When the roar was gone and the water stood high on the land, swirling, thick with debris, Celia said in a faint voice, “Is it worth this, David?”

He tightened his arm about her shoulders. “We had to do it,” he said.

“I know. But it seems so futile sometimes. We’re all dead, fighting right down the line, but dead. As dead as those men must be by now.”

“We’re making it work, honey. You know that. You’ve been working right there. Thirty new lives!”

She shook her head. “Thirty more dead people. Do you remember Sunday school, David? They took me every week. Did you go?”

He nodded.

“And Wednesday-night Bible school? I keep thinking of it now. And I wonder if this isn’t God’s doing after all. I can’t help it. I keep wondering. And I had become an atheist.” She laughed and suddenly spun around. “Let’s go to bed, now. Here in the hospital. Let’s pick a fancy room, a suite. . . .”

He reached for her, but suddenly a violent gust of wind drove a hard blast of rain against the window. It came like that, without preliminary, just a sudden deluge. Celia shuddered. “God’s will,” she said dully. “We have to get back to the cave, don’t we?”

They walked through the empty hospital, through the long, dimly lighted passage, through the large chamber where the people were trying to find comfortable positions on the cots and benches, through the smaller passages and finally into the lab office.

“How many people did we kill?” Celia asked, stepping out of her jeans. She turned her back to put her clothes on the foot of her cot. Her buttocks were nearly as flat as an adolescent boy’s. When she faced him again, her ribs seemed to be straining against her skin. She looked at him for a moment, and then came to him and held his head tight against her chest as he sat on his cot and she stood naked before him. He could feel her tears as they fell onto his cheek.

There was a hard freeze in November, and with the valley flooded and the road and bridges gone, they knew they were safe from attack, at least until spring. The people had moved out of the cave again, and work in the lab went on at the same numbing pace. The fetuses were developing, growing, moving now with sudden motions of feet and elbows. David was working on substitutes for the chemicals that already were substituting for amniotic fluids. He worked each day until his vision blurred, or his hands refused to obey his directions, or Walt ordered him out of the lab. Celia was working longer hours now, still resting in the middle of the day for several hours, but she returned after that and stayed almost as late as David did.

He passed her chair and kissed the top of her head. She looked up at him and smiled, then returned to her figures. Peter started a centrifuge. Vlasic made a last adjustment on the end tank of nutrients that were to be diluted and fed to the embryos, then called out, “Celia, you ready to count chicks?”

“One second,” she said. She made a notation, put her pencil in the open book, and stood up.

David was aware of her, as he always was, even when totally preoccupied with his own work. He was aware that she stood up, that she didn’t move for a moment, and when she said, in a tremulous voice that betrayed disbelief, “David . . . David . . .“ he was already starting to his feet. He caught her as she crumpled.

Her eyes were open, her look almost quizzical, asking what he could not answer, expecting no answer. A tremor passed through her and she closed her eyes, and although her lids fluttered, she did not open them again.

Chapter 6

Walt looked David over and shrugged. “You look like hell,” he said.

David made no response. He knew he looked like hell. He felt like hell. He watched Walt as if from a great distance.

“David, are you going to pull yourself together? You just giving up?” He didn’t wait for a reply. He sat down on the only chair in the tiny room and leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hands, staring at the floor. “We’ve got to tell them. Sarah thinks there’ll be trouble. So do I.”

David stood at the window, looking at the bleak landscape, done in grays and blacks and mud colors. It was raining, but the rain had become clean. The river was a gray swirling monster that he could glimpse from up here, a dull reflection of the dull sky.

“They might try to storm the lab,” Walt went on. “God knows what they might decide to do.”

David made no motion but continued to stare at the sullen sky.

“God damn it! You turn around here and listen to me, you asshole! You think I’m going to let all this work, all this planning, go up in one irrational act! You think I won’t kill anyone who tries to stop it now!” Walt had jumped up with his outburst, and he swung David around and yelled into his face. “You think I’m going to let you sit up here and die? Not today, David. Not yet. What you decide to do next week, I don’t give a damn, but today I need you, and you, by God, are going to be there!”

“I don’t care,” David said quietly.

“You’re going to care! Because those babies are going to come busting out of those sacs, and those babies are the only hope we have, and you know it. Our genes, yours, mine, Celia’s, those genes are the only thing that stand between us and oblivion. And I won’t allow it, David! I refuse it!”

David felt only a great weariness. “We’re all dead. Today or tomorrow. Why prolong it? The price is too high for adding a year or two.”

“No price is too high!”

Slowly Walt’s face seemed to come into focus. He was white, his lips were pale, his eyes sunken. There was a tic in his cheek that David never had seen before. “Why now?” he asked. “Why change the plan and tell them now, so far ahead of time?”

“Because it isn’t that far ahead of time.” Walt rubbed his eyes hard. “Something’s going wrong, David. I don’t know what it is. Something’s not working. I think we’re going to have our hands full with prematures.”

In spite of himself David made rapid calculations. “It’s twenty-six weeks,” he said. “We can’t handle that many premature babies.”

“I know that.” Walt sat down once more, and this time put his head back and closed his eyes. “We don’t have much choice,” he said. “We lost one yesterday. Three today. We have to bring them out and treat them like preemies.”

Slowly David nodded. “Which ones?” he asked, but he knew. Walt told him the names, and again he nodded. He had known that they were not his, not Walt’s, not Celia’s. “What are you planning?” he asked then, and sat down on the side of his bed.

“I have to sleep,” Walt said. “Then a meeting, posted for seven. After that we prepare the nursery for a hell of a lot of preemies. As soon as we’re ready we begin getting them out. That’ll be morning. We need nurses, half a dozen, more if we can get them. Sarah says Margaret would be good. I don’t know.”

David didn’t know either. Margaret’s four-year-old son had been one of the first to die of the plague, and she had lost a baby in stillbirth. He trusted Sarah’s judgment, however. “Think between them they can get enough others, tell them what to do, see that they do it properly?”

Walt mumbled something, and one of his hands fell off the chair arm. He jerked upright.

“Okay, Walt, you get in my bed,” David said, almost resentfully. “I’ll go down to the lab, get things rolling there. I’ll come up for you at six thirty.” Walt didn’t protest, but fell onto the bed without bothering to take off his shoes. David pulled them off. Walt’s socks were more holes than not, but probably they kept his ankles warm. David left them on, pulled the blanket over him, and went to the lab.

At seven the hospital cafeteria was crowded when Walt stood up to make his announcement. First he had Avery Handley run down his log of diminishing shortwave contacts, with the accompanying grim stories of plague, famine, disease, spontaneous abortions, stillbirths, and sterility. It was the same story worldwide. They listened apathetically; they could not care any longer what was happening to any part of the world that was not their small part. Avery finished and sat down once more.