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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/23426-h.zip b/23426-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4460539 --- /dev/null +++ b/23426-h.zip diff --git a/23426-h/23426-h.htm b/23426-h/23426-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..79c8dd4 --- /dev/null +++ b/23426-h/23426-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2360 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Last Place on Earth, by Jim Harmon + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + body { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; } + + p { text-align: justify; + margin: .75em auto .75em auto; + } + + h1, h2 { text-align: center; + clear: both; + } + + hr { display: none; } + + em, i { font-style: italic; font-weight: normal; } + + h2, + p.new-section { margin-top: 4em; } + + p.new-chapter:first-letter { float: left; + clear: left; + margin: 0 0.2em 0 0; + padding: 0; + font-size: 250%; + } + + p.new-section:first-letter { float: left; + clear: left; + margin: 0 0.2em 0 0; + padding: 0; + font-size: 250%; + } + + .center { text-align: center; } + + #tnote { width: 30em; + border: 1px dashed #808080; + background-color: #f6f6f6; + text-align: justify; + padding: 0.5em; + margin: 80px auto 80px auto; + } +// --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Last Place on Earth, by James Judson Harmon + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Last Place on Earth + +Author: James Judson Harmon + +Release Date: November 9, 2007 [EBook #23426] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST PLACE ON EARTH *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Jana Srna and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<p class="center" style="margin-top: 80px;"><big style="font-size: 1.4em;">Naturally an undertaker will get the last word.<br/> +But shouldn't he wait until his clients are dead?</big></p> + + + + +<h1>THE LAST PLACE ON EARTH</h1> + + +<p class="center">By JIM HARMON</p> + +<p class="center">Illustrated by Gaughan</p> + + + +<h2>I</h2> + + +<p class="new-chapter">Sam Collins flashed the undertaker +a healthy smile, +hoping it wouldn't depress +old Candle too much. He saluted. +The skeletal figure in +endless black nodded gravely, +and took hold of Sam Collins' +arm with a death grip.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to bury you, +Sam Collins," the undertaker +said.</p> + +<p>The tall false fronts of +Main Street spilled out a lake +of shadow, a canal of liquid +heat that soaked through the +iron weave of Collins' jeans +and turned into black ink +stains. The old window of the +hardware store showed its +age in soft wrinkles, ripples +that had caught on fire in the +sunset. Collins felt the twilight +stealing under the arms +of his tee-shirt. The overdue +hair on the back of his rangy +neck stood up in attention. +It was a joke, but the first +one Collins had ever known +Doc Candle to make.</p> + +<p>"In time, I guess you'll +bury me all right, Doc."</p> + +<p>"In my time, not yours, +Earthling."</p> + +<p>"Earthling?" Collins repeated +the last word.</p> + +<p>The old man frowned. His +face was a collection of lines. +When he frowned, all the +lines pointed to hell, the +grave, decay and damnation.</p> + +<p>"Earthling," the undertaker +repeated. "Earthman? Terrestrial? +Solarian? Space +Ranger? <i>Homo sapiens?</i>"</p> + +<p>Collins decided Candle was +sure in a jokey mood. "Kind +of makes you think of it, +don't it, Doc? The spaceport +going right up outside of +town. Rocketships are going +to be out there taking off for +the Satellite, the Moon, places +like that. Reminds you that +we <em>are</em> Earthlings, like they +say in the funnies, all right."</p> + +<p>"Not outside town."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Inside. Inside town. Part +of the spaceship administration +building is going to go +smack in the middle of where +your house used to be."</p> + +<p>"My house <em>is</em>."</p> + +<p>"For less time than you will +be yourself, Earthling."</p> + +<p>"Earthling yourself! What's +wrong with you, Doc?"</p> + +<p>"No. I am not an Earthling. +I am a superhuman alien from +outer space. My mission on +Earth is to destroy you."</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">Collins pulled away gently. +When you lived in a +town all your life and knew its +people, it wasn't unusual to +see some old person snap under +the weight of years.</p> + +<p>"You have to destroy the +rocketship station, huh, Doc, +before it sends up spaceships?"</p> + +<p>"No. I want to kill <em>you</em>. +That is my mission."</p> + +<p>"<em>Why?</em>"</p> + +<p>"Because," Candle said, "I +am a basically evil entity."</p> + +<p>The undertaker turned +away and went skittering +down Main Street, his lopsided +gait limping, sliding, +hopping, skipping, at a refined +leisurely pace. He was +a collection of dancing, +straight black lines.</p> + +<p>Collins stared after the old +man, shook his head and forgot +about him.</p> + +<p>He moved into the hardware +store. The bell tinkled +behind him. The store was +cramped with shadows and the +smell of wood and iron. It +was lined off as precisely as +a checkerboard, with counters, +drawers, compartments.</p> + +<p>Ed Michaels sat behind the +counter, smoking a pipe. He +was a handsome man, looking +young in the uncertain light, +even at fifty.</p> + +<p>"Hi, Ed. You closed?"</p> + +<p>"Guess not, Sam. What are +you looking for?"</p> + +<p>"A pound of tenpenny +nails."</p> + +<p>Michaels stood up.</p> + +<p>Sarah Comstock waddled +energetically out of the back. +Her sweet, angelic face lit up +with a smile. "Sam Collins. +Well, I guess <em>you'll</em> want to +help us murder them."</p> + +<p>"Murder?" Collins repeated. +"Who?"</p> + +<p>"Those Air Force men who +want to come in here and +cause all the trouble."</p> + +<p>"How are you going to +murder them, Mrs. Comstock?"</p> + +<p>"When they see our petition +in Washington, D.C., +they'll call those men back +pretty quick."</p> + +<p>"Oh," Collins said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Comstock produced +the scroll from her voluminous +handbag. "You want to +sign, don't you? They're going +to put part of the airport +on your place. They'll tear +down your house."</p> + +<p>"They can't tear it down. I +won't sell."</p> + +<p>"You know government +men. They'll just <em>take</em> it and +give you some money for it. +Sign right there at the top of +the new column, Sam."</p> + +<p>Collins shook his head. "I +don't believe in signing +things. They can't take what's +mine."</p> + +<p>"But Sam, dear, they <em>will</em>. +They'll come in and push +your house down with those +big tractors of theirs. They'll +bury it in concrete and set off +those guided missiles of theirs +right over it."</p> + +<p>"They can't make me get +out," Sam said.</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">Ed Michaels scooped up a +pound, one ounce of nails +and spilled them onto his +scale. He pinched off the excess, +then dropped it back in +and fed the nails into a brown +paper bag. He crumpled the +top and set it on the counter. +"That's twenty-nine plus one, +Sam. Thirty cents."</p> + +<p>Collins laid out a quarter +and a nickel and picked up +the bag. "Appreciate you doing +this after store hours, +Ed."</p> + +<p>Michaels chuckled. "I +wasn't exactly getting ready +for the opera, Sam."</p> + +<p>Collins turned around and +saw Sarah Comstock still +waiting, the petition in her +hand.</p> + +<p>"Now what's a pretty girl +like you doing, wasting her +time in politics?" Collins +heard himself ask.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Comstock twittered. +"I'm old enough to be your +mother, Sam Collins."</p> + +<p>"I like mature women."</p> + +<p>Collins watched his hand +in fascination as it reached +out to touch one of Sarah +Comstock's plump cheeks, +then dropped to her shoulder +and ripped away the strap-sleeve +of her summer print +dress.</p> + +<p>A plump, rosy shoulder was +revealed, splattered with +freckles.</p> + +<p>Sarah Comstock put her +hands over her ears as if to +keep from hearing her own +shrill scream. It reached out +into pure soprano range.</p> + +<p>Sarah Comstock backed +away, into the shadows, and +Sam Collins followed her, +trying to explain, to apologize.</p> + +<p>"Sam! <em>Sam!</em>"</p> + +<p>The voice cut through to +him and he looked up.</p> + +<p>Ed Michaels had a double-barreled +shotgun aimed at +him. Mrs. Michaels' face was +looking over his shoulder in +the door to the back, her face +a sick white.</p> + +<p>"You get out of here, Sam," +Michaels said. "You get out +and don't you come back. +Ever."</p> + +<p>Collins' hands moved emptily +in air. He was always +better with his hands than +words, but this time even +they seemed inexpressive.</p> + +<p>He crumpled the sack of +nails in both fists, and turned +and left the hardware store.</p> + + + +<h2>II</h2> + + +<p class="new-chapter">His house was still there, +sitting at the end of Elm +Street, at the end of town, on +the edge of the prairie. It +was a very old house. It was +decorated with gingerboard, +a rusted-out tin rooster-comb +running the peak of the roof +and stained glass window +transoms; and the top of the +house was joined to the +ground floor by lapped fishscales, +as though it was a +mermaid instead of a house. +The house was a golden +house. It had been painted +brown against the dust, but +the keening wind, the relentless +sun, the savage rape of +the thunderstorms, they had +all bleached the brown paint +into a shining pure gold.</p> + +<p>Sam stepped inside and +leaned back against the front +door, the door of full-length +glass with a border of glass +emeralds and rubies. He +leaned back and breathed +deep.</p> + +<p>The house didn't smell old. +It smelled new. It smelled +like sawdust and fresh-hewn +lumber as bright and blond +as a high school senior's +crewcut.</p> + +<p>He walked across the flowered +carpet. The carpet didn't +mind footsteps or bright sun. +It never became worn or +faded. It grew brighter with +the years, the roses turning +redder, the sunflowers becoming +yellower.</p> + +<p>The parlor looked the same +as it always did, clean and +waiting to be used. The cane-backed +sofa and chairs eagerly +waiting to be sat upon, the +bead-shaded kerosene lamps +ready to burst into light.