“Why should it? We caulked it.”
Now Zena remembered: there had been a stop in the night, and some getting out and working. She had heard it, but no one had called her to help and she had been too logy to rise on her own initiative. Thatch and Gordon must have sealed the crevices and panels, or tried to.
“That may keep the water out of the residential section,” Gordon said. “But not out of the motor. It will stall.”
“Maybe it will, maybe it won’t,” Gus said angrily. “Drive, Thatch.”
Thatch shrugged and got into the driver’s seat.
“This is crazy!” Zena said. “It’s useless to—”
The motor started. Thatch drove the vehicle into the water. Zena held her breath, knowing what was going to happen.
But the water was more shallow than it had looked. The bus continued, making enormous splashes to either side. The shore line receded behind, fifty feet, seventy-five, a hundred.
Zena let out her breath. And the motor stalled.
“Now you’ve done it!” Gus said angrily to Thatch.
Zena wanted to yell at Gus, but sighed instead. Yelling might be satisfying, but it would not solve any problems.
Gordon finished his breakfast and went to the bathroom. “I’m going to sleep,” he announced.
Karen looked about. “Is there anything I can take that floats? I can’t swim.”
“You won’t have to swim!” Gus said. “We’re getting this thing across. Time to start pushing, Thatch.”
“We can’t push it that far,” Zena objected. “We tried that before.”
“You can start” Gus said. “It’s still downhill, some. Get moving, Thatch.”
“Get moving, Thatch!” Zena mimicked. “For God’s sake, Gus, downhill means deeper into the water!”
“We can still push,” Karen said. “I’ll help. But let’s eat first.”
“There’s not much food,” Zena said, remembering the woman’s injection of the prior evening. Was Karen in a drug euphoria? “And we don’t want to waste it.” Actually, she hadn’t resented Gordon’s meal. He was an asset to the group; was Karen?
But Karen had found some wrapped lumps of sugar. She opened them and ate them quickly.
They took turns using the little bathroom, where Zena’s several sets of soggy clothing remained in the sink. The closet supply would not last forever; they would have to find a way to dry things. “Don’t flush the toilet,” Zena warned. “We may need the water. We can’t trust what’s outside.”
Karen went back to the bedroom. “Oh!” she said.
Zena came to look. Gloria had remanifested, and was asleep on the couch Karen had used.
“That’s Gordon’s other self,” Zena explained. “He says he is a woman in a male body.”
“He seemed perfectly sensible to me,” Karen said, shaken. “I never guessed he was—”
“He isn’t. Just let him be. Her be. We all have our little secrets.”
Karen looked quickly at her, seeming to comprehend in that moment that Zena knew about her addiction. But she did not speak again.
They went out into the rain-blasted lake: Thatch and Karen and Zena. By common consent they left Gloria to sleep; he/she had done his/her part by driving at night. Gus, of course, was a hopeless case; the girls could not have dragged him out, and Thatch would not.
It was downhill. They pushed, and the bus moved, slowly. And the water deepened, climbing Zena’s thighs. The rain lanced down, as ever.
Zena knew it couldn’t last. They would soon be exhausted, and it would be impossible to get the bus up out of the water without using the pulley system. And impossible to use the pulleys without anchorages. Also, the increasing depth of the water was making things extremely awkward.
They stopped to rest, gasping. “Why do I go along with this idiocy?” Zena asked rhetorically. She was waist-deep now and more than physically weary.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“What?” Zena looked about, confused. But it had not been Thatch speaking. Gordon had joined them.
“We didn’t see you,” Karen said. “There was only some blonde…”
Gordon grinned. They got together and pushed again, making slightly better progress now that they were four. The water was up to Zena’s shoulders and the whole of the vehicle’s chassis was beneath the troubled surface. They would never get it out of this!
“Stop,” Gordon said.
Zena stopped pushing, glad to get her chin out of the waves. But the bus continued moving. Thatch and Karen also stood back.
