"Terrible."
"So many dead."
"So many."
Lantry felt himself some sort of delicate weight upon a scale. The
other man did not seem to be looking at him, but rather listening
and feeling toward him. There was a feathery balance here that made
for vast discomfort. He wanted to move away and get out from under
this balancing, weighing. The tall white-haired man said, "My name's
McClure."
"Did you have any friends inside?" asked Lantry.
"No. A casual acquaintance. Awful accident."
"Awful."
They balanced each other. A beetle hissed by on the road with its
seventeen tires whirling quietly. The moon showed a little town further
over in the black hills.
"I say," said the man McClure.
"Yes."
"Could you answer me a question?"
"Be glad to." He loosened the knife in his coat pocket, ready.
"Is your name Lantry?" asked the man at last.
"Yes."
"_William_ Lantry?"
"Yes."
"Then you're the man who came out of the Salem graveyard day before
yesterday, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Good Lord, I'm glad to meet you, Lantry! We've been trying to find you
for the past twenty-four hours!"
The man seized his hand, pumped it, slapped him on the back.
"What, what?" said Lantry.
"Good Lord, man, why did you run off? Do you realize what an instance
this is? We want to talk to you!"
McClure was smiling, glowing. Another handshake, another slap. "I
_thought_ it was you!"
The man is mad, thought Lantry. Absolutely mad. Here I've toppled his
incinerators, killed people, and he's shaking my hand. Mad, mad!
"Will you come along to the Hall?" said the man, taking his elbow.
"Wh-what hall?" Lantry stepped back.
"The Science Hall, of course. It isn't every year we get a real case
of suspended animation. In small animals, yes, but in a man, hardly!
Will you come?"
"What's the act!" demanded Lantry, glaring. "What's all this talk."
"My dear fellow, what do you mean?" the man was stunned.
"Never mind. Is that the only reason you want to see me?"
"What other reason would there be, Mr. Lantry? You don't know how glad
I am to see you!" He almost did a little dance. "I suspected. When we
were in there together. You being so pale and all. And then the way you
smoked your cigarette, something about it, and a lot of other things,
all subliminal. But it is you, isn't it, it _is_ you!"
"It is I. William Lantry." Dryly.
"Good fellow! Come along!"
* * * * *
The beetle moved swiftly through the dawn streets. McClure talked
rapidly.
Lantry sat, listening, astounded. Here was this fool, McClure, playing
his cards for him! Here was this stupid scientist, or whatever,
accepting him not as a suspicious baggage, a murderous item. Oh
no! Quite the contrary! Only as a suspended animation case was he
considered! Not as a dangerous man at all. Far from it!
"Of course," cried McClure, grinning. "You didn't know where to go,
whom to turn to. It was all quite incredible to you."
"Yes."
"I had a feeling you'd be there at the morgue tonight," said McClure,
happily.
"Oh?" Lantry stiffened.
"Yes. Can't explain it. But you, how shall I put it? Ancient Americans?
You had funny ideas on death. And you were among the dead so long, I
felt you'd be drawn back by the accident, by the morgue and all. It's
not very logical. Silly, in fact. It's just a feeling. I hate feelings
but there it was. I came on a, I guess you'd call it a hunch, wouldn't
you?"
"You might call it that."
"And there you were!"
"There I was," said Lantry.
"Are you hungry?"
"I've eaten."
"How did you get around?"
"I hitch-hiked."
"You _what_?"
"People gave me rides on the road."
"Remarkable."
"I imagine it sounds that way." He looked at the passing houses. "So
this is the era of space travel, is it?"
"Oh, we've been traveling to Mars for some forty years now."
"Amazing. And those big funnels, those towers in the middle of every
town?"
"Those. Haven't you heard? The Incinerators. Oh, of course, they hadn't
anything of that sort in your time. Had some bad luck with them. An
explosion in Salem and one here, all in a forty-eight hour period. You
looked as if you were going to speak; what is it?"
"I was thinking," said Lantry. "How fortunate I got out of my coffin
when I did. I might well have been thrown into one of your Incinerators
and burned up."
"That would have been terrible, wouldn't it have?"
"Quite."
Lantry toyed with the dials on the beetle dash. He wouldn't go to Mars.
His plans were changed. If this fool simply refused to recognize an act
of violence when he stumbled upon it, then let him be a fool. If they
didn't connect the two explosions with a man from the tomb, all well
and good. Let them go on deluding themselves. If they couldn't imagine
someone being mean and nasty and murderous, heaven help them. He rubbed
his hands with satisfaction. No, no Martian trip for you, as yet,
Lantry lad. First we'll see what can be done boring from the inside.
Plenty of time. The Incinerators can wait an extra week or so. One has
to be subtle, you know. Any more immediate explosions might cause quite
a ripple of thought.
McClure was gabbling wildly on.
"Of course, you don't have to be examined immediately. You'll want a
rest. I'll put you up at my place."
"Thanks. I don't feel up to being probed and pulled. Plenty of time in
a week or so."
They drew up before a house and climbed out.
"You'll want to sleep, naturally."
"I've been asleep for centuries. Be glad to stay awake. I'm not a bit
tired."
"Good." McClure let them into the house. He headed for the drink bar.
"A drink will fix us up."
"You have one," said Lantry. "Later for me. I just want to sit down."
"By all means sit." McClure mixed himself a drink. He looked around the
room, looked at Lantry, paused for a moment with the drink in his hand,
tilted his head to one side, and put his tongue in his cheek. Then he
shrugged and stirred the drink. He walked slowly to a chair and sat,
sipping the drink quietly. He seemed to be listening for something.
"There are cigarettes on the table," he said.
"Thanks." Lantry took one and lit it and smoked it. He did not speak
for some time.
Lantry thought, I'm taking this all too easily. Maybe I should kill
and run. He's the only one that has found me, yet. Perhaps this is all
a trap. Perhaps we're simply sitting here waiting for the police. Or
whatever in hell they use for police these days. He looked at McClure.
No. They weren't waiting for police. They were waiting for something
else.
McClure didn't speak. He looked at Lantry's face and he looked at
Lantry's hands. He looked at Lantry's chest a long time, with easy
quietness. He sipped his drink. He looked at Lantry's feet.