PROTOTYPE 10 By Heck Comments to heck@petermeyer.go-plus.net CHAPTER TEN It was a beautiful day. The kind of day when the foamy clouds in the clear sky look like flecks of shaving cream on the cheeks of God. A perfect day to bury Mike. We had not stopped since our escape, driving through the night, well out into the desert. Once or twice, before leaving the city, we had heard police sirens wailing and knew a moment of dread, but there didn't seem to be any effective pursuit. The car ran well, recharging itself from the integral alternator as it ran, but I knew it would have to have a proper overnight charge before too long, if we didn't want to blow the nickel- cadmium battery cells. A little-used track crossed the road and I turned into it. The car lurched over potholes and the suspension bottomed out a few times, but soon enough we were out of sight of the highway and far enough away to feel safe to stop for a short while. I pulled in at a spot where the road was sufficiently window, and we climbed out. "This looks like as good a place as any". Rob and I hauled Mike's stiffening body from the car. I found an old tarp in the trunk and we wrapped him in it, securing it with a few bungee cords. I stood up, scanning the area for a suitable site. A few dozens metres away, a darkening of the landscape indicated the presence of a deep depression. I pointed it out, and we all agreed it would do. I took Mike's shoulders and Rob took his feet, but Mike had been a big man, and after only five or six metres we had to put him down again. "Oh, man! This's gonna take all day!" Rob complained. "No. It isn't". Lucy moved to straddle the corpse, reaching down to grasp it. "Lucy. It's OK. You don't have to". "I know it", she said. "But I can, so I will. Besides, he wouldn't have died if it wasn't for me". A hint of guilt flavoured her words. "It's the least I can do". She laid hold of the swathed body and slung it over her shoulder like it was that of a child, and strode off toward the depression. Mike's head and feet swung bare centimetres from the ground, but she carried him easily. Rob and I followed, exchanging admiring glances, and within as minute we reached our destination. It was a tiny box canyon, with steeply sloping sides and a few yuccas growing in the bottom. Lucy turned sideways to negotiate the slope, and bore poor Mike to his resting place. We dug a shallow grave with our bare hands and laid Mike in it. Piling a cairn of stones over him to protect the body from coyotes. "This is only temporary", Lucy said. "As soon as it's safe, we must inform his family and take his body home for a proper funeral". "Of course", I agreed. "Does anyone want to say anything? Because I have a few words." "Go for it, man". "Yes, go ahead". "OK". I cleared my throat and stood solemnly at the head of the grave. "I only knew Professor Michelangelo DeLuca, Mike, for a short time, but I liked him very much. His easy-going, friendly nature was infectious, and I think he filled us all with pleasure in his company. As soon as he knew the situation, he was all for helping Lucy to escape, and went into it whole- heartedly with the kind of commitment that was second nature to him. So, Lucy, you don't have to feel guilty that he died in the attempt. We all knew the danger at the get-go, and it could have happened to any one of us. Or all of us, for that matter. "Now, I'm not much of a one for religion. I don't pray to any god and I don't subscribe to any faith. But Mike did, and if there is a human soul I'm positive his was one of the better ones. I hope his god will look kindly on him, and let him rest in peace". "Amen", Lucy whispered. "Well said, Sean man", Rob muttered, and bent to pick up a handful of dirt that he scattered on the cairn. "Sleep well, Dude". We stood in silence for a moment, wrapped up in our own thoughts, then as if by silent agreement we started back up the slope, never looking back. At the car, I brought up a map on the GPS display and we studied it. "I think we should keep off the main highways for now", I suggested. "We don't want to make it too easy for them to find us". "Sounds good to me". Lucy had got into the front beside me. Rob leaned between the seats, peering over our shoulders. "Look here, man". He pushed an arm between us, pointing at the map. "This track intersects a road here, about three klicks further on. If we turn left, we hit this little town. None of us had eaten since yesterday afternoon. Dunno about you guys, but I'm starved, man". "Maybe there's a motel", Lucy said. "We could get cleaned up and recharge the car". She looked down at herself. "Maybe I could get some fresh clothes? Sean?" "Aye, I've enough on my credit card for that. Sounds like a plan". "I got plastic too, man", Rob volunteered. "We should be OK for money for a little while". "OK. Let's do that, then". It wasn't much of a plan, but in the absence of anything better it'd have to do. "Buckle up, people". It wasn't that easy, though. After about half