</p> + +<p>Sam went into his workshop. +This had once been the +ground level master bedroom, +but he had had to make the +change. The work table held +its share of radios, toasters, +TV sets, an electric train, +a spring-wind Victrola. Sam +threw the nails onto the table +and crossed the room, running +his fingers along the silent +keyboard of the player piano. +He looked out the window. +The bulldozers had made the +ground rectangular, level and +brown, turning it into a gigantic +half-cent stamp. He +remembered the mail and +raised the window and +reached down into the mailbox. +It was on this side of +the house, because only this +side was technically within +city limits.</p> + +<p>As he came up with the +letters, Sam Collins saw a +man sighting along a plumbline +towards his house. He +shut the window.</p> + +<p>Some of the letters didn't +have any postage stamps, just +a line of small print about a +$300 fine. Government letters. +He went over and forced +them into the tightly packed +coal stove. All the trash would +be burned out in the cold +weather.</p> + +<p>Collins sat down and looked +through the rest of his mail. +A new catalogue of electronic +parts. A bulky envelope +with two paperback novels +by Richard S. Prather and +Robert Bloch he had ordered. +A couple of letters from +hams. He tossed the mail on +the table and leaned back.</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">He thought about what +had happened in the +hardware store.</p> + +<p>It wasn't surprising it had +happened to him. Things like +that were bound to happen to +him. He had just been lucky +that Ed Michaels hadn't +called the sheriff. What had +got into him? He had never +been a sex maniac before! +But still … it was hardly unexpected.</p> + +<p>Might as well wait to start +on those rabbit cages until +tomorrow, he decided. This +evening he felt like exploring.</p> + +<p>The house was so big, and +packed with so many things +that he never found and examined +them all. Or if he +did, he forgot a lot about the +things between times, so it +was like reading a favorite +book over again, always discovering +new things in it.</p> + +<p>The parlor was red in the +fading light, and the hall beyond +the sliding doors was +deeply shadowed. In the sewing +room, he remembered, in +the drawers of the treadle +machine the radio was captured. +The rings and secret +manuals of the days when +radio had been alive. He +hadn't looked over those +things in some little time.</p> + +<p>He looked up the shadowed +stairway. He remembered the +night, a few weeks before +Christmas when he had been +twelve and really too old to +believe, his mother had said +she was going up to see if +Santa Claus had left any +packages around a bit early. +They often gave him his presents +early, since they were +never quite sure he would +live until Christmas.</p> + +<p>But his mother had been +playing a trick on him. She +hadn't been going up after +packages. She had gone up +those stairs to murder his +father.</p> + +<p>She had shot him in the +back of the head with his +Army Colt .45 from the first +war. Collins never quite understood +why the hole in +back was so neat and the one +in front where it came out +was so messy.</p> + +<p>After he went to live with +Aunt Amy and the house had +been boarded up, he heard +them talking, Aunt Amy and +her boy friend, fat Uncle +Ralph. And they had said his +mother had murdered his +father because he had gone +ahead and made her get pregnant +again and she was afraid +it would be another one like +Sam.</p> + +<p>Sam Collins knew she must +have planned it a long time +in advance. She had filled up +the bathtub with milk, real +milk, and she went in after +she had done it and took a +bath in the milk. Then she +slit her wrists.</p> + +<p>When Sam Collins had run +down the stairs, screaming, +and barged into the bathroom, +he had found the tub looking +like a giant stick of peppermint +candy.</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">Aunt Amy had been good +to him.</p> + +<p>Because he didn't talk for +about a year after he found +the bodies, most people +thought he was simple-minded. +But Aunt Amy had always +treated him just like a +regular boy. That was embarrassing +sometimes, but still +it was better than what he +got from the others.</p> + +<p>The doctor hadn't wanted +to perform the operation on +his clubfoot. He said it would +be an unproductive waste of +his time and talent, that he +owed it to the world to use +them to the very best advantage. +Finally he agreed. The +operation took about thirty +seconds. He stuck a knife +into Sam's foot and went +<em>snick-snick</em>. A couple of +weeks later, his foot was +healed and it was just like +anybody else's. Aunt Amy +had paid him $500 in payments, +only he returned the +money order for the last fifty +dollars and wished them +Merry Christmas.</p> + +<p>Sam Collins could work +after that. When Aunty Amy +and Uncle Ralph disappeared, +he opened up the old house +and started doing odd jobs +for people who weren't very +afraid of him any more.</p> + +<p>That first day had been +quite a shock, when he discovered +that not in all these +years had anybody cleaned +the bathtub.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, when he was +taking his Saturday night +soaker he still got kind of a +funny feeling. But he knew +it was only rust from the +faucets.</p> + +<p>Collins sighed. It seemed +like a long time since he had +seen his mother coming down +those stairs….</p> + +<p>He stopped, his throat +aching with tightness.</p> + +<p>Something was very +strange.</p> + +<p>His mother was coming +down the stairs right now.</p> + +<p>She was walking down the +stairs, one step, two steps, +coming closer to him.</p> + +<p>Collins ran up the stairs, +prepared to run through the +phantom to prove it wasn't +there.</p> + +<p>The figure raised a gun +and pointed it at him.</p> + +<p>This time, she was going to +shoot <em>him</em>.</p> + +<p>It figured.</p> + +<p>He always had bad luck.</p> + +<p>"Stop!" the woman on the +stairs said. "Stop or I'll +shoot, Mr. Collins!"</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">Collins stopped, catching +to the bannister. He +squinted hard, and as a stereoptic +slide lost its depth +when you shut one eye, the +woman on the stairs was no +longer his mother. She was +young, pretty, brunette and +sweet-faced, and the gun she +held shrunk from an old +Army Colt to a .22 target pistol.</p> + +<p>"Who <em>are</em> you?" Collins +demanded.</p> + +<p>The girl took a grip on the +gun with both hands and held +it steady on him.</p> + +<p>"I'm Nancy Comstock," +she said. "You tried to assault +my mother a half hour +ago."</p> + +<p>"Oh," he said. "I've never +seen you before."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you have. I've been +away to school a lot, but +you've seen me around. I've +had my eye on you. I know +about men like you. I know +what has to be done. I came +looking for you in your +house for this."</p> + +<p>The bore of the gun was +level with his eye as he stood +a few steps below her. Probably +if she fired now, she +would kill him. Or more likely +he would only be blinded +or paralyzed; that was about +his luck.</p> + +<p>"Are you going to use +that gun?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not unless I have to. I +only brought it along for protection. +I came to help you, +Mr. Collins."</p> + +<p>"Help me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Collins. You're +sick. You need help."</p> + +<p>He looked the girl over. +She was a half-dozen years +younger than he was. In most +states, she couldn't even vote +yet. But still, maybe she +could help, at that. He didn't +know much about girls and +their abilities.</p> + +<p>"Why don't we go into the +kitchen and have some coffee?" +Collins suggested.</p> + + + +<h2>III</h2> + + +<p class="new-chapter">Nancy sipped her coffee +and kept her eyes on his. +The gun lay in her lap. The +big kitchen was a place for +coffee, brown and black, wood +ceiling and iron stove and +pans. Collins sat across the +twelve square feet of table +from her, and nursed the +smoking mug.</p> + +<p>"Sam, I want you to take +whatever comfort you can +from the fact that I don't +think the same thing about +you as the rest of Waraxe."</p> + +<p>"What does the rest of the +town think about me?"</p> + +<p>"They think you are a +pathological degenerate who +should be lynched. But I +don't believe that."</p> + +<p>"Thanks. That's a big comfort."</p> + +<p>"I know what you were after +when you tore Mom's +dress."</p> + +<p>In spite of himself, Collins +felt his face warming in a +blush.</p> + +<p>"You were only seeking the +mother love you missed as a +boy," the girl said.</p> + +<p>Collins chewed on his lip a +moment, and considered the +idea. Slowly he shook his +head.</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "No. I don't +think so."</p> + +<p>"Then what do you think?"</p> + +<p>"I think old Doc Candle +<em>made</em> me do it. He said he +was going to bury me. Getting +me lynched would be +one good way to do it. Ed +Michaels almost blew my +head off with his shotgun. It +was close. Doc Candle almost +made it. He didn't miss by +far with you and that target +pistol either."</p> + +<p>"Sam—I may call you +'Sam'?—just try to think +calmly and reasonably for a +minute. How could Dr. Candle, +the undertaker, possibly +make you do a thing like you +did in Mr. Michaels' hardware +store?"</p> + +<p>"Well … he <em>said</em> he was a +superhuman alien from outer +space."</p> + +<p>"If he said that, do you believe +him, Sam?"</p> + +<p>"<em>Something</em> made me do +that. It just wasn't my own +idea."</p> + +<p>"It's easier that way, isn't +it, Sam?" Nancy asked. "It's +easy to say. 'It wasn't me; +some space monster made me +do it.' But you really know +better, don't you, Sam? Don't +take the easy way out! You'll +only get deeper and deeper +into your makebelieve world. +It will be like quicksand. Admit +your mistakes—face up +to them—<em>lick them</em>."</p> + +<p>Collins stood up, and came +around the end of the table.</p> + +<p>"You're too pretty to be so +serious all the time," he said.</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">"Sam, I want to help you. +Please don't spoil it by +misinterpreting my intentions."</p> + +<p>"You should get a little +fun out of life," Collins listened +to himself say.</p> + +<p>He came on around the big +table towards her.</p> + +<p>The first time he hadn't +realized what was happening, +but this time he knew. Somebody +was pulling strings and +making him jump. He had as +much control as Charlie McCarthy.</p> + +<p>"Don't come any closer, +Sam."</p> + +<p>Nancy managed to keep +her voice steady, but he could +tell she was frightened.</p> + +<p>He took another step.</p> + +<p>She threw her coffee in his +face.</p> + +<p>The liquid was only lukewarm +but the sudden dash +had given him some awareness +of his own body again, +like the first sound of the +alarm faintly pressing through +deep layers of sleep.