For moments, Matt Magoffin stared silently at the luminous rivers. Then
he turned to Lynn.
"Where's Captain Bascom?"
"On the second floor--in charge of the machine guns."
"Is there a telecaster up here?"
"Yes. Over there. Here, I'll show you." She led him back to the
elevator house to a telecaster set just inside the door.
Matt buzzed the second floor headquarters and told Captain Bascom to
fire a second burst over the women's heads.
The rattling burst of the machine guns answered. A hail of lead tore
through the branches in the distance, thudding against walls in the
town of West Point across the highway.
"They're sending us an emissary under a white flag," came Captain
Bascom's voice.
"We won't parley!" said Matt flatly. "Not tonight. Tell them to stay
clear and we'll talk to them in the morning."
In a moment, Captain Bascom's voice was relaying Matt's decision
through the electronic megaphones. Matt got back to the rail in time to
see the figures disappearing beyond the circle of light.
He turned away, getting a chance to survey the roof for the first time.
It was not flat, but in the shape of a vast amphitheatre. Apartments
were built like penthouses all around the outer edge, ringing a
park-like area in the center, where a grove of trees were growing on
the edge of a dry-leaf-cluttered swimming pool. There were walks, now
leaf-strewn, and the ivory gleam of statuary amid the shrubbery. Broad
marble stairways led up to the roofs of the penthouse where he stood.
These, too, were landscaped, except for the four corners where the
anti-aircraft guns pointed their snouts skyward like sentinels. A
helicopter, like a monstrous deformed gadfly, was squatting on the
sward atop the opposite penthouse.
Matt stepped back into the elevator house and called Captain Bascom.
"Post sentinels," he ordered. "Four. One at each corner. And relieve
them every two hours."
"Right," said Captain Bascom. "Anything else?"
"No. That's all, except that you'd better get some rest."
"The same goes for you," the captain suggested. "You look fagged out."
Matt nodded and turned away, conscious suddenly of fatigue dragging at
his limbs. Hunger gnawed at his belly. He remembered that he hadn't
eaten since breakfast.
He felt someone tug at his sleeve. It was Lynn beside him in the
moonlight.
"Come along, Iron Man," she said. "You may not know it, but you've been
going on nervous energy."
But Matt did know it. He allowed her to lead him down one of the stairs
descending to the park.
"What about the bodies?" he asked.
The girl shivered. "They've been moved out of all the penthouses, and
some of the apartments put in shape. I've picked us out one."
"Us?" said Matt and grinned wearily. "Oh. What about the floor below?"
"They haven't got to those yet, nor the other two floors."
They reached the park. The grass was shaggy, the shrubs beginning to
send out untrimmed shoots. Dead leaves cluttered everything.
"We'll have to groom these grounds," he said. "Can't live like savages."
"Relax!" she said, urging him into one of the lavish apartments. "This
is home. How do you like it?"
Matt's tired eyes took in the sea green carpet, the glowing walls,
the inviting chairs and sofas--especially the sofas. With a sigh, he
stretched himself full length on a rose brocaded lounge and closed his
eyes.
Lynn regarded him fondly and leaned over to kiss his eyelids. "Now wait
just a minute," she said. "I've made coffee and sandwiches. I'll be
right back."
It was fifteen minutes before she reappeared. She was carrying a tray
on which a silver coffee pot steamed, flanked by a plate of sandwiches.
She had combed out her yellow hair and slipped into a wicked black
negligee that did things to the slender almost girlish figure beneath
it.
A gentle snore greeted her at the threshold.
Lynn stopped, regarding the sleeping Matt with a grim expression. Then
very deliberately she set the tray down, seized his heels and dragged
him off the couch. He hit the floor with a thump and struggled, still
half-asleep, to his feet.
"If you're going to sleep, Romeo, you might as well use the bed."
"Bed?" said Matt groggily. "Where?"
"In there." She pointed toward a low doorway at the left.
And Matt went.
* * * * *
Matt awoke the next morning alone, but a vague smell of perfume
lingered, and the pillow next his was crushed. The sound of whistling
came through the doorway.
He sprang out of bed, to discover that he was clad in a pair of his
pajamas, of a pale robin's-egg blue--and raised his eyebrows.
He lit a cigarette and prowled about the luxurious chamber, opening
doors and drawers. His clothes were hanging in one closet, but the
other was full of fluffy feminine apparel. The same condition prevailed
in the chests; one holding his own shirts, ties, socks; the other
crammed with lacy underthings.
He ran his hands through his rumpled hair, blue eyes gleaming with
interest. At length he went into the bath and showered and shaved.
There was only one thing that troubled him.
The water that poured from the shower glowed like a spray of light with
the minute phosphorescent organisms!
The alien amoebas had even invaded the subterranean pools.
"My sleeping beauty!" Lynn greeted him when he entered the breakfast
room.
Matt eyed her appreciatively. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was
wearing a crisp blue smock. The mouth-watering smell of frying ham and
eggs invaded his nostrils.
"Breakfast ready?"
"Yes, my somnolent lord. There also have been six calls for you." She
ticked them off on her fingers. "Isaac Trigg; then Captain Bascom. Then
Isaac Trigg again. After that Sawyer called; then Isaac Trigg. Finally,
Isaac Trigg called to say he was on the way up."