more than he thought, for she started to cry.
“It is my fault.” She continued weeping, though with hardly any sobs.
“It’s the fault of TS, certainly, but it is not your fault that you are a carrier.” Jeff thought of his own children in their European haven with their aunt. “It’s hard to accept that these things can happen, especially if they happen to you.”
“Adam Barenssen said we’re the instruments of God’s vengeance against the sins of the world.” She wiped her face. “I told him he’s wrong, but sometimes . . .”
“Sometimes it gets to you, and you’re afraid that he could be right?” Jeff guessed, recalling the reports he had read on the Barenssen twins and their relentless insistence on the religious purpose of TS.
She nodded. “I hate it.”
“Small wonder,” said Jeff, not caring what it she referred to “I told Adam not to talk to me any more, but he still does, and so does Axel.” She folded her arms, looking very young. “They said it wasn’t safe to be around the horses because we’d make them sick, too.”
Jeff shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. So far as we know no animal except laboratory mice and hamsters has got TS, and they were made to get it. You can spend all the time you like with the horses and they’ll be fine.” Privately, he hoped this turned out to be true. Blood tests on the horses, dogs and cats at the Control Facility had yet to reveal any trace of the disease, but the tests continued, and would continue for some time to come.
“I couldn’t stand it if dogs and horses got sick, too.”
“I know, Laurie; I know,” said Jeff, miserably aware of how little consolation he could offer her.
Ace and Mason came back with large containers of coffee—one orange juice—and Mason announced, “Ace said I can stay here as long as I want tonight and help him. He’ll show me how they get all the specimens ready and what they look for. Maybe I can help you guys find a cure, after all.”
“That sounds very interesting,” said Jeff, giving Laurie an encouraging half-smile.
“Yeah,” said Mason with determination. “We’re starting with the covered racks—including your specimen, Doctor Taji.”
“You let me know what you find out,” Jeff said as he took the styrofoam cup the boy held out.
“I’m going to learn how to write up the reports, too. If I can do that I’ll be—” He stopped himself and would not go on.
“Tell you what, Mason,” said Jeff as if he had not noticed the way he had broken off his words, “you do the paperwork on my specimen and show it to me at breakfast, okay? We can talk about it then.” He got up. “In the meantime, I have some paperwork of my own to do, and I’m tired. You night owls can keep going until four in the morning, if you want. I’m going to bed.” Taking his coffee with him, he left Ace and the two kids in the lab, and in an hour he drifted into sleep with papers spread around him.
He was awakened at ten minutes to seven.
“Doctor Taji, this is Mason Ross. I think you better get up to the lab right away.” The boy’s voice was husky with fatigue, but his excitement and concern overrode his exhaustion.
“Mason?” Jeff said, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Your blood specimen? The one Ace took last night?” His voice cracked with excitement.
“I remember,” Jeff said with cold dread in his chest.
“It didn’t change. All night long it didn’t change.”
—Dale Reed and Irene Channing—
Her first impression was of the musty smell of the room. Irene looked around the cabin and turned to Dale. “When were you up here last?”
“Four weeks ago, but only for the night.” He dropped the suitcases by the worn and stained leather couch. “I told you it wasn’t fancy.”
“And you sure didn’t exaggerate,” she said, trying to make a joke of it. “Mice in the kitchen, too, no doubt.”
“Probably. And ’possums in the woodshed.” He suddenly doubted his decision to bring her here. “If you’d rather go back to the hospital, I’ll call Galen Simeon and make arrangements.”
“Hell, no,” said Irene in rallying tones. “You should have seen the place I had in Winnemucca, right around the time Steven was born. That was after Tim moved out and went to Arizona. I had this three-room shack and . . .” Her eyes grew distant and she made an effort to put those memories behind her. “Thank goodness that’s over.”