</p> + +<p>"Sam, Sam, <em>please</em> don't +make me do it! Please, Sam, +<em>don't</em>!"</p> + +<p>Nancy had the gun in her +hand, rising from her chair.</p> + +<p>His hands wanted to grab +her clothes and <em>tear</em>.</p> + +<p>But that's <em>suicide</em>, he +screamed at his body.</p> + +<p>As his hand went up with +the intention of ripping, he +deflected it just enough to +shove the barrel of the gun +away from him.</p> + +<p>The shot went off, but he +knew instantly that it had +not hit him.</p> + +<p>The gun fell to the floor, +and with its fall, something +else dropped away and he was +in command of himself again.</p> + +<p>Nancy sighed, and slumped +against him, the left side of +her breast suddenly glossy +with blood.</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">Ed Michaels stared at him. +Both eyes unblinking, just +staring at <em>him</em>. He had only +taken one look at the girl +lying on the floor, blood all +over her chest. He hadn't +looked back.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know who else to +call, Ed." Collins said. "Sheriff +Thurston being out of +town and all."</p> + +<p>"It's okay, Sam. Mike +swore me in as a special +deputy a couple years back. +The badge is at the store."</p> + +<p>"They'll hang me for this, +won't they, Ed?"</p> + +<p>Michaels put his hand on +Collins' shoulder. "No, they +won't do that to you, boy. We +know you around here. They'll +just put you away for a +while."</p> + +<p>"The asylum at Hannah, +huh?"</p> + +<p>"Damn it, yes! What did +you expect? A marksman +medal?"</p> + +<p>"Okay, Ed, okay. Did you +call Doc Van der Lies like +I told you when I phoned?"</p> + +<p>Michaels took a folded +white handkerchief from his +pocket and wiped his square-jawed +face. "You sure are +taking this calm, Sam. I'm +telling you, Sam, it would +look better for you if you at +least <em>acted</em> like you were sorry…. Doc +Van der Lies is up +in Wisconsin with Mike. I +called Doc Candle."</p> + +<p>"He's an undertaker," Collins +whispered.</p> + +<p>"Don't you expect we need +one?" Michaels asked. Then +as if he wasn't sure of the +answer to his own question, +he said, "Did you examine +her to see if she was dead? +I—I don't know much about +women. I wouldn't be able to +tell."</p> + +<p>It didn't sound like a very +good excuse to Collins.</p> + +<p>"I guess she's dead," Collins +said. "That's the way he +must have wanted it."</p> + +<p>"<em>He?</em> Wait a minute, Sam. +You mean you've got one of +those split personalities like +that girl on TV the other +night? There's somebody else +inside you that takes over and +makes you do things?"</p> + +<p>"I never thought of it just +like that before. I guess that's +one way to look at it."</p> + +<p>The knock shook the back +door before Michaels could +say anything. The door +opened and Doc Candle slithered +in disjointedly, a rolled-up +stretcher over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Hello, boys," Candle said. +"A terrible accident, it brings +sorrow to us all. Poor Nancy. +Has the family been notified?"</p> + +<p>"Good gosh, I forgot about +it," Michaels said. "But maybe +we better wait until you +get her—arranged, huh, Doc?"</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">"Quite so." The old man +laid the canvas stretcher +out beside the girl on +the floor and unrolled it. He +flipped the body over expertly +like a window demonstrator +flipping a pancake over +on a griddle.</p> + +<p>"Ed, if you'd just take the +front, I'll carry the rear. My +vehicle is in the alley."</p> + +<p>"Sam, you carry that end +for Doc. You're a few years +younger."</p> + +<p>Collins wanted to say that +he couldn't, but he didn't +have enough yet to argue +with. He picked up the +stretcher and looked down at +the white feet in the Scotch +plaid slippers.</p> + +<p>Candle opened the door and +waited for them to go +through.</p> + +<p>The girl on the stretcher +parted her lips and rolled her +head back and forth, a puzzled +expression of pain on her +face.</p> + +<p>Collins nearly dropped the +stretcher, but he made himself +hold on tight.</p> + +<p>"Ed! Doc! She moved! +She's still <em>alive</em>."</p> + +<p>"Cut that out now, Sam," +Ed Michaels snapped. "Just +carry your end."</p> + +<p>"She's alive," Collins insisted. +"She moved again. +Just turn around and take a +look, Ed. That's all I ask."</p> + +<p>"I hefted this thing once, +and that's enough. You <em>move</em>, +Sam. I've got a .38 in my belt, +and I went to Rome, Italy, +for the Olympics about the +time you were getting yourself +born, Sam. I ought to be +able to hit a target as big as +you. Just go ahead and do as +you're told."</p> + +<p>Collins turned desperately +towards Candle. Maybe Nancy +had been right, maybe he +had been imagining things.</p> + +<p>"Doc, you take a look at +her," Collins begged.</p> + +<p>The old man vibrated over +to the stretcher and looked +down. The girl twisted in +pain, throwing her head back, +spilling her hair over the +head of the stretcher.</p> + +<p>"Rigor mortis," Doc Candle +diagnosed, with a wink to +Collins.</p> + +<p>"No, Doc! She needs a doctor, +blood transfusions…."</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">"Nonsense," Candle +snapped. "I'll take her +in my black wagon up to my +place, put her in the tiled +basement. I'll pump out all +her blood and flush it down +the commode. Then I'll feed +in Formaldi-Forever Number +Zero. Formaldi-Forever, for +the Blush of Death. 'When +you think of a Pretty Girl, +think of Formaldi-Forever, +the Way to Preserve that +Beauty.' Then I'll take a +needle and some silk thread +and just a few stitches on +the eyelids and around the +mouth…."</p> + +<p>"Doc, will you…?" Michaels +said faintly.</p> + +<p>"Of course. I just wanted +to show Sam how foolish he +was in saying the Beloved +was still alive."</p> + +<p>Nancy kicked one leg off +the stretcher and Candle +picked it up and tucked it +back in.</p> + +<p>"Ed, if you'd just turn +around and <em>look</em>." Collins +said.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to have to +look at your face, you murdering +son. You make me, +you say one more word, and +I'll turn around and shoot +you between the eyes."</p> + +<p>Doc Candle nodded. Collins +knew then that Michaels +really would shoot him in +the head if he said anything +more, so he kept quiet.</p> + +<p>Candle held the door. They +managed to get the stretcher +down the back steps, and +right into the black panel +truck. They fitted the stretcher +into the special sockets +for it, and Doc Candle closed +the double doors and slapped +his dry palm down on the +sealing crevice.</p> + +<p>Instantly, there was an answering +knock from inside the +truck, a dull echo.</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">"Didn't you hear that?" +Collins asked.</p> + +<p>"Hear what?" Michaels +said.</p> + +<p>"What are you hearing +now, Sam?" Candle inquired +solicitously.</p> + +<p>"Oh. Sure," Michaels said. +"Kind of a <em>voice</em>, wasn't it, +Sam? Didn't understand what +it said. Wasn't listening too +close, not like you."</p> + +<p><em>Thud-thud-thump-thud.</em></p> + +<p>"No voice," Collins whispered. +"That infernal sound, +don't you hear it, Ed?"</p> + +<p>"I must hurry along," the +undertaker said. "Must get +ready to work on Nancy, get +her ready for her parents to +see."</p> + +<p>"All right, Doc. I'll take +care of Sam."</p> + +<p>"Where you going to jail +me, Ed?" Collins asked, his +eyes on the closed truck +doors. "In your storeroom +like you did Hank Petrie?"</p> + +<p>Michaels' face suddenly began +to work. "Jail? Jail you? +Jail's too good for you. Doc, +have you got a tow rope in +that truck?"</p> + +<p>Ed Michaels was the best +shot in town, probably one +of the best marksmen in the +world. He had been in the +Olympics about thirty years +ago. He was Waraxe's one +claim to fame. But he wasn't +a cowboy. He wasn't a fast +draw.</p> + +<p>Collins put all of his +weight behind his left fist +and landed it on the point of +Michaels' jaw, just the way +boys jumped onto him.</p> + +<div style="margin: 2em auto 2em auto; width: 427px;"> +<img src="images/illustration.png" width="427" height="600" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>Michaels sprawled out, +spread-eagled.</p> + +<p>Then Collins wanted to +take the revolver out of Ed's +belt, and press it into Ed's +hand, curling his fingers +around the grip and over the +trigger, and then he wanted +to shake Ed awake, slap his +face and shake him….</p> + +<p>Collins spun around, clawed +open the door to the truck +cab and threw himself behind +the steering wheel.</p> + +<p>He stopped wanting to +make Ed Michaels shoot him.</p> + +<p>He flipped the ignition +switch, levered the floor shift +and drove away.</p> + +<p>And he was going to drive +on and on and on and on.</p> + +<p>And on and on and on.</p> + + + +<h2>IV</h2> + + +<p class="new-chapter">Collins turned onto the +old McHenty blacktop, his +foot pressed to the floorboards. +Ed Michaels didn't +own a car; he would have to +borrow one from somebody. +That would take time. Maybe +Candle would give him his +hearse to use to follow the +Black Rachel.</p> + +<p>Trees, fences, barns whizzed +past the windows of the +cab and then the steel link-mesh +fence took up, the fence +surrounding the New Kansas +National Spaceport. Behind +it, further from town, some +of the concrete had been +poured and the horizon was a +remote, sterile gray sweep.</p> + +<p>The McHenty Road would +soon be closed to civilian +traffic. But right now +the government wanted people +to drive along and see that +the spaceship was nothing +terrible, nothing to fear.</p> + +<p>The girl, Nancy Comstock, +was alive in the back. He +knew that. But he couldn't +stop to prove it or to help +her. Candle would make them +lynch him first.</p> + +<p>Why hadn't Candle stopped +him from getting away?</p> + +<p>He had managed to break +his control for a second. He +had done that before when +he deflected Nancy's aim. +But he couldn't resist Candle +for long. Why hadn't Candle +made him turn around and +come back?</p> + +<p>Candle's control of him had +seemed to stop when he got +inside the cab of the truck. +Could it be that the metal +shield of the cab could protect +an Earthling from the +strange mental powers of the +creature from another planet +which was inhabiting the +body of Doc Candle?</p> + +<p>Collins shook his head.</p> + +<p>More likely Candle was doing +this just to get his hopes +up. He probably would seize +control of him any time he +wanted to. But Collins decided +to go on playing it as if +he did have some hope, as if +a shield of metal could protect +him from Candle's control. +Otherwise … there was +no otherwise.