FRESH GUY

by E. C. Tubb

Another Britisher presents what you might call a double-doom story—set in a graveyard, around the tombstone that marks the underground retreat of the war-torn remnants of humanity. Mankind dug under long ago; but the scent of fresh-turned dirt is present still—appetizingly, for some.

* * * *

Sammy was playing knucklebones on The Tombstone when the vampire arrived. As a vampire he obviously had a lot to learn. Sammy had heard him, recognized him for what he was and had dismissed him as a possible danger long before the stranger stumbled into the light of the tiny fire which Sammy tended. Even when he finally arrived Sammy paid him no attention, concentrating instead on his game, rolling the five scraps of bone with easy familiarity.

He was good at the game, having had much time in which to practice, and he took a quiet pride in the skillful manner he tossed and snatched, flipped and caught, spun and held the knucklebones. He ended the game by throwing them high into the air, catching them on the back of his hand. It was a broad, shovel-like hand with stubby fingers, thick, strong nails and well-developed muscles.

“Not bad, eh?” Sammy flipped the bones again, letting them bounce down the back of his hand and trapping them neatly between his fingers. He looked up, grinning at the stranger.

“What?” The vampire, a pale, distraught young character was obviously out of his depth. He wore a faded khaki shirt and pants, a pair of cracked and mildewed boots and a baffled expression. “What did you say?”

“I said ‘Not bad, eh?’ ” Sammy rolled the bones lovingly between his palms. “I bet that you couldn’t handle them like that.”

“I don’t suppose I could,” admitted the stranger. He ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Help yourself.” Sammy waved to a spot opposite him across the fire. “Glad of company.” He rolled his bones again and stared moodily into the fire.

The stranger stared too. He seemed to be struggling with some private burden for twice he attempted to speak and changed his mind at the last moment. He squinted towards Sammy but the fire was low and the light was bad and all he could make out was a formless blur. Finally he coughed and got to the heart of what was worrying him.

“Look,” he said. “My name is Smith, Edward Smith, and I seem to be in some sort of trouble. I wonder if you could help me?”

“Everyone’s in some sort of trouble,” said Sammy feelingly. “What’s your particular brand?”

“Well,” said Smith urgently, “something seems to have happened to me.” He passed a wavering hand across his forehead. “This may sound crazy to you but I seem to be living in some weird kind of dream.”

“Do tell,” said Sammy, he was interested. Casually he flipped the knucklebones into a pocket of the tattered old jacket he wore. “What makes you think that?”

“Everything.” Smith frowned as he tried to collect his thoughts. “I was sick, I remember that well enough what with Uncle screaming about doctor’s bills and the price of medicine and how he was having trouble getting in the harvest because I couldn’t help him and how he’d have to hire a man and who was going to pay for it?” Smith took a deep breath.

Sammy nodded, picking idly at his teeth. “I follow.”

“I was as sick as a dog,” corrected Smith feelingly. “I guess I would have died if it hadn’t been for some queer old coot of a doctor Uncle dug up from somewhere or other. He was cheap, I guess, otherwise I wouldn’t have had him but he had a smell like he’d been out in the rain and hadn’t dried off properly.”

“And he only came after dark,” said Sammy. “Right?”

“How did you know?” Smith blinked in surprise. “Maybe you know him, is that it?”

“I could take a guess,” said Sammy. He picked at his teeth again. “Then what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Smith was genuinely baffled. “I must have passed out, I guess, because the next thing I know I was in a hole in the ground on the side of a hill. I had a cramp something cruel so I yelled for help but no one could have heard me because no one came to see what was wrong.” He frowned again. “And that’s another queer thing. When I finally managed to get out of the hole and take a look round I couldn’t find a thing. The farm was gone, the road all grown over, everything had changed.” He shook his head and stared bleakly into the fire. “So I’m either dreaming or crazy.”

“You might be crazy,” said Sammy. “I wouldn’t argue about that, not knowing you well enough to form an opinion, but you’re not dreaming, that’s for sure.”

