It was a clear night, and although there was no moon, there were a billion stars above the house, and they looked the same as ever. Maybe the barrier didn't exist overhead. The President hadn't spoken to that issue, so perhaps the people in charge of investigating didn't know yet. If The Mill were at the bottom of a newly created well instead of caught underneath some weird bell jar, then things might still work out. The government could airdrop supplies. Surely if the country could spend hundreds of billions for corporate bailouts, then it could afford to parachute in extra Pop-Tarts and a few lousy generators.
He mounted the porch steps, taking out his housekey, but when he got to the door, he saw something hanging over the lockplate. He bent closer, squinting, and smiled. It was a mini-flashlight. At Burpee's End of Summer Blowout Sale, Linda had bought six for five b|icks. At the time he'd thought it a foolish expenditure, even remenjibered thinking, Women buy stuff at sales for the same reason men climb mountains - because they're there.
A small metal loop stuck out on the bottom of the light.Threaded through it was a lace from one of his old tennis shoes. A note had been caped to the lace. He took it off and trained the light on it.
Hello sweet man. Hope you're OK. The 2 Js are finally down for the night. Both worried & upset, but finally corked off. I have the duty all day tomorrow & I do mean all day, I'm on 7 to 7, Peter Randolph says (our new Chief- GROAN). Marta Edmunds said she'd take the girls, so God bless Marta. Try not to wake me. (Altho I may not be asleep.) We are in for hard days I fear, but we'll get thru this. Plenty to eat in pantry, thank God.
Sweetie, I know you're tired, but will you walk Audrey? She's still doing that weird Whining Thing of hers. Is it possible she knew this was coming? They say dogs can sense earthquakes, so maybe...?
Judy & Jannie say they love their Daddy. So do I.
We'll find time to talk tomorrow, won't we? Talk and lake stock.
I'm a little scared.
Lin
He was scared, too, and not crazy about his wife working a twelve tomorrow when he was likely to be working a sixteen or even longer. Also not crazy about Judy and Janelle spending a whole day with Marta when they were undoubtedly scared, too.
But the thing he was least crazy about was having to walk their golden retriever at nearly one in the morning. He thought it was possible she had sensed the advent of the barrier; he knew that dogs were sensitive to inany impending phenomena, not just earthquakes. Only if that were the case, what he and Linda called the Whining Thing should have stopped, right? The rest of the dogs in town had been grave-quiet on his way back tonight. No barking, no howling. Nor had he heard other reports of dogs doing the Whining Thing.
Maybe she'll be asleep on her bed beside the stove, he thought as he unlocked the kitchen door.
Audrey wasn't asleep. She came to him at once, not bounding joyfully as she usually did - You're home! You're home! Oh, thank God, you're home! - but sidling, almost slinking, with her tail tucked down over her withers, as if expecting a blow (which she had never received) instead of a pat on the head. And yes, she was once more doing the Whining Thing. It had actually been going on since before the barrier. She'd stop for a couple of weeks, and Rusty would begin to hope it was over, and then it would start again, sometimes soft, sometimes loud. Tonight it was loud - or maybe it only seemed that way in the dark kitchen where the digital readouts on the stove and the microwave were out and the usual light Linda left on for him over the sink was dark.
'Stop it, girl,' he said. 'You'll wake the house.'
But Audrey wouldn't. She butted her head softly against his knee and looked up at him in the bright, narrow beam of light he held in his right hand. He would have sworn that was a pleading look.
'All right,' he said. 'All right, all right. Walkies.'
Her leash dangled from a peg beside the pantry door. As he went to get it (dropping the light around his neck to hang by the shoelace as he did), she skittered in front of him, more like a cat than a dog. If not for the flashlight, she might have tripped him up. That would have finished this whore of a day in grand fashion.
'Just a minute, just a minute, hold on.'
But she barked at him and backed away.
'Hush! Audrey, hush!'
Instead of hushing she barked again, the sound shockingly loud in the sleeping house. He jerked in surprise. Audrey darted forward and seized the leg of his pants in her teeth and began to back toward the hall, trying to pull him along.
Now intrigued, Rusty allowed himself to be led. When she saw he was coming, Audrey let go and ran to the stairs. She went up two, looked back, and barked again.
A light went on upstairs, in their bedroom. 'Rusty?' It was Lin, her voice muzzy.
'Yeah, it's me,' he called, keeping it as low as he could. 'Actually it's Audrey'
He followed the dog up the stairs. Instead of taking them at her usual all-out lope, Audrey kept pausing to look back. To dog-people, their animals' expressions are often perfectly readable, and what Rusty was seeing now was anxiety. Audrey's ears were laid flat, her tail still tucked. If this was the Whining Thing, it had been raised to a new level. Rusty suddenly wondered if there was a prowler in the house. The kitchen door had been locked, Lin was usually good about locking all the doors when she was alone with the girls, but -