a kilometre or so the road, such as it was, deteriorated into a rutted track. The ruts were so deep that I had to drive with the offside wheels on the central hump and the opposite pair on the verge, and the going was rough to say the least. The car bumped and lurched, and I had to keep the speed right down to avoid shaking it to bits. Soon enough, the inevitable happened. My concentration must have lapsed for an instant. The car slipped off the hump and into the ruts, grounding on its belly as the wheels spun uselessly, three centimetres off the ground. "Shit!" I thumped the steering wheel in frustration. "Shit, shit, shit!" "Wassup, Dude?" "We're grounded. Bloody hell! I'm sorry about this, folks. We're not going anywhere. I got us stuck. Shit!" "Hey, chill, man. Don't beat yourself up about it. It's not far to town. Maybe we can get a tow truck or something". "Aye, I suppose. All right. Everybody out". Lucy placed a hand on my shoulder. "Maybe it's not too bad. Look, the ruts get shallower just up ahead. You stay where you are. Rob, out you get". I stared at her in puzzlement. I had no idea what she meant to do. They had to climb out the windows, because the doors wouldn't open past the rim of the ruts. She positioned Rob at the rear, and came to stand alongside the car on my side. "Keep your hands on the wheel", she instructed me. "Keep the car straight. I don't know if this'll work, but it's worth a try. Rob, when I tell you, push the car forward". It dawned on me, then. I knew what she intended. It would be incredible but, if anyone could do it, Lucy could. Once Rob was in position, Lucy rubbed her hands together and placed her palms under the top edges of the doorframes. She gave me one of her startling smiles. "Wish me luck?" "Good lug.woh!" Even though I had been half ready for it, I cried out in astonishment as she lifted the car. I rose up a good metre, the vehicle tipping sideways, sliding off the hump to rest on its nearside wheels. Her massively powerful arms heaved the Ford up until it reached its point of balance, leaning heavily to the side. I had to hold tight to the door handle to keep from sliding across the bench seat while Lucy smiled in at me, no sign of strain upon her lovely face. "OK?" she asked. I nodded insanely. "OK. Now, keep it straight. All right, Rob. Slowly". He pushed and the car, balanced precariously on two wheels, moved forward, and that was how we progressed. Rob pushing slowly, Lucy holding the car steady and crabbing along sideways, until we cleared the deep ruts. Then she lowered it gently back onto all four wheels and trotted round to climb back in, looking no more flushed than if she had been holding up a feather. Rob got in back. "Woh! Oh, man, excellent! How'd you do that?" Lucy gave him one of her dazzling smiles and cocked a playful bicep at him. "Supergirl, remember? Enhanced?" "Oh, yeah. Way cool". "Still, it was good thinking", I observed as I fired up the motor. "Even if I had the strength, I don't know if I'd have thought of that. I probably would've dragged the car on its belly". "I don't know much about cars in twenty sixty-eight, but in my time dragging a car on its belly would've done serious damage. It just seemed logical". "It wouldn't do modern cars much good either. Well done, Lucy". "Occam's razor", Rob muttered from the back. I turned in my seat to look at him. "Do what?" "Occam's razor, Dude. Like, the simplest solution is usually the best". ".solution is usually the best", Lucy chorused. I frowned at them both. "Ah yes", I said, as if I knew. "I was just going to say that". I was doing a good job of keeping my arousal out of my voice. Her display of power had turned me on enormously, almost leaving me breathless. "Although I think I should get the suspension looked at, when we hit town". * There was a motel. Well, I say motel, but that was something of a grandiose name for the ramshackle collection of clapboard cabins that surrounded a rusting gas station. That's right. I said gas station. The only things on the road that run on gas these days are the huge road trains that haul freight from one end of the country to the other, and they use biodiesel made from surplus corn, or purposely grown biomass. They are so fuel efficient that they can travel from New Mexico to Canada and back on a single tank, and collect their fuel from special dumps ad depots owned and strategically placed by the trucking companies. But occasionally, you see a relic like this one. The units obviously hadn't pumped gas for years, and their peeling paint and perished hoses gave testimony to the general air of dilapidation. We parked well away from them, and walked over to the office. The screen door rattled as it swung shut behind us. A corroded bell sat on a short counter, and I struck it with my palm. It went 'clack'. Nothing happened. We stood around like lemons, gazing at the depressing, peeling brown paintwork, ragged drapes, and flyblown windows. "Perhaps it's abandoned", I said. "No", Lucy