For the hundredth time, Shirley cursed Eric’s thoroughness and caution. As soon as he and Nicole had come back to camp, he had insisted that they change locations immediately, moving down closer to the highway. He had also packed the radio in the gear stowed next to his lean-to. Neither she nor Joe had had a chance to get even close to it for a broadcast, so the Major still had no idea where they were or what was happening. Now Joe had gone back to Shalev with Eric and the others, and the final act was unwinding. Shirley had still not been able to get to the radio as Joe had told her she must. They had drawn times for watch turns, and Shirley had tried to maneuver for a night watch, but she had drawn the ten-to-noon shift. With the whole camp up and about and the radio only fifty or so yards away, she hadn’t dared even lift the microphone.

At the edge of the clearing, she gave one last look at the camp, then turned and walked quickly toward the creek where Dick Andreason had rigged the aerial up a tall pine tree for better reception.

Dawn Metcalf, a middle-aged, graying woman, looked up in surprise as Shirley approached her through the low underbrush. “Hello, Shirley.”

“Hello, Mrs. Metcalf. Any word?”

“None, but it’s probably just as well. Charles showed me how to work this thing—” she patted the radio near her feet—“but I’m not sure I could.”

Shirley dropped to the grassy creek bank, leaned back on her elbows, and tried to look bored, though once again her heart was pounding inside her chest like a series of tiny, repetitious explosions. You must give Travis at least three or four hours’ warning. Joe had said it so easily as he had hurriedly kissed her good-bye that morning. He acted as though he was merely suggesting she walk down to the corner phone booth and place a call. If you can’t get to the radio in an inconspicuous way, then wait until after dark and knock out whoever is there. But you must warn Travis and the Major that we’re coming. Joe could do it—or Captain Oakes, if he were here—but Shirley went into cardiac arrest at the sight of a spider. She had never hit a person in anger in her whole life that she could remember.

She thrust her hands under her legs to stop the sudden trembling. Could she hit this kindly woman over the head with a rock? The very thought made her nauseated.

“You ought to be sleeping,” Mrs. Metcalf said.

Shirley sat up and hugged her legs. “I tried. I just lay there and worried about Joe and the others.”