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Read Ebook: Slaves to the Metal Horde by Marlowe Stephen Terry W E Illustrator
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Ebook has 760 lines and 28043 words, and 16 pages
"Take a look at this," she said, and pointed.
Starbuck looked and saw the remains of a camp fire at her feet. "Warm?" he asked.
Diane shook her head. "But not completely cold. Several hours old. Probably made this morning. Probably there's someone nearby."
"So what?"
"So if he's alone he's probably a Shining One and...."
"We have enough people in our camp now."
"You always think competitively, Harry. One more man won't hurt your position in our tribe."
"Well, if he's young and if he ... well, if you...."
"I'm not promised to you or anyone, and don't forget that. Besides, it doesn't have a thing to do with this." Diane peered expertly at the ground and soon picked up the stranger's spoor where he had come out of the stream himself--probably after bathing--and started out on his day's journey.
"Come on," she said and Starbuck could either forgo her company or follow her.
He followed.
The spoor became erratic. It wandered in circles, doubled back on itself, seemed either headed for no goal or incapable of reaching one. "He must have been hurt somehow," Diane mused. "He can't be very far."
"What are you so curious about?"
"Curious? I don't know. I'm just interested. I--Hello! Up there."
Diane sprinted up a short rise, leaving a surprised Starbuck pounding along several paces behind her. She found the man lying, face down near a large oak tree. Although it was comparatively cool, his body was drenched with perspiration. Diane shook her head sadly at the swollen joints and purple discolorations.
"They say it's a terrible thing," she told Starbuck as he panted up. "I don't remember; I was a baby."
Starbuck shuddered. "I remember. Watch out, don't go near him."
"What's the matter with you? We're immune."
Starbuck nodded morosely. "Yes. Immune. But he'll die anyway, so why don't we...."
"Why don't we take him back with us, that's what. Don't kid me, Harry Starbuck. You're acting sympathetic only because you think I'll like that. Well, I happen to feel sorry for this man. I think we'll feel better if we help him."
"Help him? He's as good as dead."
"Are you dead? You had the Plague. Am I?"
"No, but maybe one out of a hundred live. That isn't much of a chance for him."
"It's a chance, though. Here, carry him."
"What? Who, me? Now listen, Diane...."
Maybe a moon-struck Starbuck had his advantages. "Suit yourself, but don't expect me to speak to you again, ever."
Starbuck considered this, then mumbled something under his breath which Diane could not hear. "All right," he said finally. "But I'm telling you it's a waste of time."
"I'll be the judge of that."
Still grumbling, Starbuck picked the man up by one arm and one leg, staggered until he balanced his burden across one shoulder, then started back down toward the stream.
"That's right," said Diane. "We could reach camp in a few hours if we hurry."
"He'll never live through the day," said Starbuck. "I only had the Plague a few years ago. I lived in the villages, so I know. He'll never live through the day."
"Just keep walking. If he dies, we can bury him."
Occasionally the man would mutter something unintelligible, and when they got to the other side of the stream he opened his eyes, stared at Diane without seeing her and said in a croaking whisper, "Water."
They stopped. Starbuck dropped his burden thankfully. "I can't carry him all the way back," he said.
"Then don't. Go ahead. I'll stay here." Diane cupped some water in her hand, trickled it between the dry lips. She was not even aware of Starbuck when he left.
She made a bed of leaves for the man's head and studied him. The denim trousers suggested village life, but she never suspected otherwise. The face still appealed to her, strong in appearance despite the fever, yet not overbearing. She hoped the youth would recover. "This is fantastic," Diane said aloud. "It may take days before he recovers ... or dies." She thought of calling to Starbuck before he retreated beyond earshot, but her pride forbade that.
Shrugging and making herself as comfortable as she could, she bathed the man's flushed face with water.
Day and night, the touch of the ground, the cool water which bathed him, the patient hands which kept the blood flowing through his swollen joints--all became as unreal to Johnny Hope as the shadowy remembrance of some half-forgotten nightmare. His lucid moments were few: there was this person, face unseen but comforting; there was a little food and all the water he wanted; and there was the fever which came and departed, leaving an icy chill behind.
Once Johnny mumbled, "Go away. You'll catch it yourself." And there was laughter, soft-murmuring, feminine, he thought. Was the woman insane to expose herself so?
The fever retreated stubbornly, in no great hurry to depart. The lucid moments became more frequent and of longer duration. The girl was beautiful.
There came a time when Johnny sat up weakly, his back propped against the bole of a tree. The face smiled at him. He willed the toes of his left foot to move and watched them wiggle. He could just barely feel them.
With long, easy strokes, the girl massaged his legs. Acutely conscious of her now, Johnny was embarrassed. "I'm all right," he said. He struggled to sit up but as yet had no real control over his limbs.
The girl placed the flat of her palm against his chest and pushed gently, easing him back against the tree. "You stay still," she told him. "You'll be up and around in a day or so, but don't hurry things."
"I ought to thank you. You're crazy. Why did you expose yourself like this? Why...."
He watched her as she sat before him and drew her legs up, knees thrust up. He saw the slim bronzed line of her calves and the metallic silver of knees.
"A Shining One!" he cried, recoiling involuntarily. The Shining Ones had survived the Plague, but remained carriers of it for all their days.
The girl smiled at him. "As are you. You're a very lucky young man to live through this."
The silver coated his own knees, Johnny saw, and his elbows. It would take some adjustment. All his life he had been told to walk in fear of the Shining Ones, who often swept down on the villages, forcing the townsfolk to flee or face the Plague, and taking what they wanted of the stores of food and supplies.
"I see you're a little afraid of yourself. It's common enough. I was lucky to have the Plague as an infant. I remember no other life, you see. When you're well and strong enough to walk, I'll take you back to our encampment."
"I don't know," Johnny said doubtfully.
"Just be patient with yourself. Adjustment will come."
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