Awakenings: 2/?
by Linda Garrick and Nancy Smith
Chapter 2
Ruthy Channing lay on her bed, her hands clenched at her sides. Eric was in terrible danger. The warning was clear and sharp, coursing through her. Tears ran hot down her cheeks.
She must go help! No matter what Sam said, she would go! Quietly, she slipped from the bed, glancing fearfully at Molly's recumbent form and began to dress.
Someone knocked sharply on the front door, the sound jarring her already taut nerves. Rapidly she fastened her jeans, pulled on a sweatshirt and jammed her feet into her tennis shoes. The knock came again. Softly she went to the door of her room and pressed against it, listening.
A muffled curse, from Sam's room and she heard his door open. A light came on in the hallway and she heard his footsteps proceeding down the hall. His voice reached her as he opened the front door.
"Yeah ?"
"Who is it, Sam?" came her father's drowsy voice from the bedroom.
"It looks like the police." Sam's voice sounded surprised. Ruthy heard her father moving, and there was the click of a light switch.
"We're looking for the Voglemans." The words were in Terran English, but oddly accented, and Ruthy felt her heart begin to thump hard and fast at the sound. "Do you know where they might be?"
"The Voglemans?" Her father's voice betrayed astonishment. "They live right next door. Is there some trouble, officer?"
"There's been...some difficulty, sir. We need to speak with them. Are they here?"
"No. I told you, their house is across the field."
"They aren't there." The words were sharp. "Do you know where they might go? It's rather important."
"They left about ten minutes ago," Sam said.
Ruthy clenched her fists. "No, Sam!" she whispered the words frantically, willing for him to hear her. "Don't tell them!"
Oddly, it seemed for an instant that her father was aware of her words. She saw his face before her, and the sudden understanding in his eyes. But Sam was speaking again. "Took off like the devil was after them."
"What's that?" the policeman asked.
"You'd better go to your room, Sam," Ruthy's father said sharply. "I'm sorry, officers, but sometimes my son gets these delusions. Don't pay any attention to him."
Vividly Ruthy sensed Sam's anger and indignation. "Delusions, hell! I was over there. My little sis, Ruthy, went out almost fifteen minutes ago. I heard her and went after her. She said her friend -- that little twerp, Eric, was in danger. I couldn't talk her out of it, so I went with her. Figured she'd had a bad dream. Funny thing was, when we got there Eric and his father were just getting ready to leave."
"Sam!" said Mr. Channing sharply. "Go to your room!"
"Let him finish, please, sir," the officer said coldly.
"Please, Dad, please!" Ruthy whispered frantically. "Make him be quiet!"
Again she was aware of his face before her eyes and his comprehension of her words. "I tell you, officer," she heard him say, "Sam's not all there. Sometimes he gets like this -- you know, adolescents. Don't pay any attention to him."
"Please be quiet!" the policeman's voice was sharp with irritation. "Go on, boy."
Sam continued, his tone one of righteous pleasure. "They were acting like a couple of fruitcakes, officer, talking about danger and trouble. I thought there was something awfully fishy about it. Ruthy wanted to go with them, and Eric tried to take her along. I told her nothing doing and brought her home."
Silence. Mr. Channing cleared his throat. "Uh...could I ask what this is all about, officer? The Voglemans are friends of ours."
"Police business," the man replied expressionlessly. "Young man, this sister of yours...Ruthy, is it?"
"Yeah?"
"Look, officer--" It was Ruthy's father again. "I don't want my daughter mixed up in this. She's only eleven years old."
"I'm sorry, but it's important, sir. I must ask to see her."
Ruthy turned and ran for the window. In the hallway she heard her father protesting, and the tramp of approaching feet.
Ruthy pressed the control and the screen slid smoothly upward. She scrambled through and dropped the short distance to the ground just as the door of her room slid open.
"Hey, kid!" It was the man with the accent. "Wait a minute!"
Ruthy ran headlong across the lawn, vaulted the fence and landed lightly in the lane beyond. Another shout came from the house, and she glanced back to see a dark shape emerging from the window. Menace and danger radiated from it.
Ruthy plunged across the lane and into the trees.
She was pursued. The rapid crunch of the man's feet in the leaves could be heard clearly, and very faintly her father's voice, shouting something about scaring her. Then came her mother's shrill tones calling for her to stop.
She didn't stop, and the sounds faded rapidly. Ruthy ran, dodging shadowy tree trunks. She could still hear the man behind her, shouting for her to come back.
