She was pushing the little smoke-detector through the woods faster than was safe, but it had been at the Haven-Newport border, fully five miles from the ship. She had to get to Gardener, and time was short.
The smoke-detector flipped onto its side and missed a small pine tree by inches. A close call, that. But ... there he was, and there was the ship, throwing back its echoes of light, tattooing its dancing sun-dapples on the trees.
The smoke-detector hovered motionless above the thick mat of fallen needles on the floor of the forest for a moment ... and then it arrowed directly at Gardener. Hazel prepared to turn on the ultra-sound attachment that would turn Gardener's bones to smashed fragments in his body.
35
Hey, Gard! On your left!
The voice was unbelievable. It was also unmistakable. It was Bobbi Anderson's voice. The old, unimproved Bobbi. Gardener had no time to think about that. He looked left and saw something slashing out of the woods at him. It was tan. There was a red light flashing on its underside. That was all he had time to see.
He brought the Sonic Space Blaster up, wondering how he could ever in the world hope to hit that thing, and at the same moment a wild thin shriek, like every mosquito in the world whining in perfect harmony, filled his ears ... his head ... his body. Yes, it was inside him; everything inside him was beginning to vibrate.
Then it felt as if hands seized his wrist - first seized it, then turned it. He fired. Green fire shot across the daylight. The smoke-detector exploded. Several jagged chunks of plastic flew near Gardener's head, barely missing him.
36
Hazel screamed and bolted upright in her old swivel chair. A tremendous backflow of energy surged through the earplug. She clawed at it - and missed. The plug was in her left ear. From her right one came a sudden squirt of greenish, soupy liquid. It looked like radioactive oatmeal. For a moment her brains continued to hose out of her head through her ear, and then the pressure became too great. The right side of her skull pushed open like a strange flower and her brains hit her Currier&Ives wall calendar with a liquid smack.
Hazel fell forward limply onto her desk, her hands outstretched, her glazing eyes staring unbelievingly at nothing.
The ghetto-blaster radio buzzed for a while and then stopped.
37
Bobbi? Gardener thought, looking around wildly.
Fuck you, old hoss, an amused voice returned. That's all the help you get - after all, I'm dead, remember?
I remember, Bobbi.
One piece of advice: watch out for rabid vacuum cleaners.
Then she was gone, if she had ever been there. From behind him came the rending, grinding crash of a tree falling over. The woods between here and the farm had begun to sound like a big open-hearth fireplace. Now he could hear voices from behind him, both mental and shouted aloud. Tommyknocker voices.
But Bobbi was gone.
You imagined it, Gard. The part of you that wants Bobbi - that NEEDS Bobbi - is trying to reinvent her, that's all.
Yeah, and what about the hand? The hand over my hand? Did I make that up? I couldn't have hit that thing all by myself. Annie Oakley couldn't have hit that thing without help.
But the voices - those in the air and those inside his head - were getting closer. So was the fire. Gardener drew in a throatful of smoke, put the Tomcat in gear again, and got going. There was no time for debate right now.
Gard headed for the ship. Five minutes later he came out in the clearing.
38
'Hazel?' Newt cried in a kind of religious terror. 'Hazel? Hazel?'
Yes, Hazel! Dick Allison shouted back at him furiously, and could restrain himself no longer. He threw himself upon Newt. Stupid bastard!
Whoreboy! Newt spat back, and the two of them rolled about on the ground, green eyes glaring, grabbing for each other's throats. This was not at all logical under the circumstances, but any resemblance between the Tommyknockers and the likes of Mr Spock was purely coincidental.
Dick's hands found the wattled folds of Newt's throat and began to squeeze. His fingers punched through the flesh and green blood bubbled up over Dick's fingers. He began to raise Newt up and slam him back down. Newt's struggles lessened ... lessened ... lessened. Dick choked him until he was quite dead.
With that done, Dick discovered that he felt a little better.
39
Gard dismounted the Tomcat, staggered, lost his balance, fell