Weekend - By Christopher Pike Page 0,32

hold, raising him up. One last stroke and he sprang to his feet, leaning forward to compensate for what may have been a premature stand. But he was okay, sliding down the face, when Bert suddenly crossed his path, six feet below, a perfect place to be for a decapitation. Park reacted immediately, twisting to the right. The tunnel was closing in that direction. A raging foam hammer belted him off his board. Park felt a violent tug at his left ankle, saw splintered, whirling bubbles, had his spine twisted to the other side of a chiropractor's fantasies. Yet he had hold of a good breath and was able to ride out the bad weather. When the washing machine turned off, he was a hundred yards offshore in a relatively calm region between the first and second break. His board was already on the beach. The tug on his ankle had been his leash snapping.

Bert cruised by. "I thought you meant 'right,' looking out to sea," he apologized.

"That's okay. I think I just got a free neck adjustment. Give me a ride in."

During the walk back. Bert told him how he had awakened during the night and had found himself circled by a bunch of bright-eyed birds. Tonight, he said, he was sleeping indoors.

Sol was flat on his back on a red towel blowing smoke rings towards the sky. Shani and Angie were on the north side of the carport, piling wood into a concave hole they had dug. The Carlton Castle had an antenna dish and recording studio, two spas and three computers, but no barbecue. The girls were improvising. They said they were going to roast wienies for lunch. Park wasn't hungry.

"How's your side-ache?" Park asked, setting down his board.

"It hasn't gone away," Sol said, rolling over digging in the sand and pulling out a quart of tequila. "I think I need my medicine. How about you?"

Park shook his head. "It's too early for me."

Bert beamed. "You got a bottle for me?"

"We'll split it," Sol said. "Hell, this is enough for anybody." Bert looked disappointed.

"Where're the others?" Park asked.

"Kerry's wandering all over looking for rocks for her collection. Lena's - "

"Forwhat ?" Park interrupted.

"Kerry collects unusual rocks," Sol explained. "She reshapes and polishes them. At her house, she has a closetful of pretty things. A lot of them make Lena's ten-grand jewelery look like plastic. Kerry has a knack for that kind of stuff." He shrugged. "It makes her happy."

"If Lena catches her, she'll charge her duty on the rocks," Park said.

"Lena's putting Robin through her usual torture. I don't know where Flynn is, haven't seen that cat all day." Sol uncapped the bottle, sniffed it, and took a slug. He held out the tequila. Park shook his head.

Bert took a big swallow. Sol screwed the cap back on, adding, "Why don't you go talk to her?"

"I don't want to disturb her."

"She just sits there, reading. She gets bored. Go talk to her."

"I can't stand the sight of blood."

Sol was angry. "The sight of your own blood's a lot worse."

It was an unpleasant task that would be better over with. He owed, her an explanation. Besides, Sol might kill him if he didn't. "I'll talk to her now," he said, walking towards the house. Shani waved to him, a can of lighter fluid in her hand. Angie called out something he couldn't quite catch. He waved back and went inside.

The dialysis machine was in a tiny room on the top floor. Park found it by following the mediciney smell.

The door was open. He peeped inside. Robin was alone, wearing a light blue robe. Two blood-filled tubes - one leading from her left arm, the other, from beneath her robe - hooked her to the artificial kidney. The unit was largely self-contained, a shiny metallic box four feet at the edges. Two closed half-filled beakers sat atop it, connected by plastic pipes. What looked like a fire extinguisher, but probably wasn't, was bolted to the side. Robin was sitting propped up by pillows, a face-down paperback on her lap, a breeze from an adjacent window brushing her short brown hair. She used to have such beautiful hair... On the window-sill was perched a black raven. Robin was talking to it, stroking its shiny mane.

"... I don't remember, my friend. Human minds usually don't go back that far. And I could have nothing to remember. I don't know if I even got to see her. Sometimes it's done