Three times during the night I tried to flip around and cut my way
through their cordon, and each time I faced interception. It was evident
that we were being driven and so long as we went to their satisfaction
they weren't going to clobber us.
Nurse Farrow woke up along about dawn, stretched, and remarked that she
could use a toothbrush and a tub of hot water and amusedly berated
herself for not filling the back seat before we took off. Then she
became serious again and asked for the details of the night, which I
slipped her as fast as I could.
We stopped long enough to swap seats, and I stretched out but I couldn't
sleep.
Finally I said, "Stop at the next dog wagon, Farrow. We're going to eat,
comes anything."
"Won't that be dangerous?"
"Shucks," I grunted angrily. "They'll probably thank us. They're
probably hungry too."
"We'll find out."
The smell of a roadside diner is usually a bit on the thick and greasy
side, but I was so hungry that morning that it smelled like mother's
kitchen. We went in, ordered coffee and orange juice, and then
disappeared into the rest rooms long enough to clean up. That felt so
good we ordered the works and watched the guy behind the fryplate handle
the bacon, eggs, and home-fries with a deft efficient manner.
We pitched in fast, hoping to beat the flies to our breakfast. We were
so intent that we paid no attention to the car that came into the lot
until a man came in, ordered coffee and a roll, and then carried it over
to our table.
"Fine day for a ride, isn't it?"
I eyed him; Farrow bristled and got very tense. I said, "I doubt that I
know you, friend."
"Quite likely. But I know you, Cornell."
I took a fast dig; there was no sign of anything lethal except the usual
collection of tire irons, screwdrivers, and other tools which, oddly
enough, seldom come through as being dangerous because they're not
weapons-by-design.
"I'm not heeled, Cornell. I'm just here to save us all some trouble."
#Telepath?#
He nodded imperceptibly. Then he said, "We'll all save time, gasoline,
and maybe getting into grief with the cops if you take Route 40 out of
St. Louis."
"Suppose I don't like U.S. 40?"
"Get used to it," he said with a crooked smile. "Because you'll take
U.S. 40 out of St. Louis whether you like it or not."
I returned his crooked smile. I also dug his hide and he was a Mekstrom,
of course. "Friend," I replied, "Nothing would convince me, after what
you've said, that U.S. 40 is anything but a cowpath; slippery when wet;
and impassible in the Early Spring, Late Summer, and the third Thursday
after Michelmas."
He stood up. "Cornell, I can see your point. You don't like U.S. 40. So
I'll help you good people. If you don't want to drive along such a lousy
slab of concrete, just say the word and we'll arrange for you to take it
in style, luxury, and without a trace of pain or strain. I'll be seein'
you. And a very pleasant trip to you, Miss Farrow."
Then the character got up, went to the cashier and paid for our
breakfast as well as his own. He took off in his car and I have never
seen him since.
Farrow looked at me, her face white and her whole attitude one of
fright. "U.S. 40," she said in a shaky voice, "runs like a stretched
string from St. Louis to Indianapolis."
She didn't have to tell me any more. About sixty miles North of
Indianapolis on Indiana State Highway 37 lies the thriving metropolis of
Marion, Indiana, the most important facet of which (to Farrow and me) is
an establishment called the Medical Research Center.
Nothing was going to make me drive out of St. Louis along U.S. 40.
Period; End of message; No answer required.
Nothing, because I was very well aware of their need to collect me alive
and kicking. If I could not roar out of St. Louis in the direction I
selected, I was going to turn my car end for end and have at them. Not
in any mild manner, but with deadly intent to do deadly damage. If I'd
make a mild pass, they'd undoubtedly corral me by main force and carry
me off kicking and screaming. But if I went at them to kill or get
killed, they'd have to move aside just to prevent me from killing
myself. I didn't think I'd get to the last final blow of that
self-destruction. I'd win through.
So we left the diner after a breakfast on our enemy's expense account
and took off again.
I was counting on St. Louis. The center of the old city is one big
shapeless blob of a dead area; so nice and cold that St. Louis has
reversed the usual city-type blight area growth. Ever since Rhine, the
slum sections have been moving out and the new buildings have been
moving in. So with the dead area and the brand-new, wide streets and
fancy traffic control, St. Louis was the place to go in along one road,
get lost in traffic, and come out, roaring along any road desirable. I
could not believe that any outfit, hoping to work under cover, could
collect enough manpower and cars to block every road, lane, highway and
duckrunway that led out of a city as big as St. Louis.
Again they hazed us by pacing along parallel roads and behind us with
the open end of their crescent aimed along U.S. 67. We went like hell;
without slowing a bit we sort of swooped up to St. Louis and took a fast
dive into that big blob-shaped dead area. We wound up in traffic and
tied Boy Scout knots in our course. I was concerned about overhead
coverage from a 'copter even though I've been told that the St. Louis
dead area extends upward in some places as high as thirteen thousand
feet.
The only thing missing was some device or doodad that would let us use
our perception or telepathy in this deadness while they couldn't. As it
was, we were as psi-blind as they were, so we had to go along the
streets with our eyes carefully peeled for cars of questionable
ownership. We saw some passenger cars with out-of-state licenses and
gave them wide clearances. One of them hung on our tail until I
committed a very neat coup by running through a stoplight and
sandwiching my car between two whopping big fourteen-wheel moving vans.
I'd have enjoyed the expression on the driver's face if I could have
seen it. But then we were gone and he was probably cussing.
I stayed between the vans as we wound ourselves along the road and
turned into a side street.