The forest was pitch black, but Ruthy had no trouble. She knew these woods like the palm of her hand, and when, ahead, she heard a faint rustle she deduced instinctively that it was a skunk. Ruthy dodged to the left, giving the creature a wide berth, and dashed on.
**********
Adrian Channing started to follow the officer who was in pursuit of his daughter, cursing the fellow's idiocy. One of the other men grasped his shoulder. "She'll be okay, Mr. Channing," he said in his oddly accented English. "The Sergeant'll catch her. Look, we need to know where the Voglemans would go. Can you tell us?"
Adrian surveyed the man, feeling a strange sensation of menace. "I don't know where they'd go. I've got to go after my daughter."
"They might go to the hospital," Sam said.
Adrian glared at his son. Sam gave his a mocking smile and spoke to the officer again. "Mrs. Vogleman had a baby yesterday."
There was danger here. Adrian Channing knew it instinctively, although Sam seemed unaware of it. The two remaining officers glanced at one another and one turned away, speaking softly into the communicator on his wrist. The Sergeant's voice replied.
"We have to go," one said. He glanced at Mrs. Channing who was just emerging from the house, then gestured to his companion. They both ran for their aircar.
Lillian Channing, partially dressed and pulling a sweater around her shoulders came up beside him. "Adrian, what's this all about? Where the dickens has Ruthy gone?"
Sam laughed sardonically. "Let the cops bring her back. Teach her a lesson."
Adrian turned furiously on his son. "I have a feeling, Sam," he snapped, "That you may have just done something that can never be remedied. Why the devil didn't you take the hint and just shut up!"
"And lie to the cops? Is that what you wanted me to do?" Sam made a rude noise.
"I wanted you to keep quiet!" Mr. Channing turned away. "I'm going after them. Sam, you stay here with the girls."
"The cop told you to stay here, Dad." Sam's voice was mocking.
"The cop has no right to order me around on my own property. And you do as you're told. Stay here!" He turned and ran back into his bedroom. Behind him he heard his son's sarcastic reply, and felt an impulse to smack the kid with the strap like he used to when he was ten and got too big for his britches. The trouble was, the boy was bigger than he was now, and probably stronger. Such tactics were not likely to work as well as they had before.
He pulled on his clothing and ran out again, apprehension crawling up his spine. The danger was sharp and real, although he couldn't quite define it, even to himself. Rebecca and Molly were also gathered on the step before the house, waiting, their attention on the shadowy woods beyond the lane. To the east the sky now held a grey streak -- the first hint of the coming dawn.
Faintly from the dark woods there came a scream of anguish. Adrian's skin prickled and he started forward, but Molly's small hand closed around his thumb.
"It's okay. That's not Ruthy."
He subsided. Molly was right. The cry had carried the deeper tones of a grown man. He hesitated, irresolute, then started across the lawn toward the woods.
Another cry -- almost a scream, but the tone was now one of revulsion and anger. In the sudden stillness succeeding the cry he heard the crunch of approaching feet. The officer's large, muscular form emerged from the shadows.
The man stumbled toward them, cursing fluently in Basic. Adrian's eyes widened. Basic was the language of the Jilectan Autonomy. Few Terrans spoke it even haltingly, much less in the manner of this fellow.
The officer's eyes focused on Adrian, and he shut up abruptly. Adrian gasped.
The cause of the policeman's anguish had become suddenly and quite vividly clear. Molly squealed, backing away and holding her nose. Sam laughed sarcastically, and Rebecca also backed away quickly, one hand cupped over her mouth and nose.
The man glared into their startled faces. "Do you have a shower?" he demanded.
"Right inside." Channing gestured. "Where's my daughter?"
The man growled something in his throat. "I don't know, and right now I don't give a damn. What the blazes was that thing, anyway? It was black and white, and it...."
Sam laughed again derisively, and Molly giggled. "We know what it is, Mister! Haven't you ever seen a skunk before? We've got lots of them around here!"
The man glared at her, then at Sam, who was convulsed with laughter.
"Molly," Lillian said sharply. "Go back to your room. Rebecca, you, too."
"Aw, Mom...."
"Go!"
The two girls obeyed, still holding their noses and giggling softly. The officer glowered after them, then spoke another ripe obscenity under his breath.
"This way, officer," Channing interposed. "You'd better take off those clothes out here. I'll get a towel for you."