“I must be,” said Smith; he didn’t seem to like the idea that he was crazy. “All this is a stupid mixed-up nightmare. It must be.”

Sammy didn’t bother to argue. He merely reached out and gently pinched Smith on the thigh. Smith screamed and rolled beside the fire, nursing his leg and whimpering with pain.

“Still think that you’re dreaming?” asked Sammy pleasantly.

“No,” said Smith wildly. “But if I’m not dreaming then I’m crazy. I’m just a poor, crazy madman, that’s what.”

“Crazy you might be but a man you are not,” said Sammy. Smith jerked up his head.

“Not a man?” His voice rose a little. “Then what am I?”

“A vampire.”

“A what!”

“A vampire.”

“Now I know who is crazy.” Smith forgot about his leg. “All that guff is for the birds. Superstitious rubbish! Old wives’ tales! Nonsense, all of it!”

Sammy shrugged.

“Well, it is,” insisted Smith weakly. He brooded for a long time. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll ride along with what you say. So I’m a vampire.” He leaned forward, triumph glinting in his eyes. “But if I’m a vampire what does that make you?”

“A ghoul,” said Sammy. He threw some dried twigs on the fire, blinking in the sudden flare of light.

“Satisfied?” Sammy sucked reflectively at a tooth as the light died.

“I don’t know.” Smith had been shaken by the sight. “You’re either the most deformed human I’ve ever seen or you aren’t human at all.”

“I’m not human,” admitted Sammy patiently. “I told you that. I’m a ghoul.”

“Incredible!” Smith shook his head. “I simply can’t believe it.”

Sammy grunted and rolled over on to his back. His ears twitched a little, he was listening to the sounds of something moving in the woods.

“It’s not that I’m calling you a liar,” said Smith. “I wouldn’t want you to think that, but the whole thing’s so crazy!” He shook his head as if it hurt a little. “And another thing. I must have walked for miles; if I hadn’t seen your fire I’d have stumbled around all night, and in all that time I haven’t seen or heard a soul. Not even a dog. Where is everyone?”

“Around,” said Sammy vaguely. He suddenly caught on to what Smith meant. “Oh, you mean humans!” He stabbed a finger downward toward the overgrown concrete slab of The Tombstone. “At a guess I’d say they are about half a mile down.”

“All of them?”

“All that are left. In this part of the world anyway, I wouldn’t know about over the oceans.” He stared at the young man’s expression. “Didn’t you know?”

“No.” Smith was breathing fast from the top of his chest. “What happened?”

“The Big Bang.” Sammy grimaced. “The thing everyone knew would happen, said they didn’t want to happen, yet made happen anyway.” Speculation narrowed his eyes. “Say, just when were you buried, anyway?”

“I fell sick in 1960,” said Smith, dodging the leading question. Sammy pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

“That accounts for it The Big Bang came a couple of years later and they certainly made a good job of it. A better job than the embalmer did on you or you wouldn’t be sitting there now.”

“Embalmer?” Smith looked blank. “I don’t get it. Are you sure that you know what you’re talking about?”

“Listen,” snapped Sammy, he was getting annoyed. “I may look a little odd, to you at least, but I’m no dumbbell. I can read fifteen languages and speak twenty more and once I went to school; spent most of a year there before I had to leave.”

“Why?”

“It was a medical school,” said Sammy shortly. “What I’m getting at is that I know what happened to you. If the embalmer had done a better job you would have died for real. And even then you were lucky; your folks must have cut corners when they planted you. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been washed out at the right time.”

“Uncle Silas was always a tight-wad,” admitted Smith. “He fancied himself at carpentry too.” He fell silent, thinking. “I guess that all this must be real then.” He chuckled. “Me, a vampire! Well, what do you know?” A thought suddenly wiped the smile from his face. “Say! If you’re a ghoul—” He swallowed. “What I mean is that ghouls are supposed to—well, aren’t they?”

“Forget it,” said Sammy. “We’ve a Gentleman’s Agreement, neither touches the other.”

