"Hello back."
"You'll want to wash your bedding out good," their neighbor said. "Last time that cabin was used, it was by the president of the Ohio-Nebraska. He kept his bird dogs in there. They scratched a lot."
"I'll be back tomorrow," Cotswald said, perhaps fearing becoming part of a decontamination press-gang. Valentine nodded.
"Stu Jacksonville, Leisure and Entertainment," Valentine said. "Thanks for the tip."
"Forbes Abernathy. I'm a poor benighted refugee from Dallas, adrift in the world and drowning my sorrows in alcohol and Midway pussy. Or that's what the wife said before she took off with a Cincinnati general. Does this boat look adrift to you?"
Valentine threw the satchel down in the stern of his housing and helped Duvalier in. "Not in the least."
"Now, your putt-putt; a strong storm comes and you'll be blown downriver."
"Thanks for the warning." He tried the key in the padlock holding the doors to the front half of the cabin cruiser closed. After a little jiggling, it opened.
He could smell the dogs. Or rather, their urine.
"Sorry, Ali," he said. He went into the cabin-it had two bed-couches set at angles that joined at the front, and moldy-smelling carpeting that looked like the perfect place to hatch fleas-and opened a tiny top hatch to air it out. There was a tiny washroom and sink. He tried the tap and got nothing.
"Thanks, Forbes," Duvalier said to him as she almost fell into the cabin and plunged, facedown, onto the bench.
Valentine knelt beside her and checked her pulse again. It was fast but strong. Still no trembling.
Another piece of Doctor Jalenga's lecture rose from the tar pit of Valentine's memory. A few people had proven immune to the various strains of ravies virus, or fought it off with nothing more than a bad fever. He crouched next to her-crouching was all that was possible in the tiny cabin-and touched her back. It was wet through, wet enough to leave his hand slick and damp.
She stirred. "Got any water?" Duvalier asked, rolling over. Her hazel eyes looked as though they were made of glass.
Valentine poured her another cup from his canteen. Perhaps a half cup remained. He needed to get them some supplies.
"Why are we back, David?" she asked.
"We're not back. We're in Memphis."
"That's what I mean. Back in the KZ."
"We're trying-"
"We're trying to die."
He put his hand on her forehead. It felt hot and pebbly. "We're doing no such thing."
"That's why we keep going back in," she insisted. "Every time we get out of the KZ, all we can think about is the next trip in. Now why is that? We feel guilty. We want to die like them."
"Rest. I'm going to see about food and something to drink." He unbuckled the shoulder holster.
He went up on deck, feeling alone and vulnerable. Such a tiny piece of information measured against the vastness of the structure above him-
After a moment's thought he locked the door to the cabin with the padlock again. The orblike superstructure atop the Pyramid seemed designed to stare straight down into the back of his boat.
Job at hand. Eat the elephant one bite at a time.
His neighbor had a comic book perched on his bulging stomach.
"Excuse me, Mr. Abernathy," Valentine called. "Is there a market around?"
"Inside the Pyramid. Plaza north. Jackson, was it?"
"Jacksonville."