Second Variety and Other Stories (43 page)

"I began to make studies, some biological, some merely statistical. Sociological research. We
began correlating facts on you, on each member of your group we could locate. How old you were.
What you were doing for a living. How many were married. Number of children. After a while I came
across the facts you're scanning right now."

Cutter leaned toward Abbud, watching the youth intently.

"You're not a true mutant, Abbud. Your group exists because of a chance explosion. You're
different from us because of damage to the reproductive apparatus of your parents. You lack one
specific characteristic that true mutants possess." A faint smile twitched across Cutter's features. "A lot of
you are married. But not one birth has been reported. Not one birth! Not a single teep child! You can't

you are married. But not one birth has been reported. Not one birth! Not a single teep child! You can't

"You're not mutants. You're freaks!"

Abbud grunted hoarsely, his body trembling. "I see this, in your mind." He pulled himself together
with an effort. "And you've kept this secret, have you? You're the only one who knows?"

"Somebody else knows," Cutter said.

"Who?"

"You know. You scanned me. And since you're a teep, all the others --"

Abbud fired, the Slem-gun digging frantically into his own middle. He dissolved, showering in a
rain of fragments. Cutter moved back, his hands over his face. He closed his eyes, holding his breath.

When he looked again there was nothing.

Cutter shook his head. "Too late, Abbud. Not fast enough. Scanning is instant -- and Waldo is
within range. The relay system... And even if they missed you, they can't avoid picking me up."

A sound. Cutter turned. Clearance agents were moving rapidly into the hall, glancing down at the
remains on the floor and up at Cutter.

Director Ross covered Cutter uncertainly, confused and shaken. "What happened here? Where
--"

"Scan him!" Peters snapped. "Get a teep in here quick. Bring Waldo in. Find out what
happened."

Cutter grinned ironically. "Sure," he said, nodding shakily. He sagged with relief. "Scan me. I
have nothing to hide. Get a teep in here for a probe -- if you can find any..."

Something was tapping on the window. Blowing up against the pane, again and again. Carried by
the wind. Tapping faintly, insistently.

Lori, sitting on the couch, pretended not to hear. She gripped her book tightly and turned a page.
The tapping came again, louder and more imperative. It could not be ignored.

"Darn!" Lori said, throwing her book down on the coffee table and hurrying to the window. She
grasped the heavy brass handles and lifted.

For a moment the window resisted. Then, with a protesting groan, it reluctantly rose. Cold
autumn air rushed into the room. The bit of leaf ceased tapping and swirled against the woman's throat,
dancing to the floor.

Lori picked the leaf up. It was old and brown. Her heart skipped a beat as she slipped the leaf
into the pocket of her jeans. Against her loins the leaf cut and tingled, a little hard point piercing her
smooth skin and sending exciting shivers up and down her spine. She stood at the open window a
moment, sniffing the air. The air was full of the presence of trees and rocks, of great boulders and remote
places. It was time -- time to go again. She touched the leaf. She was wanted.

Quickly Lori left the big living-room, hurrying through the hall into the dining-room. The
dining-room was empty. A few chords of laughter drifted from the kitchen. Lori pushed the kitchen door
open. "Steve?"

Her husband and his father were sitting around the kitchen table, smoking their cigars and
drinking steaming black coffee. "What is it?" Steve demanded, frowning at his young wife. "Ed and I are
in the middle of business."

"I -- I want to ask you something."

The two men gazed at her, brown-haired Steven, his dark eyes full of the stubborn dignity of
New England men, and his father, silent and withdrawn in her presence. Ed Patterson scarcely noticed
her. He rustled through a sheaf of feed bills, his broad back turned toward her.

her. He rustled through a sheaf of feed bills, his broad back turned toward her.

"I have to go," Lori blurted.

"Go where?"

"Outside." Anxiety flooded over her. "This is the last time. I promise. I won't go again, after this.
Okay?" She tried to smile, but her heart was pounding too hard. "Please let me, Steve."

"Where does she go?" Ed rumbled.

Steve grunted in annoyance. "Up in the hills. Some old abandoned place up there."