“Well!” Smith dabbed at his forehead. “That’s a relief. You had me worried for a while about that.”

Sammy didn’t answer; he was busy listening to the stealthy approach of a visitor. Smith, now that the sounds were loud enough for even his dull hearing to catch, stiffened in sudden alarm.

“Say, what’s that?”

“Relax,” said Sammy, setting an example. “It’s just one of the boys.”

“Who?” Smith seemed anxious.

“Who?” Sammy gave a grin. “Well, now,” he said deliberately. “At a guess I’d say that it was your pappy.” He was always one for a joke.

Boris was of the old school, a tall, thin, cadaverous vampire who believed that the old traditions should be maintained. He came striding out of the woods, his cloak swirling around him, his monocle gleaming red in the reflected light. He sat beside the fire, warming his thin, almost transparent hands, then nodded to Smith.

“Who’s the new one?”

Sammy chuckled. He had seen the expression on Smith’s face and now awaited the denouement.

“I know you,” suddenly blurted Smith. “You’re the doctor who attended me when I was sick.”

“That’s right,” said Sammy. “Boris, meet your son. Smith, meet your Pop.”

“He’s not my father,” denied Smith. “Anyway, my old man died way back in a car crash.”

“Your new father for your new rebirth,” explained Sammy. “Boris infected you when he snitched your blood. If it hadn’t been for him you wouldn’t be here now so, in a way, he’s your Pop.” He became serious. “It’s the only way vampires can breed, you know, they depend on their victims to perpetuate their race.”

“And ghouls?” said Smith shrewdly. “What about them?”

“Like humans,” said Sammy shortly. He didn’t want to talk about it. Neither, it appeared, did Boris want to discuss his new offspring.

“Lupe here yet?” He shivered a little and drew closer to the fire. Sammy shook his head.

“He’ll be along.”

“I hope we have better luck this time.” Boris sucked at his bloodless lips. “Seven years now we’ve been waiting and still no sign of them coming out.” He looked suddenly panic-stricken. “Could they be all dead?”

“Lupe said that he could hear sounds the last time,” reminded Sammy. “And we know they took care to stock up well on supplies.”

“But something could have happened.” Boris was a natural pessimist. “Maybe something went wrong with their water supply, or they took a bug down there with them and it wiped them out.” He began to chew at his nails as he thought about it. “And they’re the only ones we know of.”

“Take it easy,” said Sammy; he was becoming infected with the other’s doubts. “They’ll be all right, I know they will.” He changed the subject. “Anything new?”

“Nothing.” Boris hunched closer to the fire, his evening dress, dirt-stained but still retaining a traditional dignity, giving him the appearance of an old and slightly moth-eaten aristocrat. “I’ve covered a pretty wide area and haven’t seen a thing. I guess that we’re the last, Sammy, you and me and Lupe, and we’re not going to last much longer unless they come out from under The Tombstone pretty soon.”

“Don’t forget me, Pop,” said Smith. “I’m one of the boys now.” He grinned at Boris’s expression. “What’s the matter, Pop? Touch you on the raw?”

“I am not used to being addressed as ‘Pop,’” said Boris with simple dignity. “And don’t kid yourself that you are something special. Why, I remember the time when young pups like you were ten a penny. And a lot of trouble they caused too, back in the old days. Made life very hectic for a while.”

“That’s because you weren’t organized,” said Smith brusquely. “Now, take me. I’m modern with modern ideas of how to go about things. You’ve got to be organized to get anywhere in this world.” He stared disdainfully at Boris’s garment. “Take you now, dressed up like a Continental Count playing a bit part in some crummy production.”

“I am a Count,” said Boris in a strangled voice.

“Maybe you were,” said Smith airily, “but who wants Counts? What counts now is the front you put on. Dress like big money, talk like big money and, brother, you’ll get big money.” He beamed in self-satisfaction. “Believe me, I know.”

“What’s the good of money,” said Sammy from the shadows. “It can’t buy you anything, not now.”