They stared as it proceeded without them.
“I was afraid of that,” Gordon said. “The current’s taken it. We have lost control.”
“Current?” Zena felt stupid, perhaps from fatigue. But of course there was a current! All this water was in transit, flowing from high ground to low ground. The bus presented a broad expanse of surface to intercept that force, now that the main body of it was in the water. A much more powerful push than three tired people could produce—or combat.
“The brakes!” Gordon cried, “Gus, put on the brakes!” But it was hardly likely that Gus could hear.
Zena forged up to the front, finding relief in full swimming but barely exceeding the bus’s velocity. She realized that Karen was being quite brave, if she really couldn’t swim, for at the rate they were going the water would soon be over her head.
“Gus—brakes!” Zena cried.
Now Gus heard. “You’ve got her going well! Don’t quit now!”
“We’re not doing it! The current—”
“Current!” Gus looked out the window, alarmed.
The bus kept moving. “Put on the brakes!” Zena screamed.
“I did!” Gus screamed back. “They’re locked!”
“They can’t be. It’s going faster than ever!”
Then, slowly, she realized. The brakes were not working, because the entire vehicle was floating!
Slowly, ponderously, like a runaway but clumsy barge, the bus wallowed in the current, going where the water took it. Zena just stood there and stared, bemused. Thatch and Gordon came into view on the other side, mouths open. Karen stood a little farther back.
Zena began to laugh, hysterically. Karen joined her. In a moment Gordon laughed too—a girlish titter. The incongruity of that set Zena off worse, though she understood the reason for that falsetto. Gloria was the dominant personality, when it came to falling apart.
Thatch merely shook his head.
The bus began to drift sidewise, off the highway.
“Thatch, do something!” Gus’s voice came back despairingly. “It’s coming in the engine hatch!”
“Well, sit on the hatch!” Gordon shouted. “Hold it down, or the whole thing will sink!”
“Maybe ‘capsize’ is the word,” Zena said, fending off another attack of the hopeless giggles.
Thatch swam after the bus.
“No way to stop it,” Gordon said. “It’ll float right on out to sea.”
But fate intervened again. Before Thatch caught up, the bus snagged on something under the surface, rotated in a quarter circle, and hung there, bobbing gently. It was off the highway, but no longer drifting with the current.
They came up to it again, four heads showing above murky water. “Thatch, I told you to get this bus across!” Gus called irritably from the interior. He was still sitting on the engine cover between the front chairs.
Zena quelled another flash of emotion: rage or mirth, or both. She knew she was overreacting. Was the man totally impervious to reason? “I’m sure he is doing his best,” she said, with what irony she was not certain herself.
Thatch considered, then swam away. The others clung to the bus uncertainly. Zena didn’t have the gumption to challenge Thatch on where he was going; it could be a plan to save the motor-home, or merely a call of nature.
“Well, let’s get inside for now,” Gordon said.
They splashed around to the door, Gordon helping
Karen, who looked wan. Zena reached it first—and met another aggravation. It would not open.
“Gus, don’t be childish!” she cried, exasperated.
But Gordon fathomed the problem. “It’s not him, it’s the water. The pressure’s holding it shut.”
“And if we do yank it open,” Karen pointed out, “all the water will pour inside and sink the ship.”
Zena laid her head against the metal. “What are we going to do?”
“Use the window,” Gordon said. “That’s how I came out. I’ll boost you up.”
Karen went first, wriggling through with Gordon supporting her fleshy legs and Gus getting whatever grip he could on her robust upper torso. Watching that, Zena had second thoughts about her mode of entry. “You go next,” she said to Gordon. “Then you can help me in from inside.”
Gordon didn’t need boosting. For all his effeminate preferences, he was a well-conditioned man. He hauled himself up and through with minimum trouble.