Ed's gray eyes flickered. "Abandoned farm?"

"Yes. You know it?"

"The old Rickley farm. Rickley moved away years ago. Couldn't get anything to grow, not up
there. Ground's all rocks. Bad soil. A lot of clay and stones. The place is all overgrown, tumbled down."

"What kind of farm was it?"

"Orchard. Fruit orchard. Never yielded a damn thing. Thin old trees. Waste of effort."

Steve looked at his pocket watch. "You'll be back in time to fix dinner?"

"Yes!" Lori moved toward the door. "Then I can go?"

Steve's face twisted as he made up his mind. Lori waited impatiently, scarcely breathing. She had
never got used to Vermont men and their slow, deliberate way. Boston people were quite different. And
her group had been more the college youths, dances and talk, and late laughter.

"Why do you go up there?" Steve grumbled.

"Don't ask me, Steve. Just let me go. This is the last time." She writhed in agony. She clenched
her fists. "Please!"

Steve looked out the window. The cold autumn wind swirled through the trees. "All right. But it's
going to snow. I don't see why you want to --"

Lori ran to get her coat from the closet. "I'll be back to fix dinner!" she shouted joyfully. She
hurried to the front porch, buttoning her coat, her heart racing. Her cheeks were flushed a deep, excited
red as she closed the door behind her, her blood pounding in her veins.

Cold wind whipped against her, rumpling her hair, plucking at her body. She took a deep breath
of the wind and started down the steps.

She walked rapidly onto the field, toward the bleak line of hills beyond. Except for the wind there
was no sound. She patted her pocket. The dry leaf broke and dug hungrily into her.

"I'm coming..." she whispered, a little awed and frightened. "I'm on my way..."

Higher and higher the woman climbed. She passed through a deep cleft between two rocky
ridges. Huge roots from old stumps spurted out on all sides. She followed a dried-up creek bed, winding
and turning.

After a time low mists began to blow about her. At the top of the ridge she halted, breathing
deeply, looking back the way she had come.

A few drops of rain stirred the leaves around her. Again the wind moved through the great dead
trees along the ridge. Lori turned and started on, her head down, hands in her coat pockets.

She was on a rocky field, overgrown with weeds and dead grass. After a time she came to a
ruined fence, broken and rotting. She stepped over it. She passed a tumbled-down well, half filled with
stones and earth.

Her heart beat quickly, fluttering with nervous excitement. She was almost there. She passed the
remains of a building, sagging timbers and broken glass, a few ruined pieces of furniture strewn nearby.
An old automobile tire caked and cracked. Some damp rags heaped over rusty, bent bedsprings.

And there it was -- directly ahead.

Along the edge of the field was a grove of ancient trees. Lifeless trees, withered and dead, their
thin, blackened stalks rising up leaflessly. Broken sticks stuck in the hard ground. Row after row of dead
trees, some bent and leaning, torn loose from the rocky soil by the unending wind.

Lori crossed the field to the trees, her lungs laboring painfully. The wind surged against her
without respite, whipping the foul-smelling mists into her nostrils and face. Her smooth skin was damp
and shiny with the mist. She coughed and hurried on, stepping over the rocks and clods of earth,
trembling with fear and anticipation.

without respite, whipping the foul-smelling mists into her nostrils and face. Her smooth skin was damp
and shiny with the mist. She coughed and hurried on, stepping over the rocks and clods of earth,
trembling with fear and anticipation.

She stopped, rigid. Her chest rose and fell with the effort of breathing. "I came," she gasped.

For a long time she gazed at the withered old apple tree. She could not take her eyes from it. The
sight of the ancient tree fascinated and repelled her. It was the only one alive, the only tree of all the grove
still living. All the others were dead, dried-up. They had lost the struggle. But this tree still clung to life.

The tree was hard and barren. Only a few dark leaves hung from it -- and some withered apples,
dried and seasoned by the wind and mists. They had stayed there, on the branches, forgotten and
abandoned. The ground around the tree was cracked and bleak. Stones and decayed heaps of old
leaves in ragged clumps.