“It will.” Smith was confident in his own knowledge of the human race. “And the smart ones are those who get in on the ground floor.”

Boris grunted in disgust; he was a quiet old vampire who believed in keeping himself to himself and not making enemies. It was a system of life which had stood him in good stead in the past and he saw no reason to change just because some young squirt thought he knew it all. He gave a dry laugh at the prospect of deflating the young vampire. Sammy spoilt his fun. “Better tell Smith what he has to know,” he said. “After all, you owe it to him in a way.”

“I owe him nothing,” snorted the old vampire. “What has he ever done for me?”

“You want me to answer that?” Smith grew annoyed as he thought about it. It wasn’t that he objected too much to his new status but the principle behind it annoyed him. He was firm in his belief of the paradox of free enterprise and the sanctity of property, especially private property, and Boris had successfully pulled off a very personal theft. And there was nothing he could do about it.

“Tell him, Boris,” said Sammy again. “You owe it to the lad.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” snapped Smith. He expanded his chest. “I’ve read a bit and I know what the score is. I know what to eat and know that I’ve to return to my grave before dawn.” Suddenly he looked haggard. “My grave! Hell! I’d never be able to find it again in a month of Sundays!”

Boris snorted with amused contempt. “That’s for the comic books,” he said. “All that guff about returning to our graves before dawn, I mean. All that’s necessary is that you stay out of sunlight; the actinic rays will trigger off skin cancers. Artificial light’s all right but nothing containing ultra violet.”

“That so?” Smith looked relieved. “Anything else you should tell me while you’re at it?”

“Only to respect your elders,” snapped Boris. “And don’t get careless or you’ll wind up with a stake through the heart or a bullet through the ribs. And it needn’t be a silver bullet either.” He broke off as an animal howled from the darkness.

“Here’s Lupe,” said Sammy happily, and threw more twigs on the fire.

A big, sleek Alsatian-like dog loped into the firelight, sat down and promptly changed into a man. Even in human form he retained a slightly wolf-like air. He nodded to the others.

“Hi! How’s tricks?”

“I’m starving,” grumbled Boris.

“So am I.” Sammy belched wind and rubbed his stomach. “I’ve been living off my fat for so long now that soon I’ll be too weak to take a bite if I had the chance.” He looked hopefully at the werewolf. “Any news?”

“Wife’s had a new litter,” said Lupe proudly. “Three boys and two girls.” He beamed at their congratulations. “Things aren’t as easy as they might be but I’m making out.” He lifted a foot and scratched himself behind one ear. He noticed Smith’s boggle-eyed stare. “New boy?”

“Just born,” said Sammy. “Boris was responsible for him.”

“Congratulations,” said Lupe politely to the old vampire. “How’s he shaking down?”

“Well, he hasn’t gone crazy on us yet,” said Sammy thoughtfully.

Boris changed what was, to him, obviously a painful subject. “Any other news?”

“The rabbits are getting more plentiful,” said Lupe.

“Rabbits!” Boris screwed up his mouth. Sammy echoed his sentiments.

“Rabbits might be good eating for you, Lupe, but not for us. Anything else?”

“I don’t think so.” The werewolf frowned. “There was just one more thing, now I come to think about it, but it’s slipped my mind.” He waved a hand. “Never mind, I guess it’ll come back if it was important.” He returned to the subject closest to his heart. “I wish you could see the youngsters; fine kids, all of them.”

“You’re breeding fast,” said Sammy enviously. “Sure you aren’t going a little too fast?”

“I don’t think so.” Lupe scratched the other ear. “I’m keeping the litters down as low as I can but we daren’t get too low. Anyway, all our troubles will be over when they come out.”

“You can say that again,” said Sammy with real feeling. He smacked his lips. “Hell, I never thought that I’d miss humans so much.”

“Nor me,” said Boris fervently. “Why, once in the old days when they were pressing close I even wished a plague on them.” He sighed. “Right now I could do with the old days, stakes, garlic, silver bullets and all. Modern times were a gift, sure, but look how things wound up.”