</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">Collins suddenly saw an +opening.</p> + +<p>The steel mesh fence was +ruptured by a huge semitrailer +truck turned on its +side. Twenty feet of fence on +either side was down. This +was restricted government +property, but of course spaceships +were hardly prime military +secrets any longer. Repairs +in the fence had not +been made instantaneously, +and the wreckage was not +guarded.</p> + +<p>Collins swerved the wheel +and drove the old wagon +across the waffle-plate obstruction, +onto the smooth +tarmac beyond.</p> + +<p>He raced, raced, raced +through the falling night, not +sure where he was headed.</p> + +<p>Up above he saw the shelter +of shadows from a cluster +of half-finished buildings. He +drove into them and parked.</p> + +<p>Collins sat still for a moment, +then threw open the +door and ran around to the +back of the truck, jerking +open the handles.</p> + +<p>Nancy fell out into his +arms.</p> + +<p>"What kind of ambulance +is this?" she demanded. "It +doesn't look like an ambulance. +It doesn't smell like an +ambulance. It looks like—looks +like—"</p> + +<p>Collins said, "Shut up. Get +out of there. We've got to +hide."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"They think I murdered +you."</p> + +<p>"Murdered me? But I'm +alive. Can't they see I'm +alive?"</p> + +<p>Collins shook his head. "I +doubt it. I don't know why, +but I don't think it would be +that simple. Come with me."</p> + +<p>The blood on her breast +had dried, and he could see +it was only a shallow groove +dug by the bullet. But she +flinched in pain as she began +to walk, pulling the muscles.</p> + +<p>They stopped and leaned +against a half-finished metallic +shed.</p> + +<p>"Where are we? Where are +you taking me?"</p> + +<p>"This is the spaceport. Now +shut up."</p> + +<p>"Let me go."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"I'm not dead," Nancy insisted. +"You know I'm not +dead. I won't press charges +against you—just let me go +free."</p> + +<p>"I told you it wasn't that +simple. He wants them to +think you're dead, and that's +what they'll think."</p> + +<p>Nancy passed fingers +across her eyes. "Who? Who +are you talking about?"</p> + +<p>"Doc Candle. He won't let +them know you're alive."</p> + +<p>Nancy rubbed her forehead +with both hands. "Sam, you +don't know what you're doing. +You don't—know what +you're getting yourself into. +Just let me show myself to +someone. They'll know I'm +not dead. Really they will."</p> + +<p>"Okay," he said. "Let's find +somebody."</p> + +<p>He led her toward a more +nearly completed building, +showing rectangles of +light. They looked through +the windows to see several +men in uniforms bending over +blueprints on a desk jury-rigged +of sawhorses and +planks.</p> + +<p>"Sam," Nancy said, "one of +those men is Terry Elston. +He's a Waraxe boy. I went to +school with him. He'll know +me. Let's go in…."</p> + +<p>"No," Collins said. "We +don't go in."</p> + +<p>"But—" Nancy started to +protest, but stopped. "Wait. +He's coming out."</p> + +<p>Collins slid along the wall +and stood behind the door. +"Tell him who you are when +he comes out. I'll stay here."</p> + +<p>They waited. After a few +seconds, the door opened.</p> + +<p>Nancy stepped into the rectangle +of light thrown on the +concrete from the window.</p> + +<p>"Terry," she said. "Terry, +it's me—Nancy Comstock."</p> + +<p>The blue-jawed young man +in uniform frowned. "Who +did you say you were? Have +you got clearance from this +area?"</p> + +<p>"It's me, Terry. Nancy. +Nancy Comstock."</p> + +<p>Terry Elston stepped front +and center. "That's not a very +good joke. I knew Nancy. +Hell of a way to die, killed +by some maniac."</p> + +<p>"Terry, <em>I'm</em> Nancy. Don't +you recognize me?"</p> + +<p>Elston squinted. "You look +familiar. You look a little like +Nancy. But you can't be her, +because she's dead."</p> + +<p>"I'm here, and I tell you +I'm <em>not</em> dead."</p> + +<p>"Nancy's dead," Elston repeated +mechanically. "Say, +what are you trying to pull?"</p> + +<p>"Terry, behind you. A maniac!"</p> + +<p>"Sure," Elston said. "Sure. +There's a maniac <em>behind</em> me."</p> + +<p>Collins stepped forward +and hit Elston behind the ear. +He fell silently.</p> + +<p>Nancy stared down at him.</p> + +<p>"He refused to recognize +me. He acted like I was crazy, +pretending to be Nancy Comstock."</p> + +<p>"Come on along," Collins +urged. "They'll probably +shoot us on sight as trespassers."</p> + +<p>She looked around herself +without comprehension.</p> + +<p>"Which way?"</p> + +<p>"<em>This way.</em>"</p> + +<p>Collins did not say those +words.</p> + +<p>They were said by the man +with the gun in the uniform +like the one worn by Elston. +He motioned impatiently.</p> + +<p>"This way, this way."</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">"No priority," Colonel +Smith-Boerke said as +he paced back and forth, gun +in hand.</p> + +<p>From time to time he +waved it threateningly at Collins +and Nancy who sat on +the couch in Smith-Boerke's +office. They had been sitting +for close to two hours. Collins +now knew the Colonel +did not intend to turn him +over to the authorities. They +were being held for reasons +of Smith-Boerke's own.</p> + +<p>"They sneak the ship in +here, plan for an unscheduled +hop from an uncompleted +base—the strictest security +we've used in ten or fifteen +years—and now they cancel +it. This is bound to get +leaked by somebody! They'll +call it off. It'll never fly +now."</p> + +<p>Collins sat quietly. He had +been listening to this all evening. +Smith-Boerke had been +drinking, although it wasn't +very obvious.</p> + +<p>Smith-Boerke turned to +Collins.</p> + +<p>"I've been waiting for +somebody like you. Just +waiting for you to come +along. And here you are, a +wanted fugitive, completely +in my power! Perfect, <em>perfect</em>."</p> + +<p>Collins nodded to himself. +Of course, Colonel Smith-Boerke +had been waiting for +him. And Doc Candle had +driven him right to him. It +was inescapable. He had been +intended to escape and turn +up right here all along.</p> + +<p>"What do you want with +me?"</p> + +<p>Smith-Boerke's flushed +face brightened. "You want +to become a hero? A hero so +big that all these trumped-up +charges against you will be +dropped? It'll be romantic. +Back to Lindbergh-to-Paris. +Tell me, Collins, how would +you like to be the first man +to travel faster than light?"</p> + +<p>Collins knew there was no +way out.</p> + +<p>"All right," he said.</p> + +<p>Smith-Boerke wiped a +hand across his dry mouth.</p> + +<p>"Project Silver <em>has</em> to come +off. My whole career depends +on it. You don't have anything +to do. Everything's cybernetic. +Just ride along and +prove a human being can survive. +Nothing to it. No hyperdrives, +none of that kind of +stuff. We had an engine that +could go half lightspeed and +now we've made it twice as +efficient and more. No superstitions +about Einstein, I +hope? No? Good."</p> + +<p>"I'll go," Collins said. "But +what if I had said 'no'."</p> + +<p>Smith-Boerke put the gun +away in a desk drawer.</p> + +<p>"Then you could have +walked out of here, straight +into the MP's."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't they come in +here after me?"</p> + +<p>"They don't have security +clearance for this building."</p> + +<p>"<em>Don't</em> leave me alone," +Nancy said urgently. "I don't +understand what's happening. +I feel so helpless. I need +help."</p> + +<p>"You're asking the wrong +man," Collins said briefly.</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">Collins felt safe when +the airlock kissed shut its +metal lips.</p> + +<p>It was not like the house, +but yet he felt safe, surrounded +by all the complicated, +expensive electronic +equipment. It was big, solid, +sterilely gleaming.</p> + +<p>Another thing—he had reason +to believe that Doc Candle's +power could not reach +him through metal.</p> + +<p>"But I'm not outside," Doc +Candle said, "I'm in here, +with you."</p> + +<p>Collins yelled and cursed, +he tried to pull off the acceleration +webbing and claw +through the airlock. Nobody +paid any attention to him. +Count downs had been automated. +Smith-Boerke was +handling this one himself, +and he cut off the Audio-In +switch from the spaceship. +Doc Candle said nothing else +for a moment, and the spaceship, +almost an entity itself, +went on with its work.</p> + +<p>The faster-than-light spaceship +took off.</p> + +<p>At first it was like any +other rocket takeoff.</p> + +<p>The glow of its exhaust +spread over the field of the +spaceport, then over the hills +and valleys, and then the +town of Waraxe, spreading +illumination even as far as +Sam Collins' silent house.</p> + +<p>After a time of being sick, +Collins lay back and accepted +this too.</p> + +<p>"That's right, that's it," +Doc Candle said. "Take it +and die with it. That's the +ticket."</p> + +<p>Collins' eyes settled on a +gauge. Three quarters lightspeed. +Climbing.</p> + +<p>Nothing strange, nothing +untoward happened when you +reached lightspeed. It was +only an arbitrary number. All +else was superstition. Forget +it, forget it, forget it.</p> + +<p><em>Something</em> was telling him +that. At first he thought it +was Doc Candle but then he +knew it was the ship.</p> + +<p>Collins sat back and took it, +and what he was taking was +death. It was creeping over +him, seeping into his feet, +filling him like liquid does +a sponge.</p> + +<p>Not will, but curiosity, +caused him to turn his head.</p> + +<p>He saw Doc Candle.</p> + +<p>The old body was dying. +He was in the emergency +seat, broken, a ribbon of +blood lacing his chin. But +Doc Candle continued to +laugh triumphantly in Collins' +head.</p> + +<p>"Why? Why do you have +to kill me?" Collins asked.</p> + +<p>"Because I am evil."</p> + +<p>"How do you know you're +evil?"</p> + +<p>"<em>They told me so!</em>" Candle +shouted back in the thundering +silence of Death's +approach. "They were always +saying I was bad."</p> + +<p><em>They.</em></p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">Collins got a picture of +something incredibly old +and incredibly wise, but long +unused to the young, clumsy +gods. Something that could +mar the molding of a godling +and make it mortal.</p> + +<p>"But I'm not really so very +bad," Doc Candle went on. +"I had to destroy, but I +picked someone who really +didn't care if he were destroyed +or not. An almost absolutely +passive human being, +Sam. You."</p> + +<p>Collins nodded.</p> + +<p>"And even then," said the +superhuman alien from outer +space, "I could not just destroy. +I have created a work +of art."</p> + +<p>"Work of art?