Dale accepted this with reservations. “How long did you live there? Isn’t it—”
“—out in the middle of nowhere? Pretty much. I lived there until I came to my senses and realized that no matter how good my work was, no one was going to give a damn in that part of Nevada; or no one who could help me. No one was going to truck out to Winnemucca and search for a painter. And no one in Winnemucca had the contacts that might find an outlet for my work. I don’t mean that quite the way it sounds. Nevada can be beautiful in a stark way, and for a time it was exactly what I wanted to paint, that clean, honed landscape with its shadows and rocks equally hard-edged. There were actually a couple of Indians there who liked everything I did. They had very keen eyes, though not educated.” She stopped. “I’m sorry, Dale, I’m rattlin
g along like . . . like nothing sensible.”
“You’re nervous,” he said, reaching to close the door.
“Yes,” she admitted. “It’s silly. I can’t understand why I should be so nervous. I’m not a convent-raised virgin. I’m not naive. But I don’t know what’s happening. You’d think I reverted to age sixteen.” Deliberately she took the time to study the main room of the cabin. “Does the fireplace work?”
“The chimney was cleaned in February,” said Dale. “I haven’t had it checked since. If there aren’t critters living in there, I suppose it’s fine.”
Her skin paled. “If there’s a chance that you’ve got something living in it, then let’s not use it. I don’t want to hurt anything.”
“I’ll have a look later. But do you want a fire? It’s summer, for God’s sake. You said you were roasting in the car.” He was as keyed-up as she was, though he did his best to conceal this.
“Later, it might be nice. If it’s not too hot at night.” She had brushed off the seat of the leather couch and now she sank onto it. “If you’ve got some Murphy’s I’ll clean this up for you,” she offered.
“It could use a good cleaning. I think there’s an old tub of Murphy’s in the kitchen somewhere. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
“I do want to, that’s why I brought it up,” she said with a touch of irritation. “This couch might be old, but it’s very well made and it needs care. A couple hours of washing and buffing would be . . . fun.”
“If you’re sure you’re up to it, we can think about it. And I’ll see if we’ve still got some Murphy’s.”
“We can get some in town,” she said without thinking, then looked over at him. “I’m sorry, Dale. I didn’t mean that. If we have to get something, I’ll let you arrange it.”
“Thanks,” he said, a trifle stiffly. “I don’t want you being hounded any more. That’s why we’re here, remember? I want you to be able to work and get . . . control of this thing you do.” By the time he finished talking, he was on the couch beside her. “I’ve arranged to have messages left at a general store at the lake. They do message holdings and act a little like a private post office.”
She let her head drop onto his shoulder. “Do you think it’s safe? Really? Do you think they won’t find us?”
“Oh, they might,” said Dale, his lips brushing her forehead. “But we’re a low priority for a while. They have their hands full with TS.”
“What about you?” she asked gently. “You have patients and they need you. You can’t walk away from them. TS is all over now, and you’re still healthy. Aren’t you?”
“Healthy?” He looked over her head, his eyes fixed on some point beyond the shuttered window. “So far.”
For a little while she said nothing. “How have your tests been?”
“We can talk about that later, when I’ve had the most recent results.” He took her hand and kissed it. “We’ll worry about this when and if we have to. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
He moved his hand through her hair, loving the texture of it, the way it slid through his fingers. “I’ve got to unpack the car.”
“I’ll help,” she said, not moving.
Reluctantly he moved away from her. “No, you stay here. I’ll take care of it.”
“Dale, don’t wrap me up in cotton batting. I was going nuts in that hospital because everyone tried to keep me from doing things other than the prescribed exercises and the reflex tests. They wanted to get more on the PK, not on me or my work.” She rose from the sofa. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to describe to you the way this made me feel. I can’t think about the life I’ve had to lead. If I do, I’ll throw myself in front of a train, I swear I will.” Her hands were up at her face and she moved away from him. “If you turn me into a freak, I won’t have anything left.”
“You have your kids,” he reminded her desperately.
“One of them is off outside of Atlanta somewhere, and I won’t get to see him again for a long time. The other is with relatives and . . . poor Brice.” She closed her eyes and struggled to bring her turbulent emotions under control.
An old glass ashtray in the shape of a cuspidor rattled to the edge of the endtable and smashed, shattering, onto the floor.
Dale stared at the wreckage. “Irene, calm down, will you?” The words were low and steady, though the muscles of his face were tight.
