Read The Incredible Tide Online

Authors: Alexander Key

The Incredible Tide (10 page)

Outside, she instantly forgot the garden when she saw Mazal coming from the tower. One look at her aunt's drawn face and her spirits sank to a deeper low.

“What's happened, Mazal?”

“I couldn't get a word. Not a word. Of all times! I—is Shann back yet?”

“No.” Shann had been gone all day.

“Oh, dear. That virus, or whatever it is, must be spreading.” Mazal shook her head. “I—I wish something good would happen.”

Her aunt, Lanna saw, was badly upset and on the point of tears. In her own anxiety she almost felt that way herself.

“Mazal, can't you tell me what's wrong?”

“That's just the trouble,” Mazal wailed. “
I
don't know
. All I can get is a
feeling.
” They went on into the kitchen as they spoke, and sank down at the table. Now Mazal added helplessly, “It's that awful sick-in-the-stomach, bad sort of feeling you get when the bottom's dropped out of everything. Something's gone wrong. I just know it. Something's happened that's going to keep them from escaping.”

“Don't talk that way, Mazal.”

“I can't help it. I can't shake the feeling. Something's happened. I'll bet they've found out who Teacher is.”

“No!”

“I'll just bet they have. And if I'm right, they'll
never
get away!”

“Conan will manage somehow.”

Mazal stared at her. “You've got a tremendous lot of confidence in Conan, haven't you?”

The question startled Lanna. She'd never thought about it in just that way. But it was true. A thousand little things, going back to the time when she was little, had created that confidence. And not the least of it was the way Teacher felt about him.

She told Mazal, “I heard Teacher say once that if he ever had to find someone to do what couldn't be done, he wouldn't have to look any farther than Conan. And that was a long time ago, when Conan was only—”

She was interrupted by a loud knocking upon the front door. It was an imperative sound that brought her to her feet and drove her resentfully through the cottage with Mazal at her heels. She knew that knock.

Upon opening the door she was confronted by the blocky, black-bearded figure she had expected to see.

“Where's the doctor?” Commissioner Dyce demanded. “He promised to meet me in his office, but there's no sign of him.”

“Some of the young ones are sick,” said Lanna. “I'm afraid he's been delayed.”

“I'm not in the habit of being kept waiting. If he expects me to do favors for him—”


Favors?
” Mazal cut in sharply, as if she couldn't believe her ears.

The commissioner glared at her, then turned as someone came stumbling down from the shadows of the pines.

“Shann!” Mazal cried, and ran out to him. “Are you all right?”

“I'm all right,” Shann mumbled. He came slowly up the steps with her, dropped his bag, and stood leaning against the wall while he looked at the commissioner. In his eyes was something Lanna had never seen in them before. He was the mildest and kindest of persons, but this evening he was almost frightening. What could have happened?

“Last night,” Shann said softly, “I begged you for help. You refused to give it. Today I begged you again—and again you refused me.”

“You know why,” snapped the commissioner. “I've no authority to give away medical supplies without permission.”

“Are you such an unfeeling octopus that you have to have permission to do a simple act of mercy?”

“Mind your tongue with me, Doctor! I told you I would radio home for instructions, and that I would discuss the matter with you here this evening. Now didn't I?” The black beard was thrust forth menacingly.

“So you did. And now you've finally brought what I need—about ten hours too late.”

“Eh? Too late for what?”

“To save a little girl,” Shann replied, almost in a whisper. “Her name—but it would mean nothing to you, and now it no longer matters. I've just come from burying her.”

Lanna gasped, and caught Mazal's stricken look. But before either of them could say anything, Shann spoke again, his voice suddenly harsh.

“So you've brought your pills, enough to immunize everybody. But I'm sure there'll be a price. What are you charging for them, Commissioner?”

The envoy of the New Order did not even bat an eye. “The two aircraft,” he said promptly.

Shann drew a long breath. “I can't fight you now. Take the aircraft. But you'll have to make your own arrangements about removing the smaller one.”