They nodded, even Smith, all agreeing that the human race had hardly played fair.

“When they come out,” said Sammy thoughtfully, “we’ll have to take things easy. Treat them gently and give them a chance to breed.”

“That’s right,” agreed Lupe. “Build up the supply before we can let loose the demand. Personally, though, I’m not worried too much. My guess is that they wouldn’t have taken many dogs down under The Tombstone with them or, if they did, then they’d have to restrict them to the limit. Anyway, they’d welcome a change.” He bared his teeth, concentrated, and changed into a handsome pseudo-Alsatian. He was grinning as he resumed human form. “See what I mean?”

“Humans were always suckers for dogs,” said Boris enviously. “I’ve often wondered why you just didn’t move right in and take over.”

“Why should we?” Lupe shook his head at the vampire’s ignorance. “No need to kill the goose, you know. They never suspected us, not after the Middle Ages, and many a human has worked himself silly to support us in luxury.” He scowled. “When I think of how many of us got caught in the Big Bang—!”

“We all got caught in it.” Sammy kicked at the fire.

The rest nodded, agreeing with Sammy all the way. Smith didn’t say anything. He was still a little confused and more than inclined to think he was in a dream. But fantastic as everything seemed it all made a peculiar kind of sense. Ghouls, vampires and werewolves were, obviously, very real. Divergent branches of human stock, perhaps, ultra specialists who had become utterly dependent on the human race for their sustenance. Lupe and his kind had adapted best of all but, in the final essence, they were all parasites. He too, now he came to think of it; and suddenly he was very conscious of their concern over the survival of the few humans left beneath The Tombstone.

Parasites cannot live without a host.

Lupe stretched himself, yawned, and rose to his feet. “Well,” he said, “I guess that we’d better get on with it.” Changing to animal form he began to run over the cracked, overgrown expanse of the slab of cadmium concrete which was The Tombstone. Nose to the ground, tail waving, he looked every inch a splendid specimen of the canine species. Even Smith, who knew better, had to restrain a desire to call to him so that he could pat his head.

“What’s he doing?” he asked.

“Checking up,” said Sammy. “Lupe’s got sharper senses than we have and he’s finding out whether or not they are still moving around down there.” He held up his hand for silence. “Watch him!”

Lupe looked over his shoulder, grinned, then vanished behind a clump of scrub. When he reappeared he was in human shape.

“I think I’ve got something,” he called. “Scent’s pretty strong by this ventilator.”

“They coming out?” Sammy sprang to his feet, his strong legs carrying him over to the werewolf. “Are they?”

“Can’t tell.” Lupe altered his shape again and sniffed around some more, finally cocking his head and resting one furry ear against a barely visible crack in the concrete. He concentrated so hard that even his tail stopped wagging.

“Dawn’ll be here soon,” whispered Boris. He shivered and drew his ragged cloak around him. “Another day in the mud.”

“How do you arrange it?” said Smith. Like Boris he kept his voice low. “I guess that you could just cover yourself with that cloak and you’d be safe. Is that why you wear it?”

“It has its uses,” said Boris ambiguously. He glared at the young vampire with an active dislike. “Listen,” he warned, “just because I was responsible for you being here doesn’t mean that I’ve got to wet-nurse you. Life’s tough enough without that.”

“Who wants you to wet-nurse anyone?” Smith returned the glare. “From what I can see you’re just an old-fashioned has-been. Walking around with that cloak as if you were some Count or something. Why didn’t you get a plastic cover like they used to cover automobiles with? You could fold that up small and have a regular tent at daytimes.”

“Smart guy,” sneered Boris. “That’s the trouble with you young pups, always think you know better than your elders. I’d look fine walking about with a tent on my back now, wouldn’t I? Maybe you’d better learn that people like us have to practice camouflage all the time. One slip and—I” He made a suggestive gesture. “It’s happened before, you know.”

