After last night… that old woman in the rocking chair… I stayed there all alone and the wind’d start the chair rocking.
Ooh!”
She looked at him with abnormally bright eyes.
“I’d rather die than touch anybody now… after seeing that.
Somebody touched her, didn’t they, Paul?
That’s why she did it, wasn’t it?”
He squirmed and backed toward the door.
“Willie… I’m sorry for what I said.
I mean—”
“Don’t worry, Paul!
I wouldn’t touch you now.”
She clenched her hands and brought them up before her face, to stare at them with glittering hate.
“I loathe myself!” she hissed.
What was it Mendelhaus had said, about the dermie going insane because of being an outcast rather than because of the plague?
But she wouldn’t be an outcast here.
Only among nonhypers, like himself…
“Get well quick, Willie,” he muttered, then hurriedly slipped out into the corridor.
She called his name twice, then fell silent.
“That was quick,” murmured Mendelhaus, glancing at his pale face.
“Where can I get a car?”
The priest rubbed his chin.
“I was just speaking to Brother Matthew about that.
Uh… how would you like to have a small yacht instead?”
Paul caught his breath.
A yacht would mean access to the seas, and to an island.
A yacht was the perfect solution.
He stammered gratefully.
“Good,” said Mendelhaus. “There’s a small craft in dry dock down at the basin.
It was apparently left there because there weren’t any dock crews around to get her afloat again.
I took the liberty of asking Brother Matthew to find some men and get her in the water.”
“Dermies?”
“Of course.
The boat will be fumigated, but it isn’t really necessary.
The infection dies out in a few hours.
It’ll take a while, of course, to get the boat ready.
Tomorrow… next day, maybe. Bottom’s cracked; it’ll need some patching.”
Paul’s smile weakened.
More delay.
Two more days of living in the gray shadow.
Was the priest really to be trusted?
Why should he even provide the boat?
The jaws of an invisible trap, slowly closing.
Mendelhaus saw his doubt.
“If you’d rather leave now, you’re free to do so.
We’re really not going to as much trouble as it might seem.
There are several yachts at the dock; Brother Matthew’s been preparing to clean one or two up for our own use. And we might as well let you have one. They’ve been deserted by their owners.
And… well… you helped the girl when nobody else would have done so.
Consider the boat as our way of returning the favor, eh?”
A yacht.
The open sea.