“I've already made arrangements,” came the smug reply. “There's just one more thing.”

“We've made our deal! Now let's have those pills!”

“Not—so—fast, Doctor. The aircraft are utterly worthless without a small part that has been taken from the mechanism of each. I want those parts.”

“I—I don't know what you're talking about,” Shann faltered.

“Don't trifle with me, Doctor! You
must
know.” Menacingly the commissioner tapped a plastic case he was carrying under one arm. “I have in here enough units to give everyone in High Harbor complete immunization. But without those parts you'll get not a one.”

“I told you I know nothing about them!” Shann cried, exasperated. “What kind of wretch are you that would let children die—”

“Wait a minute,” Mazal interrupted. “I remember …” She struck her clenched hands together, then added tensely, “Years ago Teacher told me to take those parts and keep them in a safe place—” Abruptly she whirled and ran into the cottage. She was back in seconds with a pair of small but heavy metallic boxes wrapped in thin plastic.

“Are these what you want? Teacher called them converters.”

“Converters,” said Dyce, his rumbling voice almost a purr. “Exactly.” He opened his case, removed several transparent bags filled with tiny blue pellets, replaced them with the two metallic boxes, and closed the case with the air of a man very pleased with what he has done.

“I trust,” he said, turning to leave, “that everyone is happy.”

“I'm not,” said Shann, thrusting the bags of pellets into Mazal's hands. “Just a moment!”

“Well?”

“Before you go, Commissioner, I'd better set some things straight. I'm not such a fool that I don't know what you're up to here. I'm certain now that you turned this virus loose on us purposely.”

“Nonsense! If you don't watch your tongue—”

“You dirty liar,” Shann told him in a shaking voice, “I know what you did! You and the New Order will stoop to anything to get what you want. You could have given us this stuff last night. You didn't need permission. So that not only makes you a liar, but a murderer. You would kill children! If you could have seen that little girl—”

“Shut up!” Dyce suddenly shot forth a big hand and straight-armed Shann with a force that sent the frail doctor staggering backward against the wall. It knocked the breath out of him. But only for a moment.

Gasping, Shann sprang toward the outthrust beard and seized it with both hands. He jerked, and there was such a burst of pent-up fury behind the jerk that Dyce was hurled down the steps and thrown flat on his back in the yard.

Shann leaped after him and snatched up a stone that edged the walk. “You damnable monster!” he cried. “Get out of my sight before I brain you!”

Lanna was not even aware that she had followed Shann until the commissioner had scrambled out of the yard and vanished in the dusk. Then she saw the heavy stick in her hand. It was one Mazal always kept on the porch for climbing, but she had no memory of getting it. She trembled and dropped the thing, and instantly forgot it as the first raindrops splashed in her face.

It was pouring before she could reach the porch.

“Thank you, God!” she breathed. “Oh, thank you!”

Then she realized that the threat to High Harbor had suddenly become greater than ever, and that the rain and a delayed meeting would change not a thing.

Some of Lanna's turmoil must have been communicated to Conan, for he was all at once shaken by a wave of worry that seemed to have nothing to do with his own predicament. In an effort to throw it off he tried to concentrate on the problem of locating his position in the darkness.

A brief glance at the compass under the red beam of the flashlight showed him that the needle was still unsteady. How long had he been drifting? A half hour? All of that, and possibly more. Would he have been carried a mile in that time?

He decided that wind and tide together would have taken him at least halfway to the rock. If, of course, he'd guessed right about the direction of the drift.

Then, with a sudden feeling of shock, he thought of something he knew he should have considered earlier. The tide had been coming in when he left the basin—but what was it doing now?

Teacher had said that the tide would be low at dawn. In that case it ought to be high now, or even beginning to ebb.

Instantly he began scrambling forward, climbing over the disorder of equipment and groping for the coil of line and the piece of broken concrete that, because of the scarcity of metal, had to serve as an anchor. He found the concrete finally, started to heave it over the bow, but thought better of it and began lowering it carefully. It was well that he did so, for he paid out nearly the entire coil before the line went slack, and when he reached the end he found that it had not been made fast to the cleat on the foredeck.