said. "I can hear a TV somewhere. There must be someone about". "Check out the sign, man", Rob said, pointing. On the back wall, suspended by a single thumbtack among various bits and pieces of paper, hung a scrap of card. Printed on it in a heavy, childish hand, were the words; If noe replie too bell just holler We hollered. For a long time there was no response. We were just about to yell again when Lucy held up a hand. She had heard something. I listened carefully, and eventually caught the sound of shuffling footsteps. If a smell can be said to have a personality, this one had a personality disorder. It preceded its owner into the office by a good twenty seconds, and assaulted our nasal passages like a sociopath. Redolent with layers of texture, it had a piquant quality that could only be achieved by the stringent avoidance of bathing for several years, coupled with personal habits that would sicken a ferret. Lucy wrinkled her sensitive nose in disgust, almost gagging at the stench. "C'n I he'p y'all? I have never seen a dirtier, more disgusting individual in my entire lie, than the old man who hobbled into the office. His grizzled, iron-grey hair stuck out liked a petrified hedgehog, and his chin hadn't seen a razor in weeks. Grime was ingrained in the wrinkles of his skinny old features. His hands were gnarled and filthy, with black crescents under the thickened nails, and when he smiled he treated us to the sight of yellow and brown stumps of teeth like an abandoned graveyard. He wore no shirt, but had on a pair of denim dungarees that must have been blue, once, but were now a delightful shade of muddy grey. A stained yellow baseball cap seemed welded to his scalp, and a clear drip dangled from the tip of his nose, keeping you in suspense while you waited for it to drop. "We'd, er, we'd like some rooms, please", I said. "We might like some rooms", Lucy qualified. "We'd like to see them first". "How many rooms?" "One for Rob and I", I said gallantly. "Lucy can have her own". He raised an eyebrow. It looked like a scruffy caterpillar crawling up his forehead. "Suit yerselves". He snatched a couple of keys from a box, chuckling quietly to himself as if at a private joke. "Foller me". Actually, the insides of the cabins weren't too bad. Much better than we'd dreaded. The carpets were threadbare and the drapes moth-eaten, but there were clean sheets on the beds, a TV, and a shower that worked. For one night only, they'd do. "Y'all gots to sign th' registry", the old man chirruped. "No pets, no cookin' in th' cabins, 'n' out by ten in th' mornin', Hunnerd dollars. Each". By our atandards, Rob and I thought that was dirt cheap. You could pay twice that much in many motels; granted, they'd be less crappy than this one. Lucy, though, obviously thought different. "A hundred dollars? For this fleapit?" "Y'all're welcome t' try someplace else", the old fossil grinned. "This here's th' on'y motel fer better'n a hunnerd klicks, though, but please yerself. Ain't no skin off'n my back". "Lucy", I soothed. "That's cheap. Trust me". "Cheap? Inflation must've run away with you guys". I touched a finger to my lips. I didn't want her to say too much just now. "We'll take them", I said, ushering the proprietor in the direction of his office. He led us in and fished out an ancient register that looked as if it hadn't been used in months. He wheezed the dust off it and switched it on. "Names?" "I'm Sean, er.Connery", I said, grabbing the first names that came to my head. "This is Lucy.Brown, and Rob.Smith". He took his finger from the keypad and fixed us with a gimlet eye. "Nope. Y' ain't", he said, quite matter-of-factly. "Sorry?" I was taken aback by his blunt statement. "What do you mean?" "Jes' whut I say. Y'all ain't Sean Whosis, he ain't Rob what-you-said, an' she ain't no Lucy Brown". His walnut of a face split in a wide grin that showed what remained of his teeth to best advantage. "He-hee! I see'd y'all on th' teevee! Y'all're famous!" "Oh, shit", I whispered under my breath. "Whut?" He looked at Lucy. "Whut's he say?" "He said, which channel?" "CNN is all. You folks is all over it. He-hee! Dunno whut y'all done, but they's lookin' fer y'all, right enough. Yessir. They's lookin' fer y'all". He strained to raise the counter-flap. "C'mon through. Y'all c'n see fer yerselves". We exchanged meaningful glances as we followed him into the foul squalor that was his living quarters, picking our way through the detritus, grimacing as the carpet clung to the soles of our shoes. He led us into the parlour and indicated a couple of filthy armchairs. I'd rather have sat in a cesspool. "No, thanks", I said. "We'd rather stand". "Suit yerselves. Teevee on. CNN rollin' news". In stark contrast to the rest of the place, the TV was a brand new, state of the art, three-D plasma screen. It flickered to life. "This is CNN, and I'm Lisa Holdway bringing you worldwide news for today, October twelfth, two thousand sixty-eight. Good afternoon. The FBI