"Thanks," the man growled. "Damn! What a beast! I didn't realize...." His voice trailed off, and he began to shed his clothes. Lillian went back into the house. Adrian followed, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Have you ever heard of someone from Terra who doesn't know how what a skunk looks like, Lily?"
She shook her head. "Pretty dense cop, I think. You, know how much good that shower's going to do, too. He must have got it up close from the way he smells. And I don't have a drop of tomato juice in the house."
Adrian gathered up one of their older towels and took it back to the man. He was shivering on the front steps, and took the towel brusquely from his host, wrapping it around his waist. His clothing lay in a smelly heap on the ground.
"My wife will wash those for you. Come with me."
The officer followed him. Adrian tried to hold his breath as he pointed down the hallway. "That way, sir."
The man headed for the bathroom at a trot. The door closed behind him and the shower came on.
Sam appeared from the kitchen. He was still laughing. "Man! Stupid cop! Don't they teach 'em in the police academy to leave skunks alone? Guy acted like he'd never seen one before." He grunted derisively. "Police mentality."
"Be quiet around him, Sam," Adrian said sharply. "Don't make him any madder at you. These men are nothing to fool around with."
Sam snorted. "They're a bunch o flea brained cops. They can't do nothing to us. I'll say what I like to 'em."
Mr. Channing gritted his teeth. "I'm going after Ruthy."
"I'm going with you." Lillian buttoned her sweater and rolled up the too long sleeves. "Why on earth did she run away like that, anyway?"
"She's gone flaky," Sam said. "Eric's been driving her nuts. I think you ought to keep that kid away from her, dad. He's a war lover. Some day he'll realize that you can get a lot more results through reason, but right now he's a crazy little Napoleon. He's warping Ruthy's mind. She's in love with him, you know."
Adrian knew, of course. Eric and Ruthy had been friends since his family had moved here five years ago. He sighed. "There's nothing wrong with Eric. You could learn a few things from him, if you'd just listen."
The shower went off. Adrian found himself grinning faintly at the string of subdued curses issuing from the bathroom. The odor of skunk remained thick in the air.
"He's speaking in Basic!" Lillian said.
"He's cussing in Basic," Sam snorted arrogantly. "Everyone knows how to do that."
The bathroom door opened, revealing the officer, towel once again wrapped around his waist, the hair plastered wetly to his head. "I can't get the smell off!" he announced.
Sam laughed. The officer glared at him. "What takes it off? Do you know?"
"Tomato juice is supposed to help," Lillian said. "But I wasn't much impressed when our neighbors used it on their dog after he got sprayed. I think it just has to wear off, sir. Sorry."
"Are my clothes ready?"
"Oh my, no! Sorry." Mrs. Channing went into the kitchen again.
The officer swore between his teeth. "Do you have anything I can wear?"
Channing surveyed the man's large, heavily muscled form. "I sure don't. Sam, you're a little bigger than I am. What do you have?"
Sam laughed again. "Come on, sir," he said, his tone dripping sarcasm. "I've got a robe you might be able to wear. Don't count on those clothes of yours ever being okay again, though. The washing machine doesn't take the smell out any better than the shower does."
The man uttered another obscenity and followed Sam into his room. Adrian went into the kitchen and out the screen door.
His wife was holding the officer's discarded uniform away from her. "I can't throw these in the processor, dear. Everything'll smell of skunk. I think I'll just put 'em in a plastic bag and let the guy take care of it, himself. I think we've offered him enough courtesy, considering all the trouble he's caused us tonight."
"You're right. Bag them, and then follow me. I'm going to look for Ruthy."
He plunged into the woods, shouting for his daughter. There was no reply. After a few minutes Lillian's shouts reached him from a distance.
He had searched for at least thirty minutes and returned to the house in the faint hope that his daughter had returned, when the officer reappeared, clad now in one of Sam's bathrobes. The garment was skin-tight, and a pair of pajama bottoms, also stretched to capacity, swathed the lower half of his body. He was wearing his boots, and looked ridiculous, as well as still reeking exotically of skunk.
"Any sign of her?" he growled.
"No." Adrian surveyed the man with disfavor. The officer might be a public servant, but for some reason Channing didn't understand, he didn't like the guy.
There was something unsavory about him, and it wasn't just his aroma. Adrian wasn't so sure anymore that he wanted Ruthy found while the man was here.
The man grunted in disgust. "All right, I'm going back to the car to call for help. You just keep looking.
Adrian shrugged, "She'll come back by herself eventually. Why don't we just leave her alone. She's probably scared and hiding. After all, she's just a kid of eleven."