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I have taken your +life and turned it into a horror +story, Sam! A chilling, +demonic, black-hearted horror!"</p> + +<p>Collins nodded again.</p> + +<p><em>LIGHTSPEED.</em></p> + +<p>There was finally something +human within Sam Collins +that he could not deny. +He wanted to live. It wasn't +true. He did care what happened.</p> + +<p>You do? said somebody.</p> + +<p>He does? asked somebody +else, surprised, and suddenly +he again got the image of +wiser, older creatures, a little +ashamed because of what +they had done to the creature +named Doc Candle.</p> + +<p>He does, chorused several +voices, and Sam Collins cried +aloud: "I do! I want to live!" +They were just touching +lightspeed; he felt it.</p> + +<p>This time it was not just +a biological response. He really +wanted help. He wanted +to stay alive.</p> + +<p>From the older, wiser voices +he got help, though he never +knew how; he felt the ship +move slipwise under him, and +then a crash.</p> + +<p>And Doc Candle got help +too, the only help even the +older, wiser ones could give +him.</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="new-section">They pulled him out of +the combined wreckage of +the spaceship and his house. +Both were demolished.</p> + +<p>It was strange how the +spaceship Sam Collins was on +crashed right into his house. +Ed Michaels recalled a time +in a tornado when Sy Baxter's +car was picked up, lifted +across town and dropped +into his living room.</p> + +<p>When the men from the +spaceport lifted away tons of +rubble, they found him and +said, "He's dead."</p> + +<p>No, I'm not, Collins +thought. I'm alive.</p> + +<p>And then they saw that he +really was alive, that he had +come through it alive somehow, +and nobody remembered +anything like it since the +airliner crash in '59.</p> + +<p>A while later, after they +found Doc Candle's body and +court-martialed Smith-Boerke, +who took drugs, Nancy +was nuzzling him on his +hospital bed. It was nice, +but he wasn't paying much +attention.</p> + +<p>I'm free, Collins thought as +the girl hugged him. <em>Free!</em> +He kissed her.</p> + +<p>Well, he thought while she +was kissing him back, as +free as I want to be, anyway.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right; font-weight: bold; margin-top: 2em;">END</p> + +<p id="tnote"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b><br/> +This e-text was produced from <cite>Worlds of If January 1962</cite>. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this +publication was renewed.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Last Place on Earth, by James Judson Harmon + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST PLACE ON EARTH *** + +***** This file should be named 23426-h.htm or 23426-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2/23426/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Jana Srna and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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b/23426.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1489 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Last Place on Earth, by James Judson Harmon + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Last Place on Earth + +Author: James Judson Harmon + +Release Date: November 9, 2007 [EBook #23426] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST PLACE ON EARTH *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Jana Srna and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +Naturally an undertaker will get the last word. +But shouldn't he wait until his clients are dead? + + + + +THE LAST PLACE ON EARTH + + +By JIM HARMON + +Illustrated by Gaughan + + + + +I + + +Sam Collins flashed the undertaker a healthy smile, hoping it wouldn't +depress old Candle too much. He saluted. The skeletal figure in endless +black nodded gravely, and took hold of Sam Collins' arm with a death +grip. + +"I'm going to bury you, Sam Collins," the undertaker said. + +The tall false fronts of Main Street spilled out a lake of shadow, a +canal of liquid heat that soaked through the iron weave of Collins' +jeans and turned into black ink stains. The old window of the hardware +store showed its age in soft wrinkles, ripples that had caught on fire +in the sunset. Collins felt the twilight stealing under the arms of his +tee-shirt. The overdue hair on the back of his rangy neck stood up in +attention. It was a joke, but the first one Collins had ever known Doc +Candle to make. + +"In time, I guess you'll bury me all right, Doc." + +"In my time, not yours, Earthling." + +"Earthling?" Collins repeated the last word. + +The old man frowned. His face was a collection of lines. When he +frowned, all the lines pointed to hell, the grave, decay and damnation. + +"Earthling," the undertaker repeated. "Earthman? Terrestrial? Solarian? +Space Ranger? _Homo sapiens?_" + +Collins decided Candle was sure in a jokey mood. "Kind of makes you +think of it, don't it, Doc? The spaceport going right up outside of +town. Rocketships are going to be out there taking off for the +Satellite, the Moon, places like that. Reminds you that we _are_ +Earthlings, like they say in the funnies, all right." + +"Not outside town." + +"What?" + +"Inside. Inside town. Part of the spaceship administration building is +going to go smack in the middle of where your house used to be." + +"My house _is_." + +"For less time than you will be yourself, Earthling." + +"Earthling yourself! What's wrong with you, Doc?" + +"No. I am not an Earthling. I am a superhuman alien from outer space. My +mission on Earth is to destroy you." + + * * * * * + +Collins pulled away gently. When you lived in a town all your life and +knew its people, it wasn't unusual to see some old person snap under the +weight of years. + +"You have to destroy the rocketship station, huh, Doc, before it sends +up spaceships?" + +"No. I want to kill _you_. That is my mission." + +"_Why?_" + +"Because," Candle said, "I am a basically evil entity." + +The undertaker turned away and went skittering down Main Street, his +lopsided gait limping, sliding, hopping, skipping, at a refined +leisurely pace. He was a collection of dancing, straight black lines. + +Collins stared after the old man, shook his head and forgot about him. + +He moved into the hardware store. The bell tinkled behind him. The store +was cramped with shadows and the smell of wood and iron. It was lined +off as precisely as a checkerboard, with counters, drawers, +compartments. + +Ed Michaels sat behind the counter, smoking a pipe. He was a handsome +man, looking young in the uncertain light, even at fifty. + +"Hi, Ed. You closed?" + +"Guess not, Sam. What are you looking for?" + +"A pound of tenpenny nails." + +Michaels stood up. + +Sarah Comstock waddled energetically out of the back. Her sweet, angelic +face lit up with a smile. "Sam Collins. Well, I guess _you'll_ want to +help us murder them." + +"Murder?" Collins repeated. "Who?" + +"Those Air Force men who want to come in here and cause all the +trouble." + +"How are you going to murder them, Mrs. Comstock?" + +"When they see our petition in Washington, D.C., they'll call those men +back pretty quick." + +"Oh," Collins said. + +Mrs. Comstock produced the scroll from her voluminous handbag. "You want +to sign, don't you? They're going to put part of the airport on your +place. They'll tear down your house." + +"They can't tear it down. I won't sell." + +"You know government men. They'll just _take_ it and give you some money +for it. Sign right there at the top of the new column, Sam." + +Collins shook his head. "I don't believe in signing things. They can't +take what's mine." + +"But Sam, dear, they _will_. They'll come in and push your house down +with those big tractors of theirs. They'll bury it in concrete and set +off those guided missiles of theirs right over it." + +"They can't make me get out," Sam said. + + * * * * * + +Ed Michaels scooped up a pound, one ounce of nails and spilled them onto +his scale. He pinched off the excess, then dropped it back in and fed +the nails into a brown paper bag. He crumpled the top and set it on the +counter. "That's twenty-nine plus one, Sam. Thirty cents." + +Collins laid out a quarter and a nickel and picked up the bag. +"Appreciate you doing this after store hours, Ed." + +Michaels chuckled. "I wasn't exactly getting ready for the opera, Sam." + +Collins turned around and saw Sarah Comstock still waiting, the petition +in her hand. + +"Now what's a pretty girl like you doing, wasting her time in politics?" +Collins heard himself ask. + +Mrs. Comstock twittered. "I'm old enough to be your mother, Sam +Collins." + +"I like mature women." + +Collins watched his hand in fascination as it reached out to touch one +of Sarah Comstock's plump cheeks, then dropped to her shoulder and +ripped away the strap-sleeve of her summer print dress. + +A plump, rosy shoulder was revealed, splattered with freckles. + +Sarah Comstock put her hands over her ears as if to keep from hearing +her own shrill scream. It reached out into pure soprano range. + +Sarah Comstock backed away, into the shadows, and Sam Collins followed +her, trying to explain, to apologize. + +"Sam! _Sam!