The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [104]
“You mean like a knife?” Travis said, giving the little man a pointed look.
Marty shook his head. “I told you it was a bad joke.”
“Both of you maggots shut up,” Jay said, and he stamped back up the embankment.
They ended up in a narrow alley between two warehouses off Kalamath Street. They built a fire from more pilfered loading pallets, and Travis pressed his hands to the cinder-block wall, muttering Krond over and over, until waves of warmth radiated forth. Jay let out a laugh and pressed his back to the wall. Marty opened his knapsack and pulled out a loaf of white bread and packages of bologna and American cheese—all bought at a 7-Eleven with proceeds from the day's bottle-collecting venture.
Travis tried not to eye the food as Marty put together a thick sandwich, then to his surprise and delight Marty held the sandwich out toward him.
“You provide the heat, we'll provide the food,” he said, grinning.
“You got that right,” Jay said, rubbing his hands together in front of the fire. “Having a wizard around is damn handy.”
Travis accepted the sandwich in shaking hands—he hadn't eaten since the shelter that morning—and managed to wait until Jay and Marty had sandwiches themselves before greedily eating it. They talked and ate until all the food was gone, then lay close to the fire on ragged blankets as Travis whispered Krond again and again. Before long the food and heat did their work, and he drifted into a dream in which Anna Ferraro stood over him, her TV reporter smile firmly affixed to red lips.
“So how does it feel to know you're going to destroy the world?” she said, jamming a microphone into his face.
Travis fought for words. “I . . . I don't want to destroy it.”
“So that means you believe you will,” she said with a gleam in her eyes.
“No, I didn't mean . . .”
“That's all we have time for.” She pulled the microphone away. “You know, you shouldn't all go to sleep at the same time. That is, unless you want to be the next ones to vanish. It's dangerous out here.”
Travis jerked awake, and after that he kept watch for several hours, staring into the dark until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. At that point he woke Marty with a gentle shake. The tall man agreed to keep a lookout, then wake Jay to take the last watch. Travis curled up next to the dying fire and whispered Krond until sleep took him once again.
When he woke, the sky was as flat and white as a sheet of paper, and Jay and Marty were already rolling up their blankets. The fire was out, and it was bitterly cold.
“I don't want to be the last ones to breakfast today,” Jay said, “and I figured you'd be dragging us by the park again to see old Sparky. So let's get moving.”
Despite all they had eaten last night, the idea of food set Travis's stomach to growling. Trying to keep warm took a lot of energy. Or was it using magic that made him so hungry?
Civic Center Park was on the way as they headed back to downtown. The gold dome of the Capitol blazed to life as they walked between the library and the art museum into the park. Sunrise. Sparkman should be there.
Travis searched around, then saw it not far off—a wheelchair, angled away from them. Only it was sitting in a patch of shadow by a tree. That was odd. He hurried over, Jay and Marty behind him.
“Professor Sparkman,” he said as he approached the chair, “I need to listen again to your—”
He came to a halt, staring at the wheelchair. It was empty. For a moment Travis thought it wasn't his. Then he saw the faded bumper sticker slapped on the back of the seat. E=mc2. There was no sign of the receiver.
Jay clamped his wool hat down on his cranium. “Hell, I was only kidding about him chopping off his head.”
“He didn't chop off his head,” Marty said, brown eyes sad.
Travis shuddered. It was just like his dream about the TV reporter. It's dangerous out here, she had said. He touched Professor Sparkman's empty wheelchair and breathed a foggy sigh. “They took him.”
“The aliens,” Marty said.
Travis didn't have the energy to disagree. He leaned on the handles