Still, Zena lingered. “We’re forgetting Thatch! Maybe I should wait here—”
“Suit yourself,” Gordon said amenably. “But if you get cold, I’ll spell you.” He looked about inside. “We’ll have to do some bailing; that engine cover’s still leaking. Karen, why don’t you perch on it, and I’ll find a bucket…”
Zena was cold, but didn’t care to admit it. They waited, more or less helplessly. Buckets of water flew out the window to merge with the rain: Gordon was at work.
In due course Thatch returned. He bore several long poles that he had evidently fashioned from saplings.
“Oars!” Zena cried, comprehending.
“We still have to carve them flat,” Thatch said. “But they won’t fit inside.”
“Well, do it outside!” Gus snapped from the window.
“Why don’t you come out and do it yourself?” Zena snapped back.
Gus looked down at her, amazed. “And get wet?”
She thought he was joking then realized with a sick feeling that he was not. They might all drown for lack of manpower, but big Gus would not get wet.
Zena shrugged and looked at Thatch. “Have another knife?”
He did. First they had to float the poles back to shore, where they could be worked on. This was simply a matter of supporting the forepart of one’s body on the wood and kicking the feet. It was against the current, but not too difficult.
The air, as she came back into it from her submersion, seemed chill. Was the rain cooling, or was it just her? She hoped she wasn’t coming down with any illness. That would be all they needed now: a contagious disease.
They worked on the oars side by side, sitting astride them and pushing the kitchen knives away two-handed. It was awkward, but seemed to get the job done with minimum risk. A bad slip, a gash across the wrist—that could be fatal!
But she was growing unnecessarily morbid, looking for pretexts to feel sorry for herself, when there were plenty of real problems to occupy her attention!
“Thatch,” she murmured, suspecting that he would not hear her through the beat of rain, and half hoping for that.
“Yes?” he replied.
All right: out with it! “Karen—I saw her inject herself with something last night.”
He paused. “I’d better tell Gus.”
“No, you idiot! What use would he be?”
“He knows what to do.”
“What is it with you two?” she cried “You do all the work. He’s nothing but a parasite.”
“He does his part.”
“His part! What’s his part? Conspicuous consumer?”
“He leads.”
“Some leadership! He won’t even poke his nose outside.”
“Well, it’s wet outside.”
“Oh come on now, Thatch!”
He didn’t answer, and she didn’t push it. When the knife began to dull Thatch showed her how to sharpen it with a little whetstone he had, and the laborious work continued.
When they had four oars, they got up. Zena’s hands were cramped and hurting; there would be blisters. Now for the swim back.
“About time!” Gus called as they drew alongside.
“Don’t you know that every hour makes it worse? We have to reach high ground.”
“We can put the oars through the windows, and row,” Thatch said. “It won’t matter how deep the water gets.”
“You have no anchorages in the windows,” Gus said.
Zena was fleetingly amused to see how the normal roles of the two men had reversed. Now Gus was protesting while Thatch gave answers.
“I’ll take care of that,” Gordon said. “I’ve been considering the layout. We’ll have to nail some blocks in.”
“Then we can’t close the windows!” Gus said. “The rain will come in.”
So that was it: Gus was really concerned about his personal comfort. True to form after all!
“I’ll remove the blocks once we’re back on land,” Gordon said. “It’ll get wet in here—but that’s the least of evils.”
“The rugs! The furniture!” Gus exclaimed.
Gordon ignored him. “Pass in an oar handle, folks, so I can piece this out. We need room for the oarsmen, too.”
“There are no blocks,” Gus said.
“We’ll have to cut some lengths off the ends of the oars,” Gordon said.
They had no saw, so had to carve off segments with the knives. Thatch was good at this, though Zena saw that his hands were badly blistered; he had cut down the trees this way, too. More time was lost, while the rain rained. Zena was afraid the bus would float off its impediment before they were ready. She decided not to voice this thought, however. What could they do about it except worry?
But the water level now seemed to be constant, though the rain never abated. Apparently the broad flow sufficed to keep it stable, here—for the time being. Gordon, with much hammering and unladylike swearing, got the makeshift apparatus done.