_" + +The voice cut through to him and he looked up. + +Ed Michaels had a double-barreled shotgun aimed at him. Mrs. Michaels' +face was looking over his shoulder in the door to the back, her face a +sick white. + +"You get out of here, Sam," Michaels said. "You get out and don't you +come back. Ever." + +Collins' hands moved emptily in air. He was always better with his hands +than words, but this time even they seemed inexpressive. + +He crumpled the sack of nails in both fists, and turned and left the +hardware store. + + + + +II + + +His house was still there, sitting at the end of Elm Street, at the end +of town, on the edge of the prairie. It was a very old house. It was +decorated with gingerboard, a rusted-out tin rooster-comb running the +peak of the roof and stained glass window transoms; and the top of the +house was joined to the ground floor by lapped fishscales, as though it +was a mermaid instead of a house. The house was a golden house. It had +been painted brown against the dust, but the keening wind, the +relentless sun, the savage rape of the thunderstorms, they had all +bleached the brown paint into a shining pure gold. + +Sam stepped inside and leaned back against the front door, the door of +full-length glass with a border of glass emeralds and rubies. He leaned +back and breathed deep. + +The house didn't smell old. It smelled new. It smelled like sawdust and +fresh-hewn lumber as bright and blond as a high school senior's +crewcut. + +He walked across the flowered carpet. The carpet didn't mind footsteps +or bright sun. It never became worn or faded. It grew brighter with the +years, the roses turning redder, the sunflowers becoming yellower. + +The parlor looked the same as it always did, clean and waiting to be +used. The cane-backed sofa and chairs eagerly waiting to be sat upon, +the bead-shaded kerosene lamps ready to burst into light. + +Sam went into his workshop. This had once been the ground level master +bedroom, but he had had to make the change. The work table held its +share of radios, toasters, TV sets, an electric train, a spring-wind +Victrola. Sam threw the nails onto the table and crossed the room, +running his fingers along the silent keyboard of the player piano. He +looked out the window. The bulldozers had made the ground rectangular, +level and brown, turning it into a gigantic half-cent stamp. He +remembered the mail and raised the window and reached down into the +mailbox. It was on this side of the house, because only this side was +technically within city limits. + +As he came up with the letters, Sam Collins saw a man sighting along a +plumbline towards his house. He shut the window. + +Some of the letters didn't have any postage stamps, just a line of +small print about a $300 fine. Government letters. He went over and +forced them into the tightly packed coal stove. All the trash would be +burned out in the cold weather. + +Collins sat down and looked through the rest of his mail. A new +catalogue of electronic parts. A bulky envelope with two paperback +novels by Richard S. Prather and Robert Bloch he had ordered. A couple +of letters from hams. He tossed the mail on the table and leaned back. + + * * * * * + +He thought about what had happened in the hardware store. + +It wasn't surprising it had happened to him. Things like that were bound +to happen to him. He had just been lucky that Ed Michaels hadn't called +the sheriff. What had got into him? He had never been a sex maniac +before! But still ... it was hardly unexpected. + +Might as well wait to start on those rabbit cages until tomorrow, he +decided. This evening he felt like exploring. + +The house was so big, and packed with so many things that he never found +and examined them all. Or if he did, he forgot a lot about the things +between times, so it was like reading a favorite book over again, always +discovering new things in it. + +The parlor was red in the fading light, and the hall beyond the sliding +doors was deeply shadowed. In the sewing room, he remembered, in the +drawers of the treadle machine the radio was captured. The rings and +secret manuals of the days when radio had been alive. He hadn't looked +over those things in some little time. + +He looked up the shadowed stairway. He remembered the night, a few weeks +before Christmas when he had been twelve and really too old to believe, +his mother had said she was going up to see if Santa Claus had left any +packages around a bit early. They often gave him his presents early, +since they were never quite sure he would live until Christmas. + +But his mother had been playing a trick on him. She hadn't been going up +after packages. She had gone up those stairs to murder his father. + +She had shot him in the back of the head with his Army Colt .45 from the +first war. Collins never quite understood why the hole in back was so +neat and the one in front where it came out was so messy. + +After he went to live with Aunt Amy and the house had been boarded up, +he heard them talking, Aunt Amy and her boy friend, fat Uncle Ralph. And +they had said his mother had murdered his father because he had gone +ahead and made her get pregnant again and she was afraid it would be +another one like Sam. + +Sam Collins knew she must have planned it a long time in advance. She +had filled up the bathtub with milk, real milk, and she went in after +she had done it and took a bath in the milk. Then she slit her wrists. + +When Sam Collins had run down the stairs, screaming, and barged into the +bathroom, he had found the tub looking like a giant stick of peppermint +candy. + + * * * * * + +Aunt Amy had been good to him. + +Because he didn't talk for about a year after he found the bodies, most +people thought he was simple-minded. But Aunt Amy had always treated him +just like a regular boy. That was embarrassing sometimes, but still it +was better than what he got from the others. + +The doctor hadn't wanted to perform the operation on his clubfoot. He +said it would be an unproductive waste of his time and talent, that he +owed it to the world to use them to the very best advantage. Finally he +agreed. The operation took about thirty seconds. He stuck a knife into +Sam's foot and went _snick-snick_. A couple of weeks later, his foot was +healed and it was just like anybody else's. Aunt Amy had paid him $500 +in payments, only he returned the money order for the last fifty +dollars and wished them Merry Christmas. + +Sam Collins could work after that. When Aunty Amy and Uncle Ralph +disappeared, he opened up the old house and started doing odd jobs for +people who weren't very afraid of him any more. + +That first day had been quite a shock, when he discovered that not in +all these years had anybody cleaned the bathtub. + +Sometimes, when he was taking his Saturday night soaker he still got +kind of a funny feeling. But he knew it was only rust from the faucets. + +Collins sighed. It seemed like a long time since he had seen his mother +coming down those stairs.... + +He stopped, his throat aching with tightness. + +Something was very strange. + +His mother was coming down the stairs right now. + +She was walking down the stairs, one step, two steps, coming closer to +him. + +Collins ran up the stairs, prepared to run through the phantom to prove +it wasn't there. + +The figure raised a gun and pointed it at him. + +This time, she was going to shoot _him_. + +It figured. + +He always had bad luck. + +"Stop!" the woman on the stairs said. "Stop or I'll shoot, Mr. +Collins!" + + * * * * * + +Collins stopped, catching to the bannister. He squinted hard, and as a +stereoptic slide lost its depth when you shut one eye, the woman on the +stairs was no longer his mother. She was young, pretty, brunette and +sweet-faced, and the gun she held shrunk from an old Army Colt to a .22 +target pistol. + +"Who _are_ you?" Collins demanded. + +The girl took a grip on the gun with both hands and held it steady on +him. + +"I'm Nancy Comstock," she said. "You tried to assault my mother a half +hour ago." + +"Oh," he said. "I've never seen you before." + +"Yes, you have. I've been away to school a lot, but you've seen me +around. I've had my eye on you. I know about men like you. I know what +has to be done. I came looking for you in your house for this." + +The bore of the gun was level with his eye as he stood a few steps below +her. Probably if she fired now, she would kill him. Or more likely he +would only be blinded or paralyzed; that was about his luck. + +"Are you going to use that gun?" he asked. + +"Not unless I have to. I only brought it along for protection. I came +to help you, Mr. Collins." + +"Help me?" + +"Yes, Mr. Collins. You're sick. You need help." + +He looked the girl over. She was a half-dozen years younger than he was. +In most states, she couldn't even vote yet. But still, maybe she could +help, at that. He didn't know much about girls and their abilities. + +"Why don't we go into the kitchen and have some coffee?" Collins +suggested. + + + + +III + + +Nancy sipped her coffee and kept her eyes on his. The gun lay in her +lap. The big kitchen was a place for coffee, brown and black, wood +ceiling and iron stove and pans. Collins sat across the twelve square +feet of table from her, and nursed the smoking mug. + +"Sam, I want you to take whatever comfort you can from the fact that I +don't think the same thing about you as the rest of Waraxe." + +"What does the rest of the town think about me?" + +"They think you are a pathological degenerate who should be lynched. But +I don't believe that." + +"Thanks. That's a big comfort." + +"I know what you were after when you tore Mom's dress." + +In spite of himself, Collins felt his face warming in a blush. + +"You were only seeking the mother love you missed as a boy," the girl +said. + +Collins chewed on his lip a moment, and considered the idea. Slowly he +shook his head. + +"No," he said. "No. I don't think so." + +"Then what do you think?" + +"I think old Doc Candle _made_ me do it. He said he was going to bury +me. Getting me lynched would be one good way to do it. Ed Michaels +almost blew my head off with his shotgun. It was close. Doc Candle +almost made it. He didn't miss by far with you and that target pistol +either." + +"Sam--I may call you 'Sam'?--just try to think calmly and reasonably for +a minute. How could Dr. Candle, the undertaker, possibly make you do a +thing like you did in Mr. Michaels' hardware store?" + +"Well ... he _said_ he was a superhuman alien from outer space." + +"If he said that, do you believe him, Sam?" + +"_Something_ made me do that. It just wasn't my own idea." + +"It's easier that way, isn't it, Sam?" Nancy asked. "It's easy to say. +'It wasn't me; some space monster made me do it.' But you really know +better, don't you, Sam? Don't take the easy way out! You'll only get +deeper and deeper into your makebelieve world. It will be like +quicksand. Admit your mistakes--face up to them--_lick them_." + +Collins stood up, and came around the end of the table. + +"You're too pretty to be so serious all the time," he said. + + * * * * * + +"Sam, I want to help you. Please don't spoil it by misinterpreting my +intentions." + +"You should get a little fun out of life," Collins listened to himself +say. + +He came on around the big table towards her. + +The first time he hadn't realized what was happening, but this time he +knew. Somebody was pulling strings and making him jump. He had as much +control as Charlie McCarthy. + +"Don't come any closer, Sam." + +Nancy managed to keep her voice steady, but he could tell she was +frightened. + +He took another step. + +She threw her coffee in his face. + +The liquid was only lukewarm but the sudden dash had given him some +awareness of his own body again, like the first sound of the alarm +faintly pressing through deep layers of sleep. + +"Sam, Sam, _please_ don't make me do it! Please, Sam, _don't_!" + +Nancy had the gun in her hand, rising from her chair. + +His hands wanted to grab her clothes and _tear_. + +But that's _suicide_, he screamed at his body. + +As his hand went up with the intention of ripping, he deflected it just +enough to