"I came," Lori said again. She took the leaf from her pocket and held it cautiously out. "This
tapped at the window. I knew when I heard it." She smiled mischievously, her red lips curling. "It tapped
and tapped, trying to get in. I ignored it. It was so -- so impetuous. It annoyed me."

The tree swayed ominously. Its gnarled branches rubbed together. Something in the sound made
Lori pull away. Terror rushed through her. She hurried back along the ridge, scrambling frantically out of
reach.

"Don't," she whispered. "Please."

The wind ceased. The tree became silent. For a long time Lori watched it apprehensively.

Night was coming. The sky was darkening rapidly. A burst of frigid wind struck her, half turning
her around. She shuddered, bracing herself against it, pulling her long coat around her. Far below, the
floor of the valley was disappearing into shadow, into the vast cloud of night.

In the darkening mists the tree was stern and menacing, more ominous than usual. A few leaves
blew from it, drifting and swirling with the wind. A leaf blew past her and she tried to catch it. The leaf
escaped, dancing back toward the tree. Lori followed a little way and then stopped, gasping and
laughing.

"No," she said firmly, her hands on her hips. "I won't."

There was silence. Suddenly the heaps of decayed leaves blew up in a furious circle around the
tree. They quieted down, settling back.

"No," Lori said. "I'm not afraid of you. You can't hurt me." But her heart was hammering with
fear. She moved back farther away.

The tree remained silent. Its wiry branches were motionless.

Lori regained her courage. "This is the last time I can come," she said. "Steve says I can't come
any more. He doesn't like it."

She waited, but the tree did not respond.

"They're sitting in the kitchen. The two of them. Smoking cigars and drinking coffee. Adding up
feed bills." She wrinkled her nose. "That's all they ever do. Add and subtract feed bills. Figure and figure.
Profit and loss. Government taxes. Depreciation on the equipment."

The tree did not stir.

Lori shivered. A little more rain fell, big icy drops that slid down her cheeks, down the back of
her neck and inside her heavy coat.

She moved closer to the tree. "I won't be back. I won't see you again. This is the last time. I
wanted to tell you..."

The tree moved. Its branches whipped into sudden life. Lori felt something hard and thin cut
across her shoulder. Something caught her around the waist, tugging her forward.

She struggled desperately, trying to pull herself free. Suddenly the tree released her. She
stumbled back, laughing and trembling with fear. "No!" she gasped. "You can't have me!" She hurried to
the edge of the ridge. "You'll never get me again. Understand? And I'm not afraid of you!"

She stood, waiting and watching, trembling with cold and fear. Suddenly she turned and fled,
down the side of the ridge, sliding and falling on the loose stones. Blind terror gripped her. She ran on

down the side of the ridge, sliding and falling on the loose stones. Blind terror gripped her. She ran on

Something rolled beside her shoe. Something small and hard. She bent down and picked it up.

It was a little dried apple.

Lori gazed back up the slope at the tree. The tree was almost lost in the swirling mists. It stood,
jutting up against the black sky, a hard unmoving pillar.

Lori put the apple in her coat pocket and continued down the side of the hill. When she reached
the floor of the valley she took the apple out of her pocket.

It was late. A deep hunger began to gnaw inside her. She thought suddenly of dinner, the warm
kitchen, the white tablecloth. Steaming stew and biscuits.

As she walked she nibbled on the little apple.

Lori sat up in bed, the covers falling away from her. The house was dark and silent. A few night
noises sounded faintly, far off. It was past midnight. Beside her Steven slept quietly, turned over on his
side.

What had wakened her? Lori pushed her dark hair back out of her eyes, shaking her head. What

A spasm of pain burst loose inside her. She gasped and put her hand to her stomach. For a time
she wrestled silently, jaws locked, swaying back and forth.

The pain went away. Lori sank back. She cried out, a faint, thin cry. "Steve --"

Steven stirred. He turned over a little, grunting in his sleep. The pain came again. Harder. She fell
forward on her face, writhing in agony. The pain ripped at her, tearing at her belly. She screamed, a shrill
wail of fear and pain.