“Dubbs? You awake?” I rub her arm lightly again, but she doesn’t respond.
“She’d probably be better out of that wet gown. You might as well look through my drawers for whatever you can find for her and yourself as well,” Lavinia says. She stands and reaches for her keys. “I’m going back for Tiny, but I won’t be long.” She nods at a cardboard box on the counter. “There’s food and bottled water. My computer’s battery should hold, but otherwise, there’s no power in the house, and no water. I rigged a pully system for rainwater on the roof for the toilet, but that’s it. Let’s see. What else. I don’t normally bring company out here. Do you know how to use a camp stove?”
“Yes,” I say.
I’m uneasy about her leaving alone, though. Linus offers to go with her, but she won’t hear of it.
“I shouldn’t be more than two hours. Three, tops, if Tiny doesn’t come right away,” Lavinia says. “She does this now and again, sneaks off for a good prowl, but with this rain coming, she’ll probably be waiting on the fire escape when I get back.” She frowns at me. “Are you thinking of calling Berg?”
My gut turns cold. He’s the one with answers about my parents. “I have to think about it,” I say.
I glance at Linus, but he doesn’t say anything.
“All right, then,” Lavinia says. She waves her fingers in her silvery way again. “Look after that little girl. I’ll be back soon.”
The door closes softly behind her, and the quiet of the cottage settles in over the rolling noise of the waves below. She’s probably right that we should change into dry clothes, but I don’t even want to move. The thought of calling Berg makes me ill. I settle back on the couch with one hand on Dubbs’s blanket, and I look across at Linus. He runs a hand back through his dark hair, and then shucks off his shoes so they topple to the side.
“Berg authorized my mining,” I say. “He knew I was in the vault. He could have killed my parents by now.”
“You can’t think like that,” Linus says.
“He thought they had me secure,” I say.
“But he didn’t mine you himself,” Linus says. “Isn’t that what he wants?”
I frown, considering. Linus might well be right. I can imagine Berg using my parents and threatening them to terrify me, and then following my fear into my dreams. Berg did say he had some plan for a host body for his hybrid and it was taking some time to line that up.
“It’s impossible to guess what he’s scheming,” I say.
“Then you have to have hope,” Linus says. “We have to assume your parents are still alive.”
“Somewhere,” I say.
“Yes. Somewhere.”
I feel like I’m missing something, like I should know where they are. I was so sure they’d be in the vault. I shake my head, frustrated again. Six days. Where could they be? Berg has to know I’ll keep looking for them.
Linus sets his hands on his knees and pushes up to standing.
“Hungry?” he asks.
I am. I’m starved. And my damp clothes are getting smelly. I should really change before I eat. I’m so sore and stiff that getting up is going to be awful. What I wouldn’t give for a hot shower.
“I need to change. Help me up?” I say.
He steps over and reaches out both hands to me. I grip his fingers, and he hauls me smoothly to my feet. That should be the end of it, but his fingers are so warm, I don’t want to let go. Energy lights up in my lungs, and I lift my gaze to his. He tilts his head, eyeing me in quiet speculation, and then he drops his gaze toward our joined hands. He hasn’t kissed me yet. Surely he must notice.
When he lightly releases me and steps back, a jolt of disappointment rocks me to my socks. Say something, I tell myself, but I don’t know what.
“I’ll just get my suitcase from the car,” he says. “There might be something you can use.”
“Are we—?” I begin uncertainly.
He regards me doubtfully. “Are we what?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Okay?”
“You’re ready to talk about us?”
Actually, I’m not. I’m a total coward when it comes to us. If we have to talk about us, we’re a problem, and I absolutely don’t want that. “What is there to say?” I ask.
He squints briefly and turns toward the door. “Exactly,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
He heads outside, and I bolt for the bathroom.
What is wrong with me? I think. He isn’t kissing me. So what? He must have his reasons. Life isn’t all about kisses.
Except maybe it is.
No. Stop this.
A plastic gallon of water rests next to the bathroom sink, and I wash up as best I can. By the time I move into Lavinia’s room, a small brown duffel has appeared on the bed. I look through Linus’s things and set aside a shirt for Dubbs to use later, but he doesn’t have much to begin with and I don’t want to use up his clean things if I don’t have to. Lavinia has a small closet with a curtain drawn across it, and inside is a small dresser with three drawers. The top one has folded sheets, a box of safety pins, and a bar of French milled soap, almost scentless now it’s so old. The next has a few sweatshirts, a couple nighties, and an assortment of swimsuits with brittle, loose elastic. In the bottom drawer, I find a pair of men’s cotton pajamas with little blue sailboats on them. Score. The waistband is way too big, but that’s what safety pins are for.
By the time I’m comfy in rolled-up pajama pants and a red sweatshirt, Linus has some soup warming on the little camp stove in the kitchen. He glances at my attire without comment. I grab Lavinia’s laptop and curl up next to Dubbs again. It worries me that she’s still in damp clothes, but she seems warm and comfortable enough.
I wait out the slowness of the Internet, and soon I’m into my Tor site where, sure enough, there’s a message from Burnham.
From: BurnFist51
To: LKRose
Sent: Tues 3/29/67 10:29 PM
Subject: FW: Hey
Tried to call you. I talked to Thea. Amazeballs. Call me.
From: BurnFist51
To: LKRose
Sent: Tues 3/29/67 11:02 PM
Subject: FW: Hey
Where are you? We need to talk. Thea wants you to call her, too.
The messages are both dated late Tuesday, the same day we last talked, I realize. He’s probably worried about me. I look up to find Linus watching me.
“Bad news?” he asks.
“No. I just need to call Thea and Burnham. Do you have any recyclable phones?”
He pulls out his phone and starts tapping. “I don’t have any recyclables, but I can route you through a proxy. It’ll be secure that way.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I heard the doctors talking down in the vault and they said Berg was tracing all your calls. They even knew you’d called an ophthalmologist.”
“That’s from my other line,” he says. “I keep one going that I know they tap, like a decoy. I call for pizza and stuff on it. I’ve upgraded my security again for important calls, and I go through a proxy. It’s secure, I promise you.” He listens for a second, and then passes the phone to me. “Go ahead. Dial up.”
I have to refer back to my earlier emails with Burnham to find Thea’s number, and then I dial.
When Thea comes on, she sounds anxious.