“In comic books,” admitted Smith. “But who believes in vampires now?”

“And what’s the reason for that?” Boris tightened his thin mouth. “Camouflage, of course, what else? Same as humans don’t believe in Sammy and his kind, but how long would it take them to figure it out? So maybe they’d think you was sick in the head and lock you away in an asylum, but what then? They wouldn’t feed you the right diet and they’d keep you there for a long, long time. And you’d die there, make no mistake about that.” He shuddered. “It happened to a friend of mine.”

“Old-fashioned, that’s what you are.” Smith appealed to Sammy. “You can see that, can’t you? You’re educated and—”

“Pipe down!” interrupted Sammy. He felt all on edge as he always did when Lupe came to make one of his periodic check-ups. His hunger had mounted until it was a fire in his stomach and his nerves were like harp strings. Restlessly he got to his feet and wandered over to where the Werewolf was sniffing the ground.

“They’re still alive,” said Lupe. He’d changed again and stood, breathing deeply, his chest and forehead covered with sweat. “Hell, I’m all in!”

“Come and sit down.” Sammy led the way back to the fire, knowing of the demands that shape-changing made on Lupe’s energy sources. The werewolf sagged as he slumped beside the blaze.

“I could smell them,” he said after a while. “Scent’s stronger than it was and it’s my guess that they are moving upward.”

“On their way out?” Hope flamed in the old vampire’s eyes. “Is that it, Lupe?”

“Could be.” Lupe relaxed still more. “From the sounds I’d say that they are moving heavy equipment toward the surface. Maybe one of their tunnels got blocked and they have to clear it. That or they aren’t too sure what conditions are like up here and don’t want to take any chances.” He grinned. “Anyway, they’re still safe.”

The others grinned with. him.

“You know,” said Smith thoughtfully, “this needs careful planning.” He threw another twig on the fire. “Very careful planning.”

“Meaning?” Sammy stared dully into the fire. Lupe had gone; he’d rested for a short while and then, resuming animal form for fast travel, had loped off back to his wife and new litter. Sammy felt more depressed than usual after he had gone. It must be nice to be able to return to a family. He wished he had one of his own.

“Well,” said Smith, “if Lupe knows his business then the humans are on their way out. When they do finally come out, we’ll have to contact them, right?”

“That’s right.” Sammy fought down the hunger which thought of all those humans living and dying down below always aroused. Once he had tried digging down toward them but had had to give up in despair. That had been during one of his desperate periods.

“So who is going to be the contact.” Smith glanced at Sammy. “You?”

“Why not?” Boris was quick to defend his friend.

“Why not?” Smith shrugged. “Look at him, that’s why not.”

“Sammy’s held down jobs with humans before.”

“In the old days, maybe, but there were plenty of freaks walking around then. Those days are over.”

“Let’s not get personal about this,” snapped Sammy. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m a modern man,” said Smith. “At least, I was a modern man and I know how they think. These humans down there know that the surface was blasted with radiation. If Sammy turns up they’ll think that he’s a mutation or something. They’ve bred true down there and they aren’t going to want mutations around at any price. So they’ll shoot him.” He spread his hands. “Well,” he said defensively. “How can you argue about it? Sammy doesn’t look human, does he?”

“Go on,” gritted Sammy. He clamped his teeth together, hating Smith for the first time. Fresh guy!

“So that rules out Sammy,” continued Smith. It was obvious that he had given the matter some thought. “That leaves me and Boris.” He shrugged. “I guess that we needn’t even consider Boris.”

“Why not?” The old vampire was hurt.

“Because you look a freak too, that’s why.” Smith was brutally frank. “Let’s face it, fellows, neither of you would get to first base.”

“And you would, I suppose?” Sammy was sarcastic.

“Sure.” Smith had an iron hide, sarcasm didn’t reach him. “I’m young and I know what the score is. I could talk my way into their confidence and be accepted.”

“And what about us?”

