A blinking green light in the butt of the gun. Jemmy said, “It's been doing that all along. Why? Because they wouldn't want a gun like this wandering loose! If they've got phones-“
“Prole guns don't blink when we're harvesting. They didn't blink after the proles shot the birds,” Willametta said. “Andrew, when did it start blinking? After you killed a prole for it?”
“Maybe. Damndamndamn. It's sending a help call, isn't it, Willya?”
“Throw it away, Andrew!”
“Daaamn! Damn. Jeremy, do it.”
Jemmy hurled the evil thing back the way they'd come. It flew not far, struck bare rock and spun away downhill. Andrew screamed at the sky.
Andrew climbed as if possessed. This part of the range was new to them all. The plants were gone; it was naked rock. In the weird light they could see him far above, while Jemmy moved about helping the slower climbers and the ones who froze in fear.
Dennis Levoy was sliding. He'd lost the crack they were following. It was out of his reach now and he couldn't even scream. Jemmy scrambled down to reach him, but Dennis was sliding faster now, still silent, naked against a slick slope that wouldn't hold him. In the acid light Jemmy saw Henry flatten himself to avoid being knocked off. Dennis bounced against him and snatched at Henry's ankle. Henry kicked him free. He was falling, falling, gone.
Dennis had been naked. Jemmy felt shamed that he'd thought to look, but he looked around and ticked them off: his own and five other sets of windbreakers and shorts, all climbing well.
A rift in the blazing clouds showed as a black canyon and a terrible light within. Blinded, they froze against the hillside, under a blazing eye in a black sky.
The rift closed before they moved again.
As they climbed, the light crawled away from them, back toward the firebird ponchos.
Andrew was coming back down. “Not this way. Stop them.” He edged sideways along the hillside and trie.d another path. Jemmy got the rest of them to where they could cling, and they waited until Andrew shouted.
Now the sky blazed upRoad, above the ponchos they'd left behind, lighting them until proles could come to see what they were. That ought to take hours. The Windfarm's felons climbed in the fringes of the light, with no firebird colors to mark them.
The bulge of the hill hid further heights. The crest receded like dreams. Jemmy tried to count heads. Ten plus his own plus Andrew should be twelve. He waited, and presently heard sobbing. Ansel Tarr, sixteen and skinny and shivering in the rain. Jemmy doubled back, cursing the slope he'd have to climb twice, and guided Ansel's hands and feet until they'd found the next split in the rock.
The next man he had to help was Andrew.
Andrew had spent the last day and night exploring, preparing. It wasn't surprising that he was exhausted. His glare of hate was hard to take. Jemmy tied the rope under Andrew's shoulders, then his own waist, and climbed.
They found a flat spot, and stood, and looked about.
Beyond was down. They could hear the whoops of the gatherers receding ahead of them. Only Barda and Willametta and Amnon had waited.
They chattered as they flowed downhill. They had their wind back.
Blazing clouds lit the way. There was valley below, and behind it another ridge. The slopes were steep, with a tangle of black and bronze and yellow at the bottom, and a glitter shining through. A glitter of water, not Road, Jemmy thought.
He didn't see any easy way to cross.
“That's not the Road,” Henry said critically.
Andrew snarled. “Barda? If we follow the valley far enough, we have to hit the Road. We'll be moving toward the Neck.”
Barda didn't answer.
''Willya?''
“Okay.”
Andrew led off.
The bottom of the valley was all water and mud and Destiny thorn.
They crawled along the slope at the frost line. They were picking up stones and branches for weapons even before they saw the birds.
Two. They plunged out of the bush, uphill, silent, aimed like darts. Just beyond stone's throw they stopped suddenly, wings braked against the air. Turned and plunged back.
“We must stink of alien blood,” Rafik said.
Andrew said, “Keep the clubs. Oh, man, I miss the prole gun!” He glared at Jemmy,
Jemmy said, “I should have given it to you and made you carry it.”
“Carry it? But... oh. You bastard.”
“Carry it back to where we left the ponchos and then throw it away. That would have fixed you.”
Andrew was laughing, much against his will. “No birdfucking allowed!”
“It's the law!” shouted half a dozen voices.
The line straggled to a halt. The valley ended in a dome of gray lava or began there. It appeared they'd been moving upstream.
Jemmy asked, “Andrew? Anyone? What makes tubes?”
“Tubes?”
Jemmy pointed across at the opposite slope. Lava had oozed out of Destiny's core to form a pillow of rock half a klick high. A snake of gray rock flowed from it, widening and narrowing in pulses. A rounded break like a snake's mouth emitted a lesser tube like a snake's tongue, and that grew larger until it did it again, and that tube ran down into the thorn. Jemmy could see breaks where the tube had collapsed.
He said, “I hid out in one of those. Saved my life.”
“Great. How do we cross? Why bother?”
Henry said, “About now the proles are looking at, what was it, a dozen empty ponchos? And they're trying to think of someplace else to look-”
“And we're all ready to collapse,” Willametta said. “But we've got knives, Andrew. We'll cut through.”
Barda passed out knives: she had eight, and Andrew got one, but she kept the biggest. Andrew's opinion had not been asked.
They sawed their way through the weeds at the bottom of the valley, wading through waist-deep water. Birds of all sizes fled in terror from twelve noisy alien life-forms and a rich stench of human blood from cuts and scrapes and scratches. They were well and truly exhausted by the time they reached the tube.
The sky went black.
The light had been glaring beyond the ridge, over the valley they'd left behind, for so many hours that at first Jemmy couldn't understand what had changed. But someone in the Parole Board must have guessed that fleeing felons might need light.
In a sputter of lightning they crawled into true dark. The tube was big. It might have held any kind of predator. Jemmy moved knifepointfirst, ready to back up fast, though he was third in line behind Andrew and Willametta.
It was a big tube, as wide as two people; wider in spots. Jemmy sprawled out and let himself fade...
“Let me out! Let me out!” far away and garbled; and then a rustle.
Barda:"Anything wrong down there?”
“Just Denis losing his dinner.”
The tube was quite smooth and comfortable, barring a little rainwater in the bottom. Wind blew through the big holes and kept it from being stuffy. Thunder roared from time to time, but he'd grown used to that. He could hear Willametta and Andrew making noisy love, both wild with the taste of freedom, their feet a meter from his head. That was almost restful.
Yet he couldn't sleep.
He heard Henry ask plaintively, “Did anyone see an Earthlife bird?”
“We'd have known.” Barda, three centimeters from Jemmy's feet.
Henry:"I'd kill a prole for a duck.”
Ansel, much closer: “There's good eatin' on a prole.”
“Is he right, Barda?”
“Oh, shut it, Henry. Even so, you all listening? We've gotto find Earthlife food. If we still look like a dozen ghouls the first time any citizen finds us .
“That's kind of what I meant.”
Willametta, from uptube: “Barda, tell us more about this inn we're trying to get to.”