A quick glance showed perhaps a dozen of the mutants still struggling through the water. In the lead was the gargantuan Prake, roaring and bleeding like a wounded bear.
“They’ll catch us, I am afraid. You go on.” Burnfingers was panting hard, obviously tired. Frank had come to think of him as some kind of superman. Now he saw he was wrong. The Indian was strong, but he was not indestructible. “I will hold them off. I have a few shots left.”
Alicia looked back at him, slowing. “Don’t you have enough?”
He grinned at her as he dug in a pocket, bringing out a few more shells. “These bullets are very expensive, earth mother.”
She eyed him oddly. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
“I label as I feel. I think it fits.”
Frank slowed. His thighs were encumbered with lead weights. “I hear something.”
“Splashing. I hear it, too.” Alicia stared into the darkness. “Are there big fish in this lake?”
“There aren’t any fish in this lake,” Burnfingers told her. “Too saline.”
It wasn’t a fish, but rather something considerably larger. Lights on high beam, the motor home plunged through the night toward them, a metal dinosaur spitting water from beneath six big wheels.
“Mouse.” Frank was swaying, fighting to maintain his balance. “Thank God.”
The water was up to the big vehicle’s hubcaps as it swung around to greet them. The resulting spray from the wheels drenched them all, but nobody cared. They stumbled madly for the door, which was flung wide from inside. Mouse stood waiting, outlined by the cool electric shine from within: an undernourished angel.
“Don’t slow down now!” Burnfingers made sure no one was left behind.
Frank half threw his son aboard. Wendy was next up, then Alicia. He followed faster than he believed possible. Even so, Burnfingers was crowding him.
“Go!” Mouse looked forward as she barked the command. To whom? Frank wondered, since she was driving herself.
Burnfingers grabbed the handle and dragged the door shut as they accelerated. None of them saw the huge shape that flung itself at the rear of the fleeing vehicle. Massive hands locked tight on the back bumper.
“Excuse me a minute.” Burnfingers turned and strode toward the back of the motor home. Frank heard him slide open the rear window, heard the Casull bellow a last time. A moment later their tall companion rejoined them, a grim but contented expression on his long face. Frank caught his eye.
“No big deal. Some garbage caught on the bumper as we were leaving. It is gone now.”
13
ALICIA HAD A TOWEL wrapped around her hair. She handed a dry one to Burnfingers. He smiled at her, took it gratefully, and began drying himself as best he was able. Mouse was helping Steven out of his dripping clothes while Wendy stood waiting her turn, both arms crossed over her chest. Her mother walked over to her.
“Come on, darling. You have to get out of those clothes.”
“But, Mom.” Wendy looked meaningfully to her left. “Dad is here, and Steven, and…” Her gaze rose.
Burnfingers was wiping mud from his eyes. “Wendy sprite, you are a cute little white girl-almost-a-woman. But I have seen more ladies bare-ass naked than you ever will see similarly of both sexes. If even I was inclined to have a look at you I promise I am too tired right now to look at anything except maybe a hot cup of coffee.”
“I’ll make you one as soon as we’re through here,” Alicia promised him. Then her face broke out in a wide smile and she started to giggle. “Oh, I guess I can’t. We don’t have any propane.”
Wendy slowly lowered her arms. “There’s the microwave, Mom.”
“Yes, that’s right. We can make some instant, can’t we?” Thoughts of doing something as domestic as making coffee cheered her visibly. “But nobody gets anything until we’ve all switched to dry clothing.” Reluctantly, Wendy began to strip, starting with her shoes.
Burnfingers paused with his shirt halfway up his chest. “By the way, Frank, who the hell is driving up there?”
“I was wondering that myself.” Mouse was still helping Steven to change.
A beaming, ruddy face appeared around the side of the driver’s chair, one hand clinging to the wheel. A nose W. C. Fields would have been proud of dominated the surprising visage. It was flanked by shiny red cheeks and topped by a head of kinky reddish-blond hair. The eyes, deep-set beneath brows of equally startling hue, were bright pink. The man had a holiday air about him, as though Santa Claus had been crossed with the Easter Bunny.
“Hallu!” One pink eye winked, then the whole torso vanished behind the bulk of the seat.
Frank slipped into the bathrobe his wife handed him, moved forward as he belted the dry terry cloth.
Their driver was seated atop several cushions. This raised his eyes above the dash. A pair of sticklike prostheses were secured to his boots, short stilts improvised out of twine and poles. These enabled him to control the brake and accelerator. They were necessary because the man was barely three feet tall. A voice spoke at Frank’s side.
“Say good evening to our new friend,” Mouse urged him.
Dazed, Frank leaned against the other front seat for support. “Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” The little man stuck out a hand. Frank took it automatically. “Flucca’s the name. Niccolo Flucca. Haven’t had a chance to drive anything without four legs in five, six years. Mouse tells me it’s brand new. Didn’t think there was anything brand new left in the world.”
“Not in this one,” Frank told him, looking hard at Mouse as he spoke.
“I told you before this started that I was not good with machines. As I was waiting for your return, the curious began to gather around me. Niccolo was one of them. Years ago he wandered accidentally into this reality from another.”
“Thought it was a bad dream,” their driver said, “and it was.”
“Of all who surrounded me in your absence, only he recognized this machine as a vehicle. He offered to help. I am a good judge of people no matter what their origins and I could tell instantly he was large of heart and spirit. So I accepted. Fortunate for you, I think, that I did.”
“Prake’s bad people,” said Flucca.
“I wouldn’t want him for a neighbor,” Frank admitted.
“Mouse helped me rig up.” He indicated the cushions and stilts. “I used to be a pretty good driver. Great to be behind the wheel again. I know all the submerged roads.”
“When we heard the first explosions we thought we’d better come looking for you,” Mouse explained. “Niccolo assured me we wouldn’t get stuck. I thought it would be the right thing to do.”
“You thought right, little singer,” said Burnfingers from behind them.
“Speaking of right things to do.” Alicia put both arms around her husband and kissed him passionately. Wendy stared while her little brother made a disgusted sound.
“Ah, come on, Mom!” he finally pleaded, unable to stand it any longer. His parents parted. Frank had his hands on his wife’s hips, smiling at her.
“You been holding back on me all these years, sweetheart? I never knew death and destruction excited you.”
She pulled away sharply. “Frank, you’re terrible! Can’t you take anything seriously?”
His expression turned somber. “I got plenty serious when we found out you and the kids had been kidnapped.” He patted her side and she reached out to gently touch his face with the back of one hand.
The children had retreated to the security and quiet of the back bedroom. Leaving Alicia to deal with the pile of unexpected but unbloodied laundry, he walked back to join them. Both children sat on the king-sized bed. Steven was staring out the rear window, no doubt hunting for pursuing mutants. Frank didn’t think his son would see any. They were beyond the lake waters now, back in the main part of the city. Flucca certainly knew his way around, and Burnfingers had hung on to a few shells for the Casull. They were safe, at least until the next unexpected attack.