"I'm going to find her." The officer spoke between his teeth and turned away. Lillian appeared through a tangle of leaves, looking worried.
"You'd better get the kids ready for school, dear," he suggested. "I'll go on looking. Send Sam. He can help me." Adrian gave her a strained smile.
"He'll love that," Lillian said. She turned back toward the house.
Chapter 3
Eric turned in the car seat. Behind them the lights were closing the distance. Mr. Vogleman pressed the accelerator and their little car leaped forward.
"Patrol?" Eric's mother asked steadily.
"Yes." Mr. Vogleman took the car across the town toward the vast wooded section beyond. Underbrush appeared, then trees, towering beneath them. To the east the sky now held a streak of grey. Eric glanced back again.
"He's closer, Dad." The boy strove to keep the fear out of his voice.
"I know, son. Only one?"
"I think so. I can't see any others." Eric swallowed hard. "I sure hope Ruthy's all right."
"Ruthy? Why shouldn't she be?" Mrs. Vogleman glanced at him quickly.
"She came to warn us," Eric's father said tightly.
Eric swallowed again, but his throat remained dry. "Ruthy's a psychic, too?"
His mother didn't look at him. "So you know, son?"
"I told him," Eric's father said. "It's time he knew."
"I suppose." Mrs. Vogelman put a hand on her son's shoulder. "Yes, Eric, Ruthy's a psychic, too."
"Then her folks could be, too, and maybe the other kids! Mom, we've got to warn them!"
"Right now we've got our own problems." Mr. Vogleman glanced back. The car was gaining very gradually. A small glowing object detached itself from the nose of the pursuing craft.
"They're firing at us!"
The shot detonated behind them, blossoming into orange flame. Mr. Vogleman swerved sideways, plunging their car down into a valley, then up again. The pursuing craft fired another shot. The impact threw Eric hard sideways. The craft rocked dangerously, and his father fought it back under control.
"We're in trouble, folks," Mr. Vogleman said. He was gripping the controls, and Eric saw him swerve tightly to the left. They dropped once again into a valley, and accelerated.
Eric's eyes alighted on the trans com speaker on the dashboard. He snatched it up. "Dad?"
His father glanced over and nodded. "Sure go ahead. It can't hurt."
Eric spoke into the unit. "Hello? Hello, can anyone hear me? This is Eric Vogleman! I've got a bunch of 'trols after me and my family! They're shooting at us! Please help us! Can anybody hear me? We need help!"
Another shot rocked them and something in the engine sputtered. The nose of their craft tilted downward.
"Help us" Eric screamed into the device. "Anyone!"
The car hurtled through deep underbrush jolted hard, spun sideways and came to rest against a tree. Eric was shaken up a good deal, but his safety webbing saved him. He felt his father's hands on the fastenings. "Quick! Everybody out!"
Eric tore his webbing free and reached over to help his mother, but she was already loose and pulling open the car door.
"Eric," his father said sharply, "Take Elizabeth while I help your mother."
Eric obeyed, receiving the baby. Overhead there was a growl of aircar engines.
"Run!" Eric's father snapped.
Eric ran, holding the baby tightly against him. His father and mother followed just as the aircar that had been pursuing them swooped down to a landing behind them. Three figures clad in police uniforms piled out. The car, too, Eric saw, was an official vehicle painted in the bicolor pattern and with the insignia of the police force. It didn't matter. They weren't police. Eric knew that for sure.
The men came after them, blasters in hand. Eric ran up a small slope, now wishing for his father's laser rifle -- anything to fight back with! He had heard before of such things as this happening -- the Patrol appearing on Terran soil to arrest Terran citizens, but he had never believed it could happen to them! If the Terran government found out, they would, of course, lodge an official protest, which would be blatantly ignored by the Jils.
Behind him there was the crunch of feet, then the hum of a stunbolt. Eric looked back and cried out as he saw his father fall, his mother slumping beside him. He stopped in horror, clutching the baby against him.
His mother lifted her head and her soft grey eyes met his squarely. *Run, Eric!* her voice commanded in his mind. *Run!*
He obeyed, sprinting down the small slope, then across a relatively open space. He reached a larger tree and stopped to look back.
Their pursuers had reached his parents and one of them was just bending over his father, blaster in hand.