shove the barrel of the gun away from him. + +The shot went off, but he knew instantly that it had not hit him. + +The gun fell to the floor, and with its fall, something else dropped +away and he was in command of himself again. + +Nancy sighed, and slumped against him, the left side of her breast +suddenly glossy with blood. + + * * * * * + +Ed Michaels stared at him. Both eyes unblinking, just staring at _him_. +He had only taken one look at the girl lying on the floor, blood all +over her chest. He hadn't looked back. + +"I didn't know who else to call, Ed." Collins said. "Sheriff Thurston +being out of town and all." + +"It's okay, Sam. Mike swore me in as a special deputy a couple years +back. The badge is at the store." + +"They'll hang me for this, won't they, Ed?" + +Michaels put his hand on Collins' shoulder. "No, they won't do that to +you, boy. We know you around here. They'll just put you away for a +while." + +"The asylum at Hannah, huh?" + +"Damn it, yes! What did you expect? A marksman medal?" + +"Okay, Ed, okay. Did you call Doc Van der Lies like I told you when I +phoned?" + +Michaels took a folded white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his +square-jawed face. "You sure are taking this calm, Sam. I'm telling you, +Sam, it would look better for you if you at least _acted_ like you were +sorry.... Doc Van der Lies is up in Wisconsin with Mike. I called Doc +Candle." + +"He's an undertaker," Collins whispered. + +"Don't you expect we need one?" Michaels asked. Then as if he wasn't +sure of the answer to his own question, he said, "Did you examine her to +see if she was dead? I--I don't know much about women. I wouldn't be +able to tell." + +It didn't sound like a very good excuse to Collins. + +"I guess she's dead," Collins said. "That's the way he must have wanted +it." + +"_He?_ Wait a minute, Sam. You mean you've got one of those split +personalities like that girl on TV the other night? There's somebody +else inside you that takes over and makes you do things?" + +"I never thought of it just like that before. I guess that's one way to +look at it." + +The knock shook the back door before Michaels could say anything. The +door opened and Doc Candle slithered in disjointedly, a rolled-up +stretcher over his shoulder. + +"Hello, boys," Candle said. "A terrible accident, it brings sorrow to us +all. Poor Nancy. Has the family been notified?" + +"Good gosh, I forgot about it," Michaels said. "But maybe we better wait +until you get her--arranged, huh, Doc?" + + * * * * * + +"Quite so." The old man laid the canvas stretcher out beside the girl on +the floor and unrolled it. He flipped the body over expertly like a +window demonstrator flipping a pancake over on a griddle. + +"Ed, if you'd just take the front, I'll carry the rear. My vehicle is in +the alley." + +"Sam, you carry that end for Doc. You're a few years younger." + +Collins wanted to say that he couldn't, but he didn't have enough yet to +argue with. He picked up the stretcher and looked down at the white feet +in the Scotch plaid slippers. + +Candle opened the door and waited for them to go through. + +The girl on the stretcher parted her lips and rolled her head back and +forth, a puzzled expression of pain on her face. + +Collins nearly dropped the stretcher, but he made himself hold on +tight. + +"Ed! Doc! She moved! She's still _alive_." + +"Cut that out now, Sam," Ed Michaels snapped. "Just carry your end." + +"She's alive," Collins insisted. "She moved again. Just turn around and +take a look, Ed. That's all I ask." + +"I hefted this thing once, and that's enough. You _move_, Sam. I've got +a .38 in my belt, and I went to Rome, Italy, for the Olympics about the +time you were getting yourself born, Sam. I ought to be able to hit a +target as big as you. Just go ahead and do as you're told." + +Collins turned desperately towards Candle. Maybe Nancy had been right, +maybe he had been imagining things. + +"Doc, you take a look at her," Collins begged. + +The old man vibrated over to the stretcher and looked down. The girl +twisted in pain, throwing her head back, spilling her hair over the head +of the stretcher. + +"Rigor mortis," Doc Candle diagnosed, with a wink to Collins. + +"No, Doc! She needs a doctor, blood transfusions...." + + * * * * * + +"Nonsense," Candle snapped. "I'll take her in my black wagon up to my +place, put her in the tiled basement. I'll pump out all her blood and +flush it down the commode. Then I'll feed in Formaldi-Forever Number +Zero. Formaldi-Forever, for the Blush of Death. 'When you think of a +Pretty Girl, think of Formaldi-Forever, the Way to Preserve that +Beauty.' Then I'll take a needle and some silk thread and just a few +stitches on the eyelids and around the mouth...." + +"Doc, will you...?" Michaels said faintly. + +"Of course. I just wanted to show Sam how foolish he was in saying the +Beloved was still alive." + +Nancy kicked one leg off the stretcher and Candle picked it up and +tucked it back in. + +"Ed, if you'd just turn around and _look_." Collins said. + +"I don't want to have to look at your face, you murdering son. You make +me, you say one more word, and I'll turn around and shoot you between +the eyes." + +Doc Candle nodded. Collins knew then that Michaels really would shoot +him in the head if he said anything more, so he kept quiet. + +Candle held the door. They managed to get the stretcher down the back +steps, and right into the black panel truck. They fitted the stretcher +into the special sockets for it, and Doc Candle closed the double doors +and slapped his dry palm down on the sealing crevice. + +Instantly, there was an answering knock from inside the truck, a dull +echo. + + * * * * * + +"Didn't you hear that?" Collins asked. + +"Hear what?" Michaels said. + +"What are you hearing now, Sam?" Candle inquired solicitously. + +"Oh. Sure," Michaels said. "Kind of a _voice_, wasn't it, Sam? Didn't +understand what it said. Wasn't listening too close, not like you." + +_Thud-thud-thump-thud._ + +"No voice," Collins whispered. "That infernal sound, don't you hear it, +Ed?" + +"I must hurry along," the undertaker said. "Must get ready to work on +Nancy, get her ready for her parents to see." + +"All right, Doc. I'll take care of Sam." + +"Where you going to jail me, Ed?" Collins asked, his eyes on the closed +truck doors. "In your storeroom like you did Hank Petrie?" + +Michaels' face suddenly began to work. "Jail? Jail you? Jail's too good +for you. Doc, have you got a tow rope in that truck?" + +Ed Michaels was the best shot in town, probably one of the best marksmen +in the world. He had been in the Olympics about thirty years ago. He was +Waraxe's one claim to fame. But he wasn't a cowboy. He wasn't a fast +draw. + +Collins put all of his weight behind his left fist and landed it on the +point of Michaels' jaw, just the way he used to do when gangs of boys +jumped onto him. + +[Illustration] + +Michaels sprawled out, spread-eagled. + +Then Collins wanted to take the revolver out of Ed's belt, and press it +into Ed's hand, curling his fingers around the grip and over the +trigger, and then he wanted to shake Ed awake, slap his face and shake +him.... + +Collins spun around, clawed open the door to the truck cab and threw +himself behind the steering wheel. + +He stopped wanting to make Ed Michaels shoot him. + +He flipped the ignition switch, levered the floor shift and drove away. + +And he was going to drive on and on and on and on. + +And on and on and on. + + + + +IV + + +Collins turned onto the old McHenty blacktop, his foot pressed to the +floorboards. Ed Michaels didn't own a car; he would have to borrow one +from somebody. That would take time. Maybe Candle would give him his +hearse to use to follow the Black Rachel. + +Trees, fences, barns whizzed past the windows of the cab and then the +steel link-mesh fence took up, the fence surrounding the New Kansas +National Spaceport. Behind it, further from town, some of the concrete +had been poured and the horizon was a remote, sterile gray sweep. + +The McHenty Road would soon be closed to civilian traffic. But right now +the government wanted people to drive along and see that the spaceship +was nothing terrible, nothing to fear. + +The girl, Nancy Comstock, was alive in the back. He knew that. But he +couldn't stop to prove it or to help her. Candle would make them lynch +him first. + +Why hadn't Candle stopped him from getting away? + +He had managed to break his control for a second. He had done that +before when he deflected Nancy's aim. But he couldn't resist Candle for +long. Why hadn't Candle made him turn around and come back? + +Candle's control of him had seemed to stop when he got inside the cab of +the truck. Could it be that the metal shield of the cab could protect an +Earthling from the strange mental powers of the creature from another +planet which was inhabiting the body of Doc Candle? + +Collins shook his head. + +More likely Candle was doing this just to get his hopes up. He probably +would seize control of him any time he wanted to. But Collins decided to +go on playing it as if he did have some hope, as if a shield of metal +could protect him from Candle's control. Otherwise ... there was no +otherwise. + + * * * * * + +Collins suddenly saw an opening. + +The steel mesh fence was ruptured by a huge semitrailer truck turned on +its side. Twenty feet of fence on either side was down. This was +restricted government property, but of course spaceships were hardly +prime military secrets any longer. Repairs in the fence had not been +made instantaneously, and the wreckage was not guarded. + +Collins swerved the wheel and drove the old wagon across the +waffle-plate obstruction, onto the smooth tarmac beyond. + +He raced, raced, raced through the falling night, not sure where he was +headed. + +Up above he saw the shelter of shadows from a cluster of half-finished +buildings. He drove into them and parked. + +Collins sat still for a moment, then threw open the door and ran around +to the back of the truck, jerking open the handles. + +Nancy fell out into his arms. + +"What kind of ambulance is this?" she demanded. "It doesn't look like an +ambulance. It doesn't smell like an ambulance. It looks like--looks +like--" + +Collins said, "Shut up. Get out of there. We've got to hide." + +"Why?" + +"They think I murdered you." + +"Murdered me? But I'm alive. Can't they see I'm alive?" + +Collins shook his head. "I doubt it. I don't know why, but I don't think +it would be that simple. Come with me." + +The blood on her breast had dried, and he could see it was only a +shallow groove dug by the bullet. But she flinched in pain as she began +to walk, pulling the