There was a hard freeze in November, and with the valley flooded and the road and bridges gone, they knew they were safe from attack, at least until spring. The people had moved out of the cave again, and work in the lab went on at the same numbing pace. The fetuses were developing, growing, moving now with sudden motions of feet and elbows. David was working on substitutes for the chemicals that already were substituting for amniotic fluids. He worked each day until his vision blurred, or his hands refused to obey his directions, or Walt ordered him out of the lab. Celia was working longer hours now, still resting in the middle of the day for several hours, but she returned after that and stayed almost as late asDavid did.

He passed her chair and kissed the top of her head. She looked up at him and smiled, then returned to her figures. Peter started a centrifuge. Vlasic made a last adjustment on the end tank of nutrients that were to be diluted and fed to the embryos, then called out, "Celia, you ready to count chicks?"

"One second," she said. She made a notation, put her pencil in the open book, and stood up.

David was aware of her, as he always was, even when totally preoccupied with his own work. He was aware that she stood up, that she didn't move for a moment, and when she said, in a tremulous voice that betrayed disbelief, "David… David…" he was already starting to his feet. He caught her as she crumpled.

Her eyes were open, her look almost quizzical, asking what he could not answer, expecting no answer. A tremor passed through her and she closed her eyes, and although her lids fluttered, she did not open them again.

Chapter 6

Walt looked David over and shrugged. "You look like hell," he said.

David made no response. He knew he looked like hell. He felt like hell. He watched Walt as if from a great distance.

"David, are you going to pull yourself together? You just giving up?" He didn't wait for a reply. He sat down on the only chair in the tiny room and leaned forward, cupping his chin in his hands, staring at the floor. "We've got to tell them. Sarah thinks there'll be trouble. So do I."

David stood at the window, looking at the bleak landscape, done in grays and blacks and mud colors. It was raining, but the rain had become clean. The river was a gray swirling monster that he could glimpse from up here, a dull reflection of the dull sky.

"They might try to storm the lab," Walt went on. "God knows what they might decide to do."

David made no motion but continued to stare at the sullen sky.