Sixty Days and Counting by Kim Stanley Robinson Page A

directions; they got out to a paved road and turned right, and Frank accelerated as fast as he dared on the still frozen road, which was often in shadow, and seemed a good candidate for black ice. When they came to a T-stop she had him turn right. “My car’s right there, the black Honda. I’m going to take off.”
    “Where?”
    “I’ve got a place. I’ve got to hurry, I don’t want them to see me at the bridge. You should head directly for the bridge and get off the island. Go back home.”
    “Okay,” Frank said. He could feel himself entering one of his indecision fugues, and was grateful she had such a strong sense of what they should do. “Look, I’m sorry about this. I thought I had to warn you.”
    “I know. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. It was good of you to try to help. I know why you did it.” And she leaned over and gave him a quick peck of a kiss before she got out.
    “I was pretty sure my van is clean,” Frank said. “And my stuff too. We checked all of it out.”
    “They may have you under other kinds of surveillance. Satellite cameras, or people just tailing you.”
    “Satellite cameras? Is that possible?”
    “Of course.” Annoyed that he could be so ignorant.
    Frank shrugged, thinking it over. He would have to ask Edgardo. Right now he was glad she was giving him directions.
    She came around the van and leaned in on his side. Frank could see she was angry.
    “You’ll be able to come back here someday,” he said.
    “I hope so.”
    “You know,” he said, “instead of holing up somewhere, you could stay with people who would keep you hidden, and cover for you.”
    “Like Anne Frank?”
    Startled, Frank said, “Well, I guess so.”
    She shook her head. “I couldn’t stand it. And I wouldn’t want to put anyone else to the trouble.”
    “Well, but what about me? I’m staying with the Khembalis in almost that way already. They’re very helpful, and their place is packed with people.”
    Again she shook her head. “I’ve got a Plan C, and it’s down in that area. Once I get into that I can contact you again.”
    “If we can figure out a clean system.”
    “Yes. I’ll work on that. We can always set up a dead drop.”
    “My friends from the park live all over the city—”
    “I’ve got a plan!” she said sharply.
    “Okay.” He shook his head, swallowed; tasted blood at the back of his throat.
    “What?” she said.
    “Nothing,” he said automatically.
    “Something,” she said, and reached in to touch the side of his head. “Tell me what you just thought. Tell me quick, I’ve got to go, but I didn’t like that look!”
    He told her about it as briefly as he could. Taste of blood. Inability to make decisions. Maybe it was sounding like he was making excuses for coming up to warn her. She was frowning. When he was done, she shook her head.
    “Frank? Go see a doctor.”
    “I know.”
    “Don’t say that! I want you to promise me. Make the appointment, and then go see the doctor.”
    “Okay. I will.”
    “All right, now I’ve got to go. I think they’ve got you chipped. Be careful and go right back home. I’ll be in touch.”
    “How?”
    She grimaced. “Just go!”
             
    A phrase which haunted him as he made the long drive south. Back to home; back to work; back to Diane. Just go!
    He could not seem to come to grips with what happened. The island was dreamlike in the way it was so vivid and surreal, but detached from any obvious meaning. Heavily symbolic of something that could nevertheless not be decoded. They had hugged so hard, and yet had never really kissed; they had climbed together up a rock wall, they had iceboated on a wild wind, and yet in the end she had been angry, perhaps with him, and holding back from saying things, it had seemed. He wasn’t sure.
    Mile after mile winged by, minute after minute; on and on they went, by the tens, then the hundreds. And as night fell, and his world reduced to a pattern of