“Oh, I’d take care of you somehow.” Smith didn’t meet Sammy’s eyes. “I’d try to sneak Boris here a drink or two and fix it so that you got something to eat now and again. Things will be hard at first, naturally, but I’ll do my best.”

“Fresh young pup!” Boris ground his teeth in anger. “No respect for your elders at all! Why I—”

“Hold it!” Sammy sprang to his feet, then relaxed as Lupe bounded into the firelight. “Trouble?”

“No.” Lupe grunted as he forced his tired body back into human shape. “Wish that I didn’t have to do this every time I wanted to talk.” He looked at Sammy. “It’s just that I remembered what it was I had to tell you. I bumped into someone you’d be interested in a short while ago. She’s living in a cave way south of here, in a place where they used to hang their dead, the humans, I mean. You know it?”

“I know it.” Sammy felt excitement warm his blood. “I thought that area had been cleaned out long ago.”

“Maybe it was, but she’s there now and from what I could see she’s making out fine.” Lupe winked. “I told her about you and she’s interested. Young too.” He dropped to all fours. “And lonely.” He began to change shape. “Well, just thought that you’d be interested.” Abruptly he was gone, a sleek shape bounding through the brush.

Sammy stared after him, too thrilled to shout his thanks. A girl ghoul! Almost he had given up hope of ever finding a female of his own kind but, if Lupe was telling the truth, and he was, then there was something to be gained in life even yet. He sagged at a sudden thought.

The caves were a long way away and he hadn’t eaten for too long. Travel took energy and he just didn’t have the energy. Smith looked enviously at the ghoul as he slumped beside the fire.

“Lucky devil,” he said. “I wish I could get a girl.”

“You have to make your own,” said Sammy dully.

Boris frowned. “What’s wrong with you, Sammy? That was good news. You’re going, of course?”

“How can I?” Sammy sighed from the pit of his stomach. “Radiations sterilize, remember, and I can’t eat sterile food. Around here it wasn’t so bad, that’s how I’ve managed to live this long, but I can’t hope to pick up anything decent to eat on so long a journey.” He slumped still more. “I’m too weak to chance it.” He sighed again. “If I could only get one really decent meal to set me up, I’d be off like a shot. Just one good meal.”

“Tough,” said Smith carelessly. “Still, maybe she’ll wait.”

“Hold your tongue!” snapped Boris. He glanced at Sammy, then at Smith, then at Sammy again. Nervously he wet his lips. “There’s one way,” he said suggestively.

“There’s the Agreement,” reminded Sammy. He’d already thought of what Boris had in mind and dismissed it because of that.

“We’re a quorum,” pointed out Boris. “We could agree to suspend the Agreement for just this once.” He became urgent. “Be sensible, Sammy. The way things are the two of us wouldn’t stand a chance to survive until they come out. From what Lupe said it might take another year and those Red Cross stocks are mostly smashed and useless. And when they do come out, what then?”

“Geometrical progression,” said Sammy understandingly. “Two makes four and four makes eight and—”

“He’s young,” said Boris. “That means that he’ll have a hell of an appetite. He won’t be able to use discretion, he hasn’t had the experience. And you heard what he said about contacting them. What’s the betting that he just cuts us out?”

“What are you talking about?” Smith glanced from one to the other. They ignored him.

“I’m not sure,” said Sammy slowly. “We’ve got to stick together now or we’ll all be sunk.”

“We’ll be sunk anyway,” said Boris. “He’ll foul things up for sure.” His hand closed pleadingly on Sammy’s arm. “Please, Sammy. Just for this once.”

“What are you two freaks talking about?” snapped Smith again. Youth and confidence in his superiority made him contemptuous of these old has-beens. Sitting beside the fire he had made his own plans and they didn’t include either of the others. He lost both confidence and contempt as he read Sammy’s expression. “No!” he screamed, understanding hitting like a thunderbolt; “No! You wouldn’t! You couldn’t! You—”

He rose together with Sammy and, turning, raced into the dark safety of the woods. He didn’t get far.

Fresh guys rarely do.