Without warning the weapon writhed suddenly and leaped spinning across the space between them, straight into Mrs. Vogleman's grasp. She fired and the weapon cracked, the sound echoing through the forest. In the dim light Eric saw the foremost officer fall. There were startled shouts. Two blasters spoke at once and a second patrolman fell. Eric's mother screamed at the same time and fell backwards.
"Mom!" Eric shouted.
The remaining patrolman bent over his companion, and Eric heard his voice clearly, speaking Basic, the language of the Jilectan Autonomy. "You okay, Lon?"
The wounded patrolman groaned and swore.
The first one examined his comrade. "Damn bitch! She gotcha good! Poor Frank's dead. Look, you're just gonna hafta hold on. I gotta go get the kids.
Shouldn't take but a minute. Can you hold out?"
The injured man groaned again. "Hurry!"
"Yeah, I will." The patrolman stood up, his gaze fastening on Eric, still standing at the top of the slope. He hesitated a moment and then bent over Eric's father, fastening his prisoner's hands behind him with handcuffs. He examined Eric's mother briefly, shrugged and stood up again, gesturing. "C'mon, kid. Don't bother running away." He was speaking English again. "Your folks wouldn't like you to run from the police, you know. Come on back, now, and I won't hurt you."
Eric didn't move, his thoughts whirling. What could he do? What was there to do?
The man sighed and swore between his teeth. "Okay, kid, you asked for it." He lifted a wrist to his lips. "Lauffer calling. Need help, Sarge."
Silence. The men repeated the message, then swore again "Sarge! Respond!"
Silence. In Eric's arms the baby stirred and whimpered. The patrolman uttered one last cussword and came toward him at a trot.
Eric hesitated for a split second, eyes on the still forms of his parents. The baby stirred again and began to wail.
Eric turned and ran.
Around him the forest was waking up. Dim light filtered through the trees, and birds called everywhere. The boy leaped over a fallen log, sprinted up another slope and ran, panting, through tangled shrubbery. The baby was shrieking now, and behind him he could hear the crunches of his pursuer's feet. There was no escape. He knew it now. Eventually he would run out of energy, and the man would have him. Elizabeth's cries were a beacon, pinpointing him to his enemy.
Was there any way out? Frantically he dashed up another slope and paused, looking hopelessly around. A large tree surrounded by leafy underbrush caught his eye, and a sudden crazy idea leaped out at him. It could work...if he was lucky.
He ran to the tree, bent, and shoved Elizabeth into the leafy concealment. She continued to shriek, and he heard the crunch of the patrolman's feet, so close he was sure the man wouldn't give him time to hide. He scrambled sideways and flattened himself behind a second tree. The patrolman appeared, his eyes fixed on the underbrush from which the infant's cries still issued.
Very carefully, Eric bent and grasped a large branch. It was perhaps a meter in length, twenty centimeters thick, and bristling with smaller, jagged broken limbs. Slowly he straightened up and stood motionless, the weapon clutched before him, and trying to breathe quietly.
The man was approaching the tree where Elizabeth lay. Eric risked a glance around his own tree and saw the fellow stoop, parting the underbrush.
Eric stepped silently from behind his tree, the branch held like a baseball bat over his shoulder. He crossed the distance to the patrolman in two long steps. The man heard him and jerked around, the blaster lifting. Eric swung his weapon with all his pent-up desperation behind the blow. The branch caught the man just beneath the nose and knocked him backward. The blaster flew away. Eric leaped after it, snatched it up and spun.
The man was just straightening up, shaking his head. Blood ran from a cut lip, trickling off his chin. His eyes focused on Eric, then on the blaster. He started to rise. "Gimmie it, kid," he said tiredly in Basic.
Eric pressed the firing stud. The blaster cracked, catching the man full in the chest. He was flung back against the tree, then slid slowly to the ground. He lay still.
Eric remained motionless for a moment, the weapon still clutched in his shaking hands. He'd killed a man! The knowledge was staggering. A man lay dead, and he held the murder weapon!
Elizabeth's cries drew him back to reality. There was no guilt in what he had done, and no shame. The man had killed his mother, and had tried very hard to the kill the rest of his family. He'd deserved no mercy.
Eric turned away from his victim and bent over the brush to extract the shrieking baby. Elizabeth quieted as he lifted her, smoothing her fine, dark hair. "It's okay, baby sister," he sobbed. "It's okay. We've got to go back to Dad now. Don't cry anymore."
Still sobbing softly, he began to retrace his footsteps.
After a moment he paused. Which way? Eric hadn't paid attention during his mad flight from the patrolman, and now felt a bit confused. An aircar passed overhead. Eric's heart shot into his throat and he broke into a run.
