THE RED WAKE

Chapters 41&42

"I'M NOT going down there. No frigging way."

The look on Eugenia Frederick's face told Alan and Gordy that she would not be pushed one step further.

"Eugenia..."

"No, Alan. I'm not being difficult. I'm...I can't do it."

The rest of them stared at Eugenia. She had been quiet since Stanford's death. Now, as they stood staring out across the dark gulf that had once been known as the Grand Canyon, Alan Whitmore quietly considered throwing the woman over the edge.

Gordy Lundgren had taken a knapsack from the back of the Ford and was already weaving down the winding path that led to their destination.

Reed Maxwell stood nearby, communing in the silent mind-speech she shared with the quiet boy.

"We have no time," she said. "What you seek lies at the bottom of this canyon. But there are other forces searching for the Horn. He has guided us here in advance of those interests."

She aimed a heated glance in Eugenia's direction.

"But we're wasting what time we do have on her."

Eugenia turned in a flash, her eyes livid with rage.

"Then why don't you tell the little asshole to get down and bring it up here himself?"

She whirled back to Alan.

"I don't care what any of you guys do. But I am afraid of heights. If I try to go down that trail... I'll crack up. I'll lose it."

"But we can't leave you up here alone," Alan replied. "We don't know what we'll find down there. And more importantly, we don't know what may follow us down once we start the descent. You'd be on your own."

The quiet boy stepped down the path into the Canyon, but stopped, turned and looked back at the others for a moment. He smiled sweetly at Eugenia then turned on his heels and stepped into the deepening gloom.

"You'll be all alone up here in the dark when we're gone," Alan whispered dryly.

Eugenia stared at the retreating small figure as the others descended into the Canyon for a moment.

"I can't stay here," she said quietly, almost as if to herself.

They carried backpacks containing food and canteens of water, enough to last a couple of days. The unseasonably cold wind that blew through the canyon necessitated extra warm clothing.

Gordy and Alan carried little packets of charcoal briquettes, along with enough matches to provide light and warmth. Finally, each of the travelers carried at least two firearms. They had seen little evidence of human or alien activity since leaving Kansas, but they took the guns anyway.

Their path west of the Mississippi had been nearly deserted. Crossing the nation had given each of them enough reason to wonder if they might be among the last living people on Earth.

The path down to the canyon floor had once been a small winding road used by tourists and hikers. The travelers had no difficulty negotiating the twists and downward spirals that led to the bottom.

Alan grimaced. Once again, the quiet boy had selected an easy route toward their confrontation with the unknown. Alan could only shiver as he contemplated the possibilities that awaited them at the gorge's bottom.

He had no idea what the Horn actually was. The travelers had assumed that the Horn was a weapon. And Alan's knowledge, based upon memories borrowed from a dying woman's mind, was hazy, indistinct; images of a glowing sphere, immensely powerful, unpredictable, a semi- sentient force, nearly a life- form in its own right... but he could see nothing clearly.