The only problem was Gaye herself. She was too shy to approach Jeremy directly. Weeks of wheedling by her two willful friends had not moved her. Before long the cruise would be over and it would be too late.
Tonight, however, was the Week Five dance, to be held in the main ballroom. According to the rules set by the social committee, anyone could invite anyone. Girls were free to invite boys. Shanda and Alexis were giving their final push to Gaye.
‘You’ve got to invite him,’ Shanda said. ‘I talked to his roommate. He doesn’t have a date. He’s even thinking of not going to the dance. He’s just waiting for you, Gaye!’
‘I don’t know,’ Gaye temporized, looking across the deck at the boys, who were now changing sides. Under the bright sunlight, his dark hair tousled by the wind, Jeremy looked almost too handsome to be real. She felt unworthy to approach him. He looked like a prince out of a fairy tale.
If only I knew he liked me …
Sensing Gaye’s thoughts, Shanda said, ‘Look, he thinks you’re cute. His roommate told me. But he thinks you’re standoffish. He’s afraid to talk to you.’
Gaye took this news with suspicion. ‘When did you talk to him?’
‘Last night after dinner,’ Shanda said. ‘For God’s sake, Gaye, can’t you see this is your chance? You can ask him to the dance. That way he doesn’t have to get up his guts to ask you. There’s no risk. It’s guaranteed!’
Gaye had only known Shanda for a few weeks, but she was familiar enough with her mannerisms to know when she was lying. This story didn’t sound right.
‘If he likes me, he can ask me,’ she responded.
‘He can’t, dummy!’ Shanda exploded. ‘He’s afraid of you. Don’t you listen?’
Gaye still hung back.
Then something happened that forced the girls’ hand. Jeremy left his friends and headed toward the academic area amidships. The game went on without him.
‘I can’t do it,’ Gaye said fearfully.
‘If you can’t, I will,’ Shanda said.
Still a bit out of breath, Jeremy called something over his shoulder to one of his friends. He was coming straight toward the girls.
Gaye knew she was trapped. Shanda, the aggressive one, would not hesitate to speak to him on Gaye’s behalf. Jeremy was only a dozen feet from her now, not looking at her but coming straight toward her.
‘Come on, dummy,’ Shanda hissed in her ear as she pushed her forward.
The push was rough. Gaye’s slender young body was flung forward, right into the path of the approaching boy. She tried to catch her balance, but it was too late. She saw Jeremy’s arms react as his eyes turned to her. In that last split second she thought, Shanda was lying. He doesn’t like me. He can’t –
The thought never completed itself. Before she could turn to dart a look of reproach at her friend, Gaye Symington ceased to exist.
Shanda and Alexis were sharing a grin of complicity when their bodies turned to vapor.
No one heard the blast or even saw the flash. The deuterium and tritium that fuse in a hydrogen bomb are heated within a few microseconds to a temperature of ten million degrees centigrade. The energy from the reaction heats the surrounding air to a temperature of 300,000 degrees after one hundredth of a millisecond.
There would be no wreckage for the searchers to find. The only proof that there had been a ship here, and a nuclear explosion, would be a digital blip on monitor screens in radar installations around the world.
Jeremy Asner’s last thought before death canceled his brain was She’s prettier close up.
The Piper was angry when the townspeople refused to pay him for getting rid of the rats. In revenge, he decided to kill all the children of the town. He lured them to the river with the song of his pipe. The children could not resist the song, any more than had the rats. They hurried to the river and flung themselves in, one by one. All were drowned.
Only one child survived – a deaf boy who could not hear the song of the pipe. He remained at home, and found out afterward that all his friends were gone.
– ‘THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN’
SIX MONTHS LATER
Liberty, IowaNovember 1511:45 A.M.
Snow fell silently, like a sleep coming over the land.
The postman came around the corner, pulling his bag behind him. he wheels of his cart left moist black trails in the fresh snow on the sidewalk. A crumpled snowman, made from yesterday’s storm, regarded the passing postman pathetically, its corncob pipe falling down its face.
It was the biggest snow on record for this time of year. School had been canceled yesterday. Today was Saturday, so the town’s children could enjoy what was left of the accumulation with their sleds and flying saucers.
The postman wore his Saturday look, a bit more watchful than usual, as he started to cross the street. Saturdays were more dangerous for him than weekdays, and more interesting. Children were on the loose. With children came snowballs, pranks, and sometimes an unruly dog. He had to be on his toes.
But something stopped him in the middle of the street. He stood still in his tracks, his cart beside him, his eyes fixed on something beyond the houses and the trees and the snow-covered lawns. One hand was raised toward his chin, as though to stroke it thoughtfully. The other was at his side. His eyes blinked as a wind-blown snowflake plopped on the lashes. His mouth was closed, the jaws set rigidly.
No one would find him for ten minutes. As luck would have it, the children were all inside their houses, playing in their rooms, watching Saturday-morning television, or getting ready for lunch. Those mothers who were not out at work did not expect the mail until after noon, so no one came out to check a mailbox.
During those ten minutes the postman did not move a muscle. He was as rigid as the dying snowman who sagged under the new-fallen snow.
The mother was standing in her kitchen, watching the news station on TV as she talked to her sister on the phone.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Just getting ready to give the kids lunch.’
She paused, listening to something her sister was saying.
‘No,’ she said with some anger. ‘I’m so fed up with husbands, I’m not going to move a muscle. They can get along without me. I’ve had it.’
She craned her neck to glance into the playroom. Her maternal radar had alerted her to the fact that the little ones were up to something.
‘Just a second,’ she said to her sister. Then she held the phone against her breast and shouted at her older child, the boy, ‘Stop doing that to her!’
There was a pause. The mother went to the door of the playroom and gave both children a hard look. ‘Lunch in five minutes,’ she said. ‘Don’t leave this room until you clean up this mess.’
They were five and seven. The little girl was quiet enough when left to her own devices, but the boy, Chase, was a terror. When he wasn’t torturing his sister he was putting her up to some sort of mischief. It was impossible to leave them alone in