“I've been building things out there,” Bobbi said. Her voice was dreamy.,Me and a few others. Getting ready for tomorrow.”

“They'll be joining you tonight,” Gardener said. It was not a question.

“Yes. But first I need to bring them out here, to look at the hatch. They… they've been waiting for this day, too, Gard.”

“I'll bet they have,” Gardener said.

The sling arrived. Bobbi turned to look at Gardener narrowly. “What's that supposed to mean, Gard?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Their eyes met. Gardener could feel her clearly now, working at his mind, trying to dig into it, and he had again that sense of his secret knowledge and secret doubts turning and turning like a dangerous jewel.

He thought deliberately.

(get out of my head Bobbi you're not welcome here)

Bobbi recoiled as if slapped-but there was also faint shame on her face, as if Gard had caught her peeking where she had no business peeking. There was still some humanness left in her, then. That was comforting.

“Bring them out, by all means,” Gard said. “But when it comes to opening it up, Bobbi, it's just you and me. We dug the fucker up, and we go in the fucker first. You agree?”

“Yes,” Bobbi said. “We go in first. The two of us. No brass bands, no parades.”

“And no Dallas Police.”

Bobbi smiled faintly. “Not them, either.” She held out the sling. “You want to ride up first?”

“No, you go. It sounds like you got a schedule and a half still ahead of you.”

“I do.” Bobbi swung astride the sling, pressed a button, and started up. “Thanks again, Gard.”

“Welcome,” Gardener said, craning his neck to follow Bobbi's upward progress.

“And you'll feel better about all of this

(when you “become” when you finish your own “becoming')

Bobbi rose up and up and out of sight.

Chapter 4

The Shed

It was August 14th. A quick calculation told Gardener that he had been with Bobbi for forty-one days-almost exactly a biblical period of confusion or unknown time, as in “he wandered in the desert for forty days and forty nights.” It seemed longer. It seemed like his entire life.

He and Bobbi did no more than pick at the frozen pizza Gardener heated up for their supper.

“I think I'd like a beer,” Bobbi said, going to the fridge. “How about you? Want one, Gard?”

“I'll pass, thanks.”

Bobbi raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She got the beer, walked out on the porch, and Gardener heard the seat of her old rocker creak comfortably as she sat down. After a while he drew a cold glass of water from the tap, went out, and sat beside Bobbi. They sat there for what seemed a long time, not speaking, just looking out into the hazy stillness of early evening.

“Been a long time, Bobbi, you and me,” he said.

“Yes. A long time. And a strange ending.”

“Is that what it is?” Gardener asked, turning in his chair to look at Bobbi. “The end?”

Bobbi shrugged easily. Her eye slid away from Gardener's. “Well, you know. End of a phase. How's that? Any better?”

“If it's le mot juste, then it's not just better, not even the best-just the only mot that matters. Isn't that what I taught you?”

Bobbi laughed. “Yeah, it was. First damned class. Mad dogs, Englishmen… and English teachers.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Bobbi sipped her beer and looked out at the Old Derry Road again. Impatient for them to arrive, Gardener supposed. If the two of them had really said everything there was left to say after all these years, he almost wished he had never heeded the impulse to come back at all, no matter what the reasons or eventual outcome. Such a weak ending to a relationship which had, in its time, encompassed love, sex, friendship, a period of tense detente, concern, and even fear seemed to make a mock of the whole thing-the pain, the hurt, the effort.

“I always loved you, Gard,” Bobbi said softly and thoughtfully, not looking at him. “And no matter how this turns out, remember that I still do.” Now she did look at Gardener, her face a strange parody of a face under the thick makeup-surely this was some hopeless eccentric who happened to resemble Bobbi a little. “And I hope you'll remember that I never asked to stumble over the goddam thing. Free will was not a factor here, as some wise-ass or other has surely said.”

“But you chose to dig it up,” Gardener said. His voice was as soft as Bobbi's but he felt a new terror steal into his heart. Was that crack about free wiII a roundabout apology for his own impending murder?

Stop it, Gard. Stop jumping at shadows.

Is the car buried out at the end of Nista Road a shadow? his mind returned at once.

Bobbi laughed softly. “Man, the idea that whether or not to dig something like that up could ever be a function of free will… you might be able to stick that to a kid in a high-school debate, but we out on de po'ch, Gard. You don't really think a person chooses something like that, do you? Do you think people can choose to put away any knowledge once they've seen the edge of it?”

“I had been picketing nuclear power plants on that assumption, yes,” Gardener said slowly.

Bobbi waved it away. “Societies may choose not to implement ideas-actually I doubt even that, but for the sake of argument we'll say it's so-but ordinary people? No, I'm sorry. When ordinary people see something sticking out of the ground, they got to dig on it. They got to dig on it because it might be treasure.”

“And you didn't have the slightest inkling that there would be. Fallout was the word that came to mind. He didn't think it was a word Bobbi would like. “… consequences?”

Bobbi smiled openly. “Not a hint in the world.”

“But Peter didn't like it.”

“No. Peter didn't like it. But it didn't kill him, Gard.”

I'm quite sure it didn't.

“Peter died of natural causes. He was old. That thing in the woods is a ship from another world. Not Pandora's box, not a divine apple tree. I heard no voice from heaven saying Of this ship shalt thou not eat lest ye die.”

Gard smiled a little. “But it is a ship of knowledge, isn't it?”

“Yes. I suppose.”

Bobbi was looking toward the road again, obviously not wanting to pursue the topic further.

“When do you expect them?” Gardener asked.

Instead of answering, Bobbi nodded at the road. Kyle Archinbourg's Caddy was coming, followed by Adley McKeen's old Ford.

“Guess I'll go inside and catch some winks,” Gardener said, getting up.

“If you want to go out to the ship with us, you're welcome to.”

“With you, maybe. With them?” He cocked a thumb toward the approaching cars. “They think I'm crazy. Also, they hate my guts because they can't read my mind.”

“If I say you go, you go.”

“Well, I think I'll pass,” Gardener said, getting up and stretching. “I don't like them, either. They make me nervous.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Just… tomorrow. The two of us, Bobbi. Right?”

“Right.”

“Give them my best. And remind them I helped, steel plate in my head or not.”

“I will. Of course I will.” But Bobbi's eyes slid away again, and Gardener didn't like that. He didn't like it at all.

He thought they might go in the shed first, but they didn't. They stood around outside for a while talking-Bobbi, Frank, Newt, Dick Allison, Hazel, the others-and then moved off toward the woods in a tight group. The light was shading down toward purple now, and most of them were carrying flashlights.

Watching, Gard felt that his last real moment with Bobbi had come and gone. There was nothing now but to go into the shed and see what was in there. Make up his mind once and for all.