today issued a statewide alert for four fugitives from justice. The three men and a woman, on the run from unspecified charges, are thought to have fled the metropolitan area. Kyle Daventry reports". The shot changed to a fresh-faced young man standing outside an anonymous government building. "With me now is Assistant Director Santana of the FBI. Assistant Director, who are these people, and why do you need to find them?" The camera zoomed out to reveal the cold face of Santana, still wearing her fixture sunglasses. "Kyle, the fugitives are Michelangelo DeLuca, Sean Cameron, Robert Hindmarsh, and the woman is Lucille Radovic". I watched in horror as our faces appeared as an insert on the screen. "I'm not at liberty to say exactly why we need to find them, but it is a matter of National Security". "And what can the public do to help?" "First thing to say is, on no account approach these people. We don't know if they're armed, but we do know that they're highly dangerous. They are thought to be driving a grey '56 Ford sedan. If you see them, inform the FBI on the eight hundred number that I believe is on the screen right now, or your local police department". "Assistant Director, thank you. I'm Kyle Daventry, CNN." "Teevee off". The old man turned to scrutinise our stricken faces. "See? I tole y'all y'all was famous. He-hee! Dunno who this Michael Angel feller is, but I know who y'all are. He-hee!" "I don't see anything to laugh at", I said when I found my voice. "Look, Mr.er." "Garvey. Sherman Garvey". "Look, Mr Garvey, we haven't done anything. My friend her is ... special. The FBI, the military, we think they want to make her do things for them. They may even want to experiment on her. All we're trying to do is keep her safe". Sherman Garvey cast an appraising eye over Lucy. There was wisdom glittering under all the dirt. "Special, you say? How so?" "I'd rather not say. What you don't know won't hurt you. But, believe me, our lives are in danger". "My Garvey, what are you going to do?" Lucy asked. "Will you tell the sheriff?" "Ain't no sheriff, hereabouts. Leastways, not so's you'd notice. He don't come by here more'n twice a month, he-hee, usually t' 'rrest th' Hogan boys. They gen'rally up to sump'n. Nope, I reckon y'all're okay here. Fer t'night, leastways. Ol' Sherm mayn't look up t' much, but he's a helluva jedge o' character. Yessir. Reckon you folks got a reason fer runnin', an' I ain't like t' step in yore way. 'S fer as I'm concerned, govermint ain't no damn' good anyways, an' I don't reckon y'all're 'highly dangerous'. He- hee! So y'all c'n stay here t'night, 'n' I won't tell nobody. How's that?" Lucy gave old Garvey one of her best smiles. "Thank you, Mr Garvey. Thank you very much". "Aye, thanks. We're all very grateful". "'S okay. An' call me Sherm". "OK, Sherm. Can we get something to eat?" "Well, I don't do me no cookin' since Mrs Garvey passed. But I c'n order y'all a pizza. That do yer?" "That'd be great. Two between the three of us should be enough". "Loaded?" "Loaded". "No anchovies", Rob put in, the first words he had said since we met Sherm. "No anchovies on one of them", I amended. "You got it. Here's yer keys. I'll fergit th' registry this time. I'll give y'all a holler when the pizzas git here". He became serious. "One more thing. I done said I won't tell nobody, an' I won't, but ol' Sherm Garvey never lied t' th' law in all his borned life 'n' ain't about t' start now. So if th' law comes askin', I'm a tellin'. 'S that clear?" We thanked him again and retreated to our cabins. My mind was churning with the news that our faces were all over TV. It hadn't crossed my thoughts that that would happen, but now it seemed all too obvious. I couldn't seem to think what to do next. "What do we do next?" Rob out the question for me. We had all gathered in one cabin. Under the circumstances, it seemed the prudent thing to do. Lucy, who only needed an hour, would sleep in the armchair, and Rob and I would take a bed each. Logical. "I don't know", I admitted. "I've never been on the run before. I don't know what's supposed to happen". "There was an old movie when I was little", Lucy said. "About this guy who was wrongly convicted of murdering his wife. He escaped, and his plan just seemed to be to stay one step ahead until he found the one-armed man". "One-armed man?" "The real murderer. In our case, it looks like we have to stay one step ahead until we find a way out of the mess we're in". Her face took on a thoughtful look, as if an idea had just occurred to her. "What?" I said. "Hm? Oh. Nothing. Just a thought". And she would say no more. The pizzas came, and we ate them with relish. True to form, Lucy declared herself full after just two slices. But Rob and I polished off the rest before we bedded down for the night. "Rob?" I said as I turned out the light. "Hm?" "You were very quiet with old Sherm. Not like you at all". "Did you catch that stink? Man! I didn't want to open my mouth. You could taste it, Dude!"