Piers Anthony - Rings of Ice

“Who was gone? Your family?”

“Yes.”

“Did something happen to them?”

“No, they just drove off. I wasn’t too surprised, really.”

“Drove off and left you—deliberately?”

“It was sort of crowded. They didn’t much like Dust Devil.”

“That I can understand. But still—how long ago?”

“I don’t know. It was around midnight, and the rain didn’t stop.”

“Midnight! Twelve hours ago?”

“I guess. I slept some. Got any food?”

“I’m here looking for some! And gasoline.”

“Is it still raining?”

Zena, dripping wet before the door that opened out into the endless storm, didn’t bother to answer. So this girl was stranded, deserted by her own family. What was to become of her?

“Floy, how old are you?” If she were older than she looked—

“Fourteen. Dust Devil’s one year, next week. He doesn’t much like people, except me.”

No genius, obviously! A fourteen year old girl with her vicious cat—how would that pair fit into Gus’s prospective harem?

What choice was there? “Come on,” Zena said.

“But it’s raining!”

“Do you want to stay here until it floods? We have a motor-home—and if we can just find gas, we’ll be driving north to the highlands.”

“My folks were going south.”

Was it poetic justice, that those who had deserted this child would die in the flood, while Floy herself survived? Zena led the way out Floy lurched into the doorway, banging against it.

“Watch where you’re going! You’ll hurt yourself,” Zena said sharply.

“I don’t hurt easy.” Floy shoved outside and took a full sprawl on the soaking pavement.

“For God’s sake, girl!” Zena cried, hauling her up by an arm. “Are you sick?” Again that fear of some debilitating disease made her shudder.

“No worse’n usual. Just never was much for moving around.”

Now, holding on to Floy, Zena became aware that the girl was moving with extraordinary lack of grace. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Just clumsy—awful clumsy,” Floy said. “Butterfingers all over. Always been this way—but now it’s worse.”

“Did you suffer nerve damage as a baby?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

It was becoming more apparent why Floy had been left. This child would have been a problem in survival in the best of health. She was a disaster in her present condition.

Zena got Floy into the front office, where Karen had succeeded in breaking open the candy machine. “Sixty-one assorted candy bars!” Karen gloated. “Who is she?”

“She was trapped in the john. Name’s Floy.”

Floy snatched up a candy bar, scattering several others across the floor in the process. “Hey!” Karen yelped. “We need those!”

“She hasn’t eaten for twelve hours or more,” Zena said. “Spare one from your hoard. It isn’t as if it’s such precious food.”

“It’s the vital food,” Karen said.

Zena sighed. What a mishmash of oddballs she traveled with! From what narcotic vision had that dietetic revelation emerged?

There was a feline screech, followed by a human one. Karen shoved something furry away.

“That’s Dust Devil,” Zena said.

Karen wiped her scratched leg. “So nice to have a formal introduction!”

“We’ve got to find gasoline,” Zena said. “Otherwise, we may never leave here.”

“Are you going to take me with you?” Floy asked, sounding indifferent.

“I don’t see what choice we have,” Zena said, shaking her head. “But first you’ll have to understand about—”

“She’s only a child!” Karen interrupted her.

“That’s why she has to understand.”

“Understand what?” Floy asked.

“Never mind.” Karen said.

“Oh, so we’re getting finicky about morality now,” Zena said nastily.

“Age of consent,” Karen muttered, at a double disadvantage because of her position and the presence of the child.

“What’s the age of consent for being deserted in a filling station?”

“What is it you’re talking about?” Floy demanded.

“There are five of us,” Zena explained, deciding she was being unfair to Karen. There were things that should not be discussed too frankly, here. “Six, counting you—and it’s going to be crowded and difficult.”

“That’s all? Story of my life,” Floy said. “I thought maybe you had a sex maniac aboard.” She walked to the glass window and looked at the streaming water.

Karen stared after her. “Palsy?” she whispered.

Zena shrugged. “Human being.”

“I don’t like being alone,” Floy said. “If I hadn’t had Dust Devil—”

“We can’t take the cat!” Zena exclaimed.

“That’s what I thought. So I guess I’ll stay here.”

“You can’t stay here. In hours it’ll flood!”

“Dust Devil’s all I have.”

Zena sighed again. “Maybe we’ll all stay, with no gas.”

“There must be cars we can siphon it from,” Karen said. “Or other stations nearby.”

“Yes.” Zena shook herself. “There have to be.”

Karen had gathered all the candy bars into an oily cloth and made a bundle of them. “We’d better go back.”

“Wait—someone’s coming,” Zena said, seeing a tall shape.

It was Gordon. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Rhetorical question,” Zena said. “He always says that. Gordon, meet Floy and Dust Devil.”

“Pleased to know you both,” Gordon said without hesitation. “You’ll be joining our party, of course. Let me carry Dust Devil.”

“Careful,” Floy warned. “He doesn’t much like—”

“Cats and I understand each other,” Gordon said, lifting the little feline without protest. “Come, dear—take my arm.”

“Gee,” Floy said, flattered. She took firm hold of him and walked with much less difficulty.

Zena turned to find Karen already looking at her. Both were amazed. This was a talent Gordon had not had opportunity to show before.

“What are you going to be when you’re adult?” Gordon inquired as they stepped into the rain.

“A dancer,” Floy confessed shyly.

Zena bit her tongue.

“I know something about dancing,” Gordon said. “Have you ever seen the Drunken Sailor’s Hornpipe?” He leaned away from her and did an intricate little step, with the cat waving precariously. The whole thing was ludicrous, in this downpour. “Or did you mean ballet?”

“Ballet!” Floy cried, laughing. “You crazy?”

“Only when the wind is north-northwest.”

“That’s Shakespeare,” she said. “You thought I wouldn’t know.”

“You caught me!” he admitted. “By the way, Floy— we’re almost out of gasoline. Do you know where there’s another station, close?”

“There’s gas right here,” Floy said.

Zena shook her head. “Pump’s empty, and so are the big tanks out back.”

“Under the ground,” Floy explained. “Pump won’t bring it up because the power’s off. I heard them talking about it, through the wall. You have to work it by hand.”

Zena clapped her hand to her forehead. Power off—of course! Naturally the pumps weren’t operating.

“My dear, you have sharp ears,” Gordon said. “Come meet the others. Watch the step, now—it’s slippery.”

“The guy’s a genius,” Karen exclaimed as the two disappeared inside the bus. “Kooked, but smart!”

Zena continued to stare after them. “He must have empathy. He says he’s miscast in his body, and she’s handicapped in hers. It’s a lesson to me.”

It took them more than an hour to break open a pump, decipher the mechanism, and crank the gasoline out by hand. But when it was done, they had eighty gallons of gas in their two tanks, plus sixteen more stashed in assorted cans. Enough to take them well into the mountains, even if they never found another refill. Floy, however accidentally, had already done them an enormous favor, and earned her keep.