He whistled softly, shaken by the closeness of his escape. Losing the precious line would have been bad enough. But the depth of water was evidence that the tide had turned, and that he was already being carried out to sea.

After checking the towline to the other boat, he wrapped a blanket about him and tried to squirm into a comfortable position in the pile of gear.

He dozed and wakened intermittently. Finally he sat up with a start, suddenly aware that the mist had lifted. The pale-blue lights of the food factories were clearly visible ashore. And off to port, much nearer than he'd imagined, loomed the dark shape of the rock against a paling sky.

In seconds he had the anchor up and the boats headed for the rock.

After circling the huge mass, he closed in cautiously and anchored in two feet of water on the side away from town. It was almost dawn now, and he could easily make out the narrow, ragged beach fifty yards away. There was no sign of Teacher. But it was still early, and there would be plenty of time to walk here before the tide rose and flooded the beach.

As he waited he looked curiously at the cliff that rose straight above the strip of sand and rubble. It was little more than sixty feet high at this point, and it seemed to dwindle in the direction of Industria, but off to the left it continued to rise until it was lost in the dawn haze.

The Change had made the cliff, for the land had broken away as cleanly as if it had been cut with a knife. He was wondering if the fracture under the city extended this far when an odd grinding sound caught his attention. He glanced up and froze. Directly in front of him a broad section of the cliff was moving. In a kind of horrified wonder, he gaped at the slow-motion spectacle of countless tons of earth and rock, sliding and falling, faster and faster, until they crashed with a thunderous roar into the sea.

He sat gripping the gunwale, trembling, drenched by the outflung spray. Was the fracture breaking already? Then as the dawn brightened he made out several other spots where portions of the cliff had fallen. These were older falls, and they momentarily reassured him. But in the next breath his imagination took over and he became acutely aware of the danger of remaining on this coast.

Why didn't Teacher come?

Dawn turned to gray morning, and from seaward came the murmur of the tide that was now flowing in. Soon the narrow beach under the cliff was covered with water.

It was obvious at last that Teacher wasn't coming. Something had happened.

Sick at heart, Conan jerked back the cover of the tool chest and glanced through Teacher's instructions. Abruptly he threw them aside and snapped the cover in place. It was just as he'd thought. After rigging the sailing craft, he was to set out for High Harbor alone. Teacher had even drawn a rough chart, suggesting the best route to take.

Evidently Teacher, if he couldn't make it here, had little hope of ever reaching the other place. And how could he? A frail old man, nearly blind …

“What have they done with you?” Conan cried, beating his fist on the chest while he tried to think. “Did they lock you up somewhere?” Of course they had. For Teacher was Briac Roa, the most valuable piece of property the New Order could ever hope to own. They'd locked him up and probably set out guards, for by now Tellit would have reported that the two boats were missing, along with the new helper, and they'd know something was afoot.

What should he do? Go on to the other place, unload the boats, and slip back after dark and search for Teacher? The break in the cliff was miles away, and to go there and return would use up battery power he might be in need of later. But to remain here, in a spot so exposed …

The matter was suddenly decided for him. The throb of a distant motor caught his attention, and he jerked about in time to see what appeared to be a trawler just coming into view a half mile to seaward. Hurriedly he pulled up the anchor and moved his two boats around to the other side of the rock. Presently, from the edge of his hiding place, he was relieved to see the trawler moving steadily on up the coast, its ancient motor pounding with the dull beat of a primitive drum.

He had heard they had such a craft, but this was the first time he had seen it. So long as the thing was anywhere in the area, he didn't dare leave the rock in daylight.

To lessen the risk of being noticed, he moored the boats as close to the rock as possible, and went to the trouble of covering each one with pieces from the roll of gray plastic he had taken from the storehouse. Then he settled down to the long ordeal of watchful waiting, until daylight passed.

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