At last they were ready for the big effort. Gordon helped Zena in, and Thatch stayed outside to make sure the oars were functioning correctly. Zena and Karen had the rear pair; they braced their feet against the back panel of the bus and sat facing rearward on the two side couches, holding on to the heavy awkward oar handles. Gus had the dinette-alcove oar; he was seated similarly on the bed set there. Gordon stopped bailing, set a box of shoes, wet clothing and other artifacts on the engine panel to help hold it down, and took the kitchen oar. He had the hall to move in.
“Now push down and forward on your oars,” Thatch called from behind. “That lifts them up and forward, outside.”
Zena tried. It was like wrestling a rigid snake. The leverage was all against her.
She wasn’t the only one; Karen was struggling valiantly to master her oar, and finally got it pinned under her body. A banging up front indicated that at least one of the men was having trouble too.
“Get them together!” Thatch shouted. “Otherwise the craft will spin about.”
But Zena could not manage her oar, let alone coordinate it with anyone else’s.
“No, no, it’s all wrong!” Thatch cried.
“Come in here and take my oar,” Gus called. “I’ll show you how to organize.”
Thatch swam up and climbed in the window, while Gordon bailed some more. There was a constant inflow of water from somewhere, despite the patching and caulking, and the rug was covered an inch deep. The two men changed places. Then Gus strode down the hall and perched on the rear couch with his feet clear of the water. He faced forward between the two girls.
“Take your places,” he cried. “Now everybody push down.” His voice carried better than Thatch’s and had a greater imperative. Zena found herself responding with extra effort despite her resentment. Trust Gus to land the softest spot!
“Karen, get your hands on it, not your chest,” Gus continued. “Gordon, don’t move it yet—just hold it in place. You’re stronger than the girls, so you’ll have to hold back a little. Now, when I call ‘Forward
,’ I want you all to push your oars toward me, together—but keep those handles down! Okay—now forward!”
They shoved their unwieldy handles forward. Under his direction they let the handles rise, so that the paddle ends dropped more or less neatly into the water outside. No splash was audible through the steady noise of the rain, but Zena felt the change in balance. “Now, pull back, hard!”
They pulled together, and the bus lurched free of its encumbrance. It tilted and wallowed alarmingly, then steadied. Zena hoped she would not be seasick.
“Now we’re on the high seas,” Gus said, unperturbed. “Keep those oars moving! Down—forward—up pull!”
Zena obeyed almost mindlessly, and felt the bus begin to move. They were doing it—they were rowing it across the water!
And it was idle Gus who had accomplished that final unified action, not Thatch or anyone else. Gus had after all emerged as the leader when it counted. Thatch had tried, but failed: he had neither the voice nor the talent to organize people. In performance, Thatch was a loner.
The rowing became easier as they got the hang of it, though it was cruelly tiring. Zena’s arms were soon numb with fatigue, but Gus kept the cadence going and she didn’t dare be the first to stop.
Then Karen collapsed over her oar. “Halt!” Gus bawled. “Gordon, start bailing before we sink! The rest of you rest in place, catch your breath. We’re nearing land; one more drive will do it.”
Thank God, Zena thought. For the rest and for the sight of the end. She had never before labored so hard.
Then they resumed, and it was as bad as before. Karen had recovered enough to pull her oar, but Zena could tell they were not making the progress they had been. The current of the water and the sheer weight of the bus were too much.
Suddenly the engine cover burst its latches. Water gushed in, carrying away the box and flooding the interior. The bus began to sink.
“Keep paddling!” Gus cried.
Then they ran aground. The vehicle seemed to bounce slightly as the wheels touched bottom. The water continued to climb inside, but Zena knew they would not drown.
“Keep rowing!” Gus yelled. “I’ll steer!” He got down and waded up the hall to the driver’s seat.
Rings of Ice Page 5
