Дэймон Найт - Orbit 13

The wheel. The please-don’t-leave-me-on-top ferris wheel rose through the shambles. It looked as if it were being devoured. But it was a memory.

The wind died. The girl slumped forward to her hands, and cried.

And when the time for weeping has passed, she brushed her hands against her legs and rose to her feet. In spite of the sun the sand was cold and the benches somehow looked warm. She took one step toward them and saw him. He was sitting almost directly above her, head down, his arms folded across his chest, still enough for death. But when he grunted and shifted, she cried out without thinking and he looked up. For a moment they stared unbelievingly at each other, and before he could speak, she turned and fled.

“Hey!” he shouted, jumping to his feet and vaulting to the ground. “Hey, wait a minute! Wait, please!”

His voice covered the waves, his feet crunching in the sand thundered in her ears as she ran. Suddenly she slipped, tumbling over a sharp incline just as a wave broke beneath her. The icy water slammed her against the low wall of sand, knocking the air from her lungs and rushing unchecked into her mouth. She was lifted and the sun rushed at her, then thrown, dragged and lifted again; and through it all she felt nothing.

When she next opened her eyes, she was lying between a tattered seaman’s coat and a thin bed of rags spread on a bench. She tried to sit up but dizziness forced her down again, and with one hand she felt dried blood on her cheek.

“How are you feeling?” The voice was low and patiently quiet. She started, then pulled herself up, trying to see and understand what she saw at the same time. The effort made her want to gag.

The man was kneeling in front of her, a glass of dark, steaming liquid cupped in his hands. He held it out, urging her to take it.

“Here,” he said, smiling. “Drink this stuff. It will make you feel better.”

She hesitated, glancing from side to side as if deciding which way to run. But the man was insistent, and the obviously warm glass changed her mind. She drank without pausing for a breath, smiling in spite of herself at the taste, holding her elbows close to her side to keep the warmth within her. Then she rolled the still-hot container between her hands and looked at him.

He seemed as short as she, perhaps shorter. He was wearing faded jeans, a blazer ripped at the collar and a dark blue yachting cap with the plastic brim torn off. He was thin, but the folds around his neck were signs he had once carried much more weight. It was impossible to tell how old he was.

He was still smiling, his face half-turned as if in embarrassment, and when she frowned and looked down at herself, she saw she was naked. Quickly she pulled the coat to her chin, and exposed her legs. She tried to stretch it, but succeeded only in making him laugh.

“Here, take this, miss,” he said, pulling off his jacket and handing it to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Then added, unnecessarily, “I’m ... I’m cold.”

The man nodded and sat back on his heels to watch her intently. Though he looked only at her face, she became flustered by his stare. Her arms would not find the sleeves, her fingers slipped off the buttons. Finally, before she could recoil, he reached out and pulled the collar up around her neck.

“In case you’re wondering, I haven’t touched you.” The amusement in his tone made her glare, then turn away. “I only pulled you out of the surf, that’s all. Your clothes are still drying out. Over there. Please, miss. Don’t be afraid of me.”

She pointed at the bench a few feet away, her hand shaking. “Just . . . just sit over there, if you don’t mind.” She smiled quickly to try to ease the sudden hurt look on his face. “I ... I think I trust you, but I’m a little confused right now. I didn’t expect to see anyone here. Anywhere. Not ever.” And she cried.

The man leaned forward anxiously, but she waved him away. “I’ll be all right! Just let me be. Please.”

He nodded as if he understood, waiting until she looked up again.

“Jan,” he said.

“Linda.” When she smiled, he smiled back: a handshake without moving.

“You know this place, Linda?”

“I used to come here when I was little. Every summer rain or shine. My parents, they used to make a big thing of it, loading the car like we were going to California and never coming back! Such . . . such a big fuss just to get away, and when they died I just stopped coming. There was no point, you know? It just wasn’t worth it, the trip and all, you know what I mean? It ... I couldn’t ... I ... I was on vacation in Minnesota.”

He nodded, leaning back and putting his feet up on the peeling, twisted railing. “Me, too. Come here, I mean. Used to work the stand in the summer. Sold ice cream and hot dogs, worked a wheel or two, stuff like that. They were lousy jobs with lousy hours, but the pay was pretty good for a fresh young college kid like myself. Great times. Just great. Years ago it was, it seems.

“I was out in Kansas bumming around when it happened. Took me nearly a month to get back, most of the time sick as a dog, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes.” Her reply was so low, she had to repeat it.

“I wanted to come here. Here, of all places. Screwiest damn thing, but I just had to see if the lights were still working. That must mean something, I guess. I don’t know.

“I found some generators—they use, used them in case of power failures—and believe it or not, got a couple of them to work. So when I can keep it down, I manage to get hot things to eat, though I don’t know why I bother.”

Linda shuddered. “That coffee,” she said. “It’s the first thing that’s stayed down there in three days.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

He talked for a long time and his rather deep, pleasant voice relaxed Linda into a soothing, restful-half-doze. He explained how he had avoided the cities, and how he was nearly killed when a car he had stolen plunged into a frozen river in Pennsylvania. She didn’t ask and he didn’t tell her what he was doing when the war started and finished.

There was a village called Onslow and a radio broadcast that sent them into a community shelter. There were people: weeping, cursing, praying with folded hands and clenched fists; the graveyard sound of huge steel doors that clanged shut and locked in the darkness. There were three weeks of mourning before filtration systems overloaded and they decided they did not want a concrete coffin. The villagers went about their business, the vacationers scattered, racing to reach some place, somewhere, before time and the radiation stopped them . . .

“Hey!”

Linda blinked and saw Jan standing over her with her clothes. They were still damp and stiff with salt, but she put them on gratefully. He waited until she was dressed, then settled himself on a blanket behind her bench and closed his eyes.

“Your turn.”

“There’s nothing much, really. I was on vacation, and with no one to go to, I came here. I found plenty of gas in abandoned cars and luckily it was a warm ... I cried. I cried until I couldn’t do it anymore and just came here. Don’t ask me how I made it. I don’t know.” She paused, her hands twisting in her lap. “Jan? How long . . . how long will it be? Jan?”

He was asleep.

“Oh God, how can you do it?” she whispered.

Later, after the sky had gone from purple to black, she heard the sound of someone vomiting. She turned over, half asleep, and without knowing why, she whispered nursery rhymes to deafen her ears and was near the end of “The Owl and the Pussycat” when she fell asleep.

But the sound did not stop.

It was desert-bright when she awoke, smelling the salt air and something cooking. Jan was on the beach, huddled over a small fire with a pan of soup. He grinned broadly when she jumped down beside him, and handed her a partially cleaned spoon.