muscles. + +They stopped and leaned against a half-finished metallic shed. + +"Where are we? Where are you taking me?" + +"This is the spaceport. Now shut up." + +"Let me go." + +"No." + +"I'm not dead," Nancy insisted. "You know I'm not dead. I won't press +charges against you--just let me go free." + +"I told you it wasn't that simple. He wants them to think you're dead, +and that's what they'll think." + +Nancy passed fingers across her eyes. "Who? Who are you talking about?" + +"Doc Candle. He won't let them know you're alive." + +Nancy rubbed her forehead with both hands. "Sam, you don't know what +you're doing. You don't--know what you're getting yourself into. Just +let me show myself to someone. They'll know I'm not dead. Really they +will." + +"Okay," he said. "Let's find somebody." + +He led her toward a more nearly completed building, showing rectangles +of light. They looked through the windows to see several men in uniforms +bending over blueprints on a desk jury-rigged of sawhorses and planks. + +"Sam," Nancy said, "one of those men is Terry Elston. He's a Waraxe boy. +I went to school with him. He'll know me. Let's go in...." + +"No," Collins said. "We don't go in." + +"But--" Nancy started to protest, but stopped. "Wait. He's coming out." + +Collins slid along the wall and stood behind the door. "Tell him who you +are when he comes out. I'll stay here." + +They waited. After a few seconds, the door opened. + +Nancy stepped into the rectangle of light thrown on the concrete from +the window. + +"Terry," she said. "Terry, it's me--Nancy Comstock." + +The blue-jawed young man in uniform frowned. "Who did you say you were? +Have you got clearance from this area?" + +"It's me, Terry. Nancy. Nancy Comstock." + +Terry Elston stepped front and center. "That's not a very good joke. I +knew Nancy. Hell of a way to die, killed by some maniac." + +"Terry, _I'm_ Nancy. Don't you recognize me?" + +Elston squinted. "You look familiar. You look a little like Nancy. But +you can't be her, because she's dead." + +"I'm here, and I tell you I'm _not_ dead." + +"Nancy's dead," Elston repeated mechanically. "Say, what are you trying +to pull?" + +"Terry, behind you. A maniac!" + +"Sure," Elston said. "Sure. There's a maniac _behind_ me." + +Collins stepped forward and hit Elston behind the ear. He fell silently. + +Nancy stared down at him. + +"He refused to recognize me. He acted like I was crazy, pretending to be +Nancy Comstock." + +"Come on along," Collins urged. "They'll probably shoot us on sight as +trespassers." + +She looked around herself without comprehension. + +"Which way?" + +"_This way._" + +Collins did not say those words. + +They were said by the man with the gun in the uniform like the one worn +by Elston. He motioned impatiently. + +"This way, this way." + + * * * * * + +"No priority," Colonel Smith-Boerke said as he paced back and forth, gun +in hand. + +From time to time he waved it threateningly at Collins and Nancy who sat +on the couch in Smith-Boerke's office. They had been sitting for close +to two hours. Collins now knew the Colonel did not intend to turn him +over to the authorities. They were being held for reasons of +Smith-Boerke's own. + +"They sneak the ship in here, plan for an unscheduled hop from an +uncompleted base--the strictest security we've used in ten or fifteen +years--and now they cancel it. This is bound to get leaked by somebody! +They'll call it off. It'll never fly now." + +Collins sat quietly. He had been listening to this all evening. +Smith-Boerke had been drinking, although it wasn't very obvious. + +Smith-Boerke turned to Collins. + +"I've been waiting for somebody like you. Just waiting for you to come +along. And here you are, a wanted fugitive, completely in my power! +Perfect, _perfect_." + +Collins nodded to himself. Of course, Colonel Smith-Boerke had been +waiting for him. And Doc Candle had driven him right to him. It was +inescapable. He had been intended to escape and turn up right here all +along. + +"What do you want with me?" + +Smith-Boerke's flushed face brightened. "You want to become a hero? A +hero so big that all these trumped-up charges against you will be +dropped? It'll be romantic. Back to Lindbergh-to-Paris. Tell me, +Collins, how would you like to be the first man to travel faster than +light?" + +Collins knew there was no way out. + +"All right," he said. + +Smith-Boerke wiped a hand across his dry mouth. + +"Project Silver _has_ to come off. My whole career depends on it. You +don't have anything to do. Everything's cybernetic. Just ride along and +prove a human being can survive. Nothing to it. No hyperdrives, none of +that kind of stuff. We had an engine that could go half lightspeed and +now we've made it twice as efficient and more. No superstitions about +Einstein, I hope? No? Good." + +"I'll go," Collins said. "But what if I had said 'no'." + +Smith-Boerke put the gun away in a desk drawer. + +"Then you could have walked out of here, straight into the MP's." + +"Why didn't they come in here after me?" + +"They don't have security clearance for this building." + +"_Don't_ leave me alone," Nancy said urgently. "I don't understand +what's happening. I feel so helpless. I need help." + +"You're asking the wrong man," Collins said briefly. + + * * * * * + +Collins felt safe when the airlock kissed shut its metal lips. + +It was not like the house, but yet he felt safe, surrounded by all the +complicated, expensive electronic equipment. It was big, solid, +sterilely gleaming. + +Another thing--he had reason to believe that Doc Candle's power could +not reach him through metal. + +"But I'm not outside," Doc Candle said, "I'm in here, with you." + +Collins yelled and cursed, he tried to pull off the acceleration webbing +and claw through the airlock. Nobody paid any attention to him. Count +downs had been automated. Smith-Boerke was handling this one himself, +and he cut off the Audio-In switch from the spaceship. Doc Candle said +nothing else for a moment, and the spaceship, almost an entity itself, +went on with its work. + +The faster-than-light spaceship took off. + +At first it was like any other rocket takeoff. + +The glow of its exhaust spread over the field of the spaceport, then +over the hills and valleys, and then the town of Waraxe, spreading +illumination even as far as Sam Collins' silent house. + +After a time of being sick, Collins lay back and accepted this too. + +"That's right, that's it," Doc Candle said. "Take it and die with it. +That's the ticket." + +Collins' eyes settled on a gauge. Three quarters lightspeed. Climbing. + +Nothing strange, nothing untoward happened when you reached lightspeed. +It was only an arbitrary number. All else was superstition. Forget it, +forget it, forget it. + +_Something_ was telling him that. At first he thought it was Doc Candle +but then he knew it was the ship. + +Collins sat back and took it, and what he was taking was death. It was +creeping over him, seeping into his feet, filling him like liquid does a +sponge. + +Not will, but curiosity, caused him to turn his head. + +He saw Doc Candle. + +The old body was dying. He was in the emergency seat, broken, a ribbon +of blood lacing his chin. But Doc Candle continued to laugh triumphantly +in Collins' head. + +"Why? Why do you have to kill me?" Collins asked. + +"Because I am evil." + +"How do you know you're evil?" + +"_They told me so!_" Candle shouted back in the thundering silence of +Death's approach. "They were always saying I was bad." + +_They._ + + * * * * * + +Collins got a picture of something incredibly old and incredibly wise, +but long unused to the young, clumsy gods. Something that could mar the +molding of a godling and make it mortal. + +"But I'm not really so very bad," Doc Candle went on. "I had to +destroy, but I picked someone who really didn't care if he were +destroyed or not. An almost absolutely passive human being, Sam. You." + +Collins nodded. + +"And even then," said the superhuman alien from outer space, "I could +not just destroy. I have created a work of art." + +"Work of art?" + +"Yes. I have taken your life and turned it into a horror story, Sam! A +chilling, demonic, black-hearted horror!" + +Collins nodded again. + +_LIGHTSPEED._ + +There was finally something human within Sam Collins that he could not +deny. He wanted to live. It wasn't true. He did care what happened. + +You do? said somebody. + +He does? asked somebody else, surprised, and suddenly he again got the +image of wiser, older creatures, a little ashamed because of what they +had done to the creature named Doc Candle. + +He does, chorused several voices, and Sam Collins cried aloud: "I do! I +want to live!" They were just touching lightspeed; he felt it. + +This time it was not just a biological response. He really wanted help. +He wanted to stay alive. + +From the older, wiser voices he got help, though he never knew how; he +felt the ship move slipwise under him, and then a crash. + +And Doc Candle got help too, the only help even the older, wiser ones +could give him. + + * * * * * + +They pulled him out of the combined wreckage of the spaceship and his +house. Both were demolished. + +It was strange how the spaceship Sam Collins was on crashed right into +his house. Ed Michaels recalled a time in a tornado when Sy Baxter's car +was picked up, lifted across town and dropped into his living room. + +When the men from the spaceport lifted away tons of rubble, they found +him and said, "He's dead." + +No, I'm not, Collins thought. I'm alive. + +And then they saw that he really was alive, that he had come through it +alive somehow, and nobody remembered anything like it since the airliner +crash in '59. + +A while later, after they found Doc Candle's body and court-martialed +Smith-Boerke, who took drugs, Nancy was nuzzling him on his hospital +bed. It was nice, but he wasn't paying much attention. + +I'm free, Collins thought as the girl hugged him. _Free!_ He kissed her. + +Well, he thought while she was kissing him back, as free as I want to +be, anyway. + + END + + +[Transcriber's Note: + +This e-text was produced from Worlds of If January 1962. Extensive +research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this +publication was renewed.] + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Last Place on Earth, by James Judson Harmon + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST PLACE ON EARTH *** + +***** This file should be named 23426.txt or 23426.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2/23426/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Jana Srna and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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