“Neither do I,” said the Brigadier, “but we have to look none the less. And that’s why I say we have a problem. All of us should be out there looking, but we can’t leave the Parson alone. Someone must stay with him, and that cuts down our force. We lose not one person, but two.”
“You’re right,” said Lansing. “The Parson can’t be left alone. I think Jurgens would be willing. He still has trouble getting around.”
“Not Jurgens. We need him with us. He has a good head on his shoulders. He doesn’t say much, but he’s a thoughtful one. He has a good eye. He notices things.”
“All right. Take him along. I’ll stay.”
“Not you. I need you. Do you think Sandra would be agreeable to staying? She’s not of much value in the field. At best she’s a fuzzy-headed creature.”
“You could ask her,” Lansing said.
Sandra agreed to remain behind with the Parson, and after breakfast the others started out. The Brigadier had the expedition well planned.
“Lansing, you and Mary take that street over there and go down its length. If you reach the end of it, then go to the next street over and come back. Jurgens and I will take this street and do the same.”
“What will we be looking for?” asked Mary.
“For anything unusual. For anything that catches the eye. Even a hunch. It pays to follow hunches. I wish we had the time and people to make a house-by-house survey, but that’s impossible. We’ll have to pick our shots.”
“It sounds haphazard to me,” said Mary. “From you I would have expected a more logical plan.”
Mary and Lansing walked down the street that had been indicated. Often the way was partially blocked by fallen masonry. There was nothing unusual to see. The houses were dowdy stone buildings, much the worse for wear and, for the most part, indistinguishable from one another. They appeared to be residences, although there could be no certainty of that.
They entered and explored a few houses, which were not at all unusual, since it seemed that exploring none was a shirking of their duty, and found nothing. The rooms were bare and depressing, coated with dust unmarked by any sign of recent intrusion. Lansing tried to imagine the rooms inhabited by happy, cheerful folks with words spoken and laughter ringing out, but found it was impossible to conjure up such images and finally gave up. The city was dead, the houses dead, the rooms dead. They had died too long ago to harbor ghosts. They had lost all memory. Nothing was left.
“It seems hopeless to me,” said Mary, “this blind searching for some unknown factor. Even if it should be here, and there’s no evidence that it is, it could take years to find. If you ask me, I think the Brigadier’s insane.”
“Perhaps not insane,” said Lansing. “Simply a man driven by an insane purpose. Even when we were at the cube, he was certain that what we were looking for would be found in the city. At that time, of course, he was thinking of the city in different terms. He was thinking we would find people here.”
“But not finding them, wouldn’t it seem reasonable he should change his thinking?”
“Perhaps it would be reasonable for you and me. We can admit mistakes; we can adjust to changing situations. But not the Brigadier. He plans a course of action and he follows it. If he says a thing is so, then it is so. He will not change his mind.”
“Knowing this, what do we do about it?” “We play along with him. We travel a few more miles with him. Maybe the time will come, not too long from now, when he’ll become persuaded.” “I’m afraid we’ll have to wait too long.” “If so,” said Lansing, “then we’ll decide what to do.” “Knocking in his silly head would be my first suggestion.”
He grinned at her, and she smiled back. “Maybe,” she told him, “that’s a shade too vicious. But there are times I like to think of it.”
They had been sitting on a slab of stone and as they rose to go on, Mary spoke sharply. “Listen. Is that someone screaming?”
For a moment they stood rigid, side by side, then the sound that Lansing had not heard at first came again — faint, far off, thinned by distance, the sound of a woman screaming.
“Sandra!” Mary cried and started to run down the street toward the plaza. She was running lightly, as if her feet were winged, Lansing coming on heavily in her wake. The path was tortuous, hemmed in by blocks of stone that had fallen in the narrow street. Several times Lansing heard the screaming again. He burst out of the street into the plaza. Mary was halfway across it. On the stairs that led up to the camp stood Sandra, waving her arms frantically, still screaming. He tried to force a burst of speed, but his legs would not respond.
Mary flew up the stairs and caught Sandra in her arms, the two of them standing together, clinging to one another. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Brigadier pop out of a street into the plaza. Lansing kept on doggedly, reached the bottom of the stairs and dashed on up. “What goes on?” he panted.
“It’s the Parson,” Mary said. “He has disappeared.” “Disappeared! Sandra was supposed to watch him.” “I had to go to the bathroom,” Sandra yelled at him. “I had to find a place to go. It was only for a minute.”
“You’ve looked?” asked Mary.
“I’ve looked for him,” Sandra shrilled. “I’ve looked everywhere.”
The Brigadier came puffing up the stairs. Behind him, still out in the plaza, Jurgens came, hopping along, nailing with his crutch in an attempt to hurry.
“What’s all the racket?” the Brigadier demanded.
“The Parson’s gone,” said Lansing.
“So he ran off,” said the Brigadier. “The little scut ran off.”
“I tried to find him,” Sandra screamed.
“I know where he is,” said Mary. “I am sure I know.”
“So do I,” said Lansing, charging for the entrance.
Mary yelled after him, running as she called, “You’ll find a flashlight by my sleeping bag. I kept it there all night.”
Lansing saw the flash and scooped it up, scarcely pausing in his stride. He ran for the basement stairs. As he went down them, he was talking to himself. “The fool!” he said. “The terrible, awful fool!”
He reached the basement and plunged for the central corridor, the bobbing flashlight beaming the way before him.
There still might be time, he told himself. There still might be time, but he was sure there wasn’t.
He was right — there wasn’t.
The big room at the end of the corridor was empty. The row of peepholes gleamed faintly in the dark.
He reached the first door, the one that opened on the crabapple world, and flashed the torch upon it. The lugs that had held the door securely against opening dangled on their bolts.
Lansing reached for the door and a terrific force hit him from behind, throwing him to the floor. The flashlight, still lit, went rolling. He had bumped his head against the floor in falling and stars and flashes of light went buzzing through his brain, but still he fought against the weight that held him down.
“You idiot!” yelled the Brigadier. “What were you about to do?”
“The Parson,” Lansing mumbled thickly. “He went through the door.”
“And you were going to follow?”
“Why, yes, of course. I could have found him…”
“You utter fool!” yelled the Brigadier. “That’s a one-way door. You go in, but you can’t come back. Go in and there is no door. Now will you behave yourself if I let you up?”
Mary had picked up the flashlight and was shining it on Lansing. “The Brigadier is right,” she said. “It could be a one-way door.” Then she screamed, “Sandra, get away from there!”
As she screamed, Jurgens came out of the dark and lunged with his crutch at Sandra. It struck her in the ribs and flung her to one side.