bent down, looking into the boy's face. There was noexpression. Big eyes, big and dark.
"Are you blind?" Hendricks said.
"No. I can see some."
"How do you get away from the claws?"
"The claws?"
"The round things. That run and burrow."
"I don't understand."
Maybe there weren't any claws around. A lot of areas were free. Theycollected mostly around bunkers, where there were people. The clawshad been designed to sense warmth, warmth of living things.
"You're lucky." Hendricks straightened up. "Well? Which way are yougoing? Back--back there?"
"Can I come with you?"
"With _me_?" Hendricks folded his arms. "I'm going a long way. Miles.I have to hurry." He looked at his watch. "I have to get there bynightfall."
"I want to come."
Hendricks fumbled in his pack. "It isn't worth it. Here." He tosseddown the food cans he had with him. "You take these and go back.Okay?"
The boy said nothing.
"I'll be coming back this way. In a day or so. If you're around herewhen I come back you can come along with me. All right?"
"I want to go with you now."
"It's a long walk."
"I can walk."
Hendricks shifted uneasily. It made too good a target, two peoplewalking along. And the boy would slow him down. But he might not comeback this way. And if the boy were really all alone--
"Okay. Come along."
* * * * *
The boy fell in beside him. Hendricks strode along. The boy walkedsilently, clutching his teddy bear.
"What's your name?" Hendricks said, after a time.
"David Edward Derring."
"David? What--what happened to your mother and father?"
"They died."
"How?"
"In the blast."
"How long ago?"
"Six years."
Hendricks slowed down. "You've been alone six years?"
"No. There were other people for awhile. They went away."
"And you've been alone since?"
"Yes."
Hendricks glanced down. The boy was strange, saying very little.Withdrawn. But that was the way they were, the children who hadsurvived. Quiet. Stoic. A strange kind of fatalism gripped them.Nothing came as a surprise. They accepted anything that came along.There was no longer any _normal_, any natural course of things, moralor physical, for them to expect. Custom, habit, all the determiningforces of learning were gone; only brute experience remained.
"Am I walking too fast?" Hendricks said.
"No."
"How did you happen to see me?"
"I was waiting."
"Waiting?" Hendricks was puzzled. "What were you waiting for?"
"To catch things."
"What kind of things?"
"Things to eat."
"Oh." Hendricks set his lips grimly. A thirteen year old boy, livingon rats and gophers and half-rotten canned food. Down in a hole underthe ruins of a town. With radiation pools and claws, and Russiandive-mines up above, coasting around in the sky.
"Where are we going?" David asked.
"To the Russian lines."
"Russian?"
"The enemy. The people who started the war. They dropped the firstradiation bombs. They began all this."
The boy nodded. His face showed no expression.
"I'm an American," Hendricks said.
There was no comment. On they went, the two of them, Hendricks walkinga little ahead, David trailing behind him, hugging his dirty teddybear against his chest.
* * * * *
About four in the afternoon they stopped to eat. Hendricks built afire in a hollow between some slabs of concrete. He cleared the weedsaway and heaped up bits of wood. The Russians' lines were not very farahead. Around him was what had once been a long valley, acres of fruittrees and grapes. Nothing remained now but a few bleak stumps and themountains that stretched across the horizon at the far end. And theclouds of rolling ash that blew and drifted with the wind, settlingover the weeds and remains of buildings, walls here and there, once inawhile what had been a road.
Hendricks made coffee and heated up some boiled mutton and bread."Here." He handed bread and mutton to David. David squatted by theedge of the fire, his knees knobby and white. He examined the food andthen passed it back, shaking his head.
"No."
"No? Don't you want any?"
"No."
Hendricks shrugged. Maybe the boy was a mutant, used to special food.It didn't matter. When he was hungry he would find something to eat.The boy was strange. But there were many strange changes coming overthe world. Life was not the same, anymore. It would never be the sameagain. The human race was going to have to realize that.
"Suit yourself," Hendricks said. He ate the bread and mutton byhimself, washing it down with coffee. He ate slowly, finding the foodhard to digest. When he was done he got to his feet and stamped thefire out.
David rose slowly, watching him with his young-old eyes.
"We're going," Hendricks said.
"All right."
Hendricks walked along, his gun in his arms. They were close; he wastense, ready for anything. The Russians should be expecting a runner,an answer to their own runner, but they were tricky. There was alwaysthe possibility of a slipup. He scanned the landscape around him.Nothing but slag and ash, a few hills, charred trees. Concrete walls.But someplace ahead was the first bunker of the Russian lines, theforward command. Underground, buried deep, with only a periscopeshowing, a few gun muzzles. Maybe an antenna.
"Will we be there soon?" David asked.
"Yes. Getting tired?"
"No."
"Why, then?"
David did not answer. He plodded carefully along behind, picking hisway over the ash. His legs and shoes were gray with dust. His pinchedface was streaked, lines of gray ash in riverlets down the pale whiteof his skin. There was no color to his face. Typical of the newchildren, growing up in cellars and sewers and underground shelters.
* * * * *
Hendricks slowed down. He lifted his fieldglasses and studied theground ahead of him. Were they there, someplace, waiting for him?Watching him, the way his men had watched the Russian runner? A chillwent up his back. Maybe they were getting their guns ready, preparingto fire, the way his men had prepared, made ready to kill.
Hendricks stopped, wiping perspiration from his face. "Damn." It madehim uneasy. But he should be expected. The situation was different.
He strode over the ash, holding his gun tightly with both hands.Behind him came David. Hendricks peered around, tight-lipped. Anysecond it might happen. A burst of white light, a blast, carefullyaimed from inside a deep concrete bunker.
He raised his arm and waved it around in a circle.
Nothing moved. To the right a long ridge ran, topped with dead treetrunks. A few wild vines had grown up around the trees, remains ofarbors. And the eternal dark weeds. Hendricks studied the ridge. Wasanything up there? Perfect place for a lookout. He approached theridge warily, David coming silently behind. If it were his commandhe'd have a sentry up there, watching for troops trying to infiltrateinto the command area. Of course, if it were his command there wouldbe the claws around the area for full protection.
He stopped, feet apart, hands on his hips.
"Are we there?" David said.
"Almost."
"Why have we stopped?"
"I don't want to take any chances." Hendricks advanced slowly. Now theridge lay directly beside him, along his right. Overlooking him. Hisuneasy feeling increased. If an Ivan were up there he wouldn't have achance. He waved his arm again. They should be expecting someone inthe UN uniform, in response to the note capsule. Unless the wholething was a trap.
"Keep up with me." He turned toward David. "Don't drop behind."
"With you?"
"Up beside me! We're clos
e. We can't take any chances. Come on."
"I'll be all right." David remained behind him, in the rear, a fewpaces away, still clutching his teddy bear.
"Have it your way." Hendricks raised his glasses again, suddenlytense. For a moment--had something moved? He scanned the ridgecarefully. Everything was silent. Dead. No life up there, only treetrunks and ash. Maybe a few rats. The big black rats that had survivedthe claws. Mutants--built their own shelters out of saliva and ash.Some kind of plaster. Adaptation. He started forward again.
* * * * *
A tall figure came out on the ridge above