“I didn’t mean . . .” she faltered. “I truly didn’t, Dale.” When she looked at him, there was shock and supplication in her eyes.
“I know, love.” He moved slowly toward her and put his arm around her shoulder. “It’s been a long, tough haul and you’re entitled to a few rough times. Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean it up.”
“Let me,” she said quietly. “I broke it.”
He looked at the shards of glass. “Maybe we’d better do it together. It could be quite a job.”
“Let me sweep it up, first,” she pleaded. “Then we can damp-mop or whatever needs to be done.”
“Fine,” he said woodenly. “I’ll get you the broom.”
While she swept, her expression a fixed one of single-minded determination, he brought in the rest of their baggage and supplies from the car. He took time to put the perishable groceries in the little refrigerator, silently praying that the ancient machine would continue to work for a little while longer. When he had done that chore, he prepared the mop and carried it and the bucket into the front room where he found Irene sitting on the couch again, staring at the floor.
“I think I got as much as . . .” She let her words fade. “Dale, I’m so sorry I did that. I tried not to, please believe me.”
“I believe you,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “You watch while I take care of this.” He was not deft with household equipment, but for the next quarter hour he did his best with the damp mop. For the most part he managed well; though he did succeed in cutting his thumb while being careless in wringing out the mop: he found a prescription bottle for the latest analgesic in her purse and took two.
“You did a great job,” said Irene as she helped to bandage the cut.
“Thanks,” Dale said as he watched her, flattered and exasperated by what had happened. He let his gaze drift around the kitchen, noticing for the first time how small it was, and how there was a persistent odor of slightly sour milk in the room. It shamed him to think that he had brought Irene here with so little preparation for what the place was like, but he had been desperate to get her out of the hospital and away from Douglas Kiley. Now that he had the leisure to examine their predicament he was not at all convinced that this cabin was the safest place he might have chosen.
“What’s the matter?” She was still holding his hand, but now her eyes were focused on his face, caught by the remote intensity there.
“I’m worried.” He knew that it was useless to fib about it. “I can’t help thinking that one of those ESA agents will knock at the back door and oh-so-politely inform me that they need your skills to study as part of their job, and that once you’re gone, I’ll never be able to find you again.”
Her smile trembled. “You’re so dear. Don’t fret about me, Dale. If they caught me, I wouldn’t let them keep me. I’m getting good enough that I could probably get out of any place they tried to hold me. Besides, now that the news media are investigating TS, it’s only a matter of time before they find the other survivors. It’ll all be out in the open soon, no matter what anybody does. There’ve been too many victims of TS for the media to ignore it any more.” She reached out for one of the old-fashioned straight-backed chairs and sat him down in it. “In a couple of weeks, we can go back to Dallas if we want. No one will touch us then.”
“Okay,” he said doubtfully. “In the meantime, what about dinner?”
&nbs
p; “You mean you dragged me all the way out into this wilderness just to find out if I could cook?” Her mock indignation coaxed a smile from him.
“It’s as good a time as any.” The pain of the cut had subsided so that it no longer lanced up to his elbow every time he moved his hand. “I’m out of service for tonight.”
“Convenient,” she said with a shake of her head.
“Actually,” he said, “I had planned to do the cooking, at least for a while. So that you could start painting again. I’ve missed seeing your work.”
“I’ve missed working,” he countered. “Where do you keep the pots and pans, and what are we going to have to eat?” With her hands on her hips and her hair tied back with a scarf, she looked like an advertiser’s idea of a woman roughing it; Dale could not help grinning at her. “And what’s that all about?”
“Nothing. The pots are in that bin beside the sink. You pull out the top so it can tip open. The pans are in the deep drawer at the end of the counter. There’s also a teakettle and a coffeepot, if you’re interested.” He could feel the painkiller she had given him take effect, making him feel muzzy, so that it seemed he was watching the room from the wrong end of a telescope, turning everything distant and small.
“Are you doing all right?” she asked as she opened the bin.
“Yeah,” he said abstractedly. “I was thinking of something, that’s all.”
“Thinking of what?” she asked.
“That it’s good to have you here.” It was not the truth but it was far from a lie. “I think I’m going to need a nap.”
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