He mounted a hill, certain now that he was headed right. The aircar passed overhead again, circled, and headed back. He crouched in the bushes, panic rushing over him. Were they going to catch him after all?
The aircar buzzed away to the south. Eric waited a moment, then ran again. He came over another hill and stopped.
This was the spot. He was sure of it. But the aircar and his parents were gone.
He ran down the slope and stared speechlessly at the spot. This was it. The crushed grass told him beyond doubt that there was no mistake. This was where the aircar had been parked, and on the grass beside it lay the little embroidered scarf his mother had been wearing around her hair. He picked it up, clutching it to his breast and sobbing.
There was only one explanation. The wounded patrolman must have recovered sufficiently, loaded the prisoners into the aircar, and gone in search of his comrade. Perhaps he had already discovered the body of the patrolman that Eric had shot, and was now engaged once again in the search for the two Vogleman children.
Another aircar purred past overhead, circled, and started to descend. Eric shrank back into the bushes, clutching the baby against him. The craft settled to the ground before him and two men emerged, clad as policemen.
One of the newcomers spoke to the other, then drew his wrist com to his lips. Eric heard him speaking, but couldn't hear the words clearly. Then the men came toward him, blasters in hand. Eric didn't move as they went by. When they had gone he ran across the clearing to their aircar.
The keys were gone.
Eric stared at the empty slot with a sensation of unreality. It wasn't fair! He began to cry again with rage and despair. It wasn't fair! Sobbing, he turned and stumbled away into the underbrush, still clutching the baby against him.
He had traveled for ten minutes before he came to himself. He couldn't fall apart! He had a baby sister to protect. What did the Jils do to psychic kids they caught? The pamphlets had stated that all Terran psychics caught by the aliens would be put to death. Even the children? Was it possible? And yet, all the evidence pointed to it. Mr. Schwartz and Mr. Speigel had laid a deliberate trap for him.
Was there anyone to whom he could go for help -- anyone he dared trust? His parents were gone. He swallowed hard and put the grief away, trying to think. Ruthy's parents, yes -- but maybe the Patrol had already been over there looking for him. Would Mr. and Mrs. Channing believe him when he told them what had happened? Maybe. Ruthy's parents liked him and thought him a very level-headed boy. Still, he was a boy, and the fact would weigh against his story. Ruthy would believe him, of course, but she could do little more than he -- if she was still okay. It was possible the Patrol had learned that she was a psychic, too, and would be after her. The thought sent a wave of panic through him. He had to get to her! He had to warn her!
But even if he did, what could they do? Run away? Where? The questions raced through his mind. Was there anyone he could trust -- any grown-up who would listen to him and not scoff at his story? The police? He was a local boy, and pretty well known in the little village. The pamphlets, however, had advised that psychics not go to the police for protection. Who then? Who had written the pamphlets and put them in those offices? Somebody who cared, obviously, and who would protect psychics. But who was it?
The baby whimpered and began to nuzzle his shirt. Poor little Elizabeth! She was even worse off than he. Eric, at least, had known their parents. Little Elizabeth would never know her mother.
The thought sent rage through him, crowding the grief from his mind. Those guys were going to pay for this if it was the last thing he did! But first there was Elizabeth. He had to get her to safety.
He blinked back tears and kissed his sister gently on the forehead. "Don't worry, Elizabeth," he whispered. "I'm going to take care of you."
Her eyes opened at the sound of his voice. They were deep blue like his own, and the little upturned nose was like his mother's. She wrinkled her forehead and frowned, and he saw his father in the baby's expression. He swallowed hard.
He needed money to purchase supplies for both himself and his sister. The patrolman he had killed was the obvious source -- if the others hadn't found the body yet, and if he could find it again. Well, he should be able to. He was a psychic, wasn't he?
Eric paused for a moment, closed his eyes and concentrated. Which direction? He couldn't be sure, but his instincts told him to turn a little to the north. He did so, took a deep breath and started forward.
Minutes later he heard voices. Quickly he concealed himself again and waited. The patrolmen he had seen land passed, carrying the body of the man Eric had shot. The boy remained motionless until they had passed, then sighed. Well, there was nothing he could do now. He must head home and find Ruthy. She would help him all she could, and would keep his presence secret. How far was it, anyway? He'd have to walk -- probably the entire distance.
Grimly he headed southwest, Elizabeth clutched against his chest.
**********
tbc
