Darwin's Children by Greg Bear Read Free Book Online Page B

call your house again, see if somebody’s home, tell your daddy or mama to meet us. Should I?”
    He was getting nervous. She could smell that much, not that it meant anything. Everybody was nervous these days. He did not want to hurt her, she was pretty sure; there was nothing horny about his scent or his manner, and he did not smell of cigarettes or alcohol.
    He did not smell anything like the young men in the convenience store.
    She told herself again she would have to take chances if she wanted to get anywhere, if she wanted anything to change. “Yes,” she said.
    Fred pushed redial. The cell phone beeped the tune of the house number. Still no answer. Her mother was probably out looking for her.
    “Let’s go to my house,” Fred said. “It’s not far and there are cold drinks in the ice chest. Strawberry soda. Genuine Nehi in long-necked bottles. I’ll call your mama again when we get there.”
    She swallowed hard, opened the glove box, and pulled out a packet of color photos, five by sevens. The kids in the first photo, seven of them, were having a party, a birthday party, with a bright red cake. Fred stood in the background beside a plump older woman with a blank look. Other than Fred and the older woman, the kids at the party were all about her age. One boy might have been older, but he was standing in the background.
    All like her. SHEVA children.
    “Jesus,” Stella said.
    “Easy on that,” Fred said amiably. “Jesus is Lord.”
    The bumper sticker on Fred’s truck said that. On the tailgate was glued a golden plastic fish. The fish, labeled “Truth,” was eating another fish with legs, labeled “Darwin.”
    Fred turned on the motor and put the truck in gear. The rain was falling in big hard drops, tapping on the roof and the hood like a million bored fingers.
    “Battle of the Wilderness took place not far from here,” Fred said as he drove. He turned right carefully, as if worried about jostling precious cargo. “Civil War. Holy place in its way. Real quiet. I love it out this way. Less traffic, fewer condo-minimums, right?”
    Stella leafed through the pictures again, found some more stuck in a plastic pocket. Seven different kids, mugging for the camera or staring at it seriously, some sitting in big chairs in a big house.
    One boy had no expression at all. “Who’s this?” she asked Fred.
    Fred spared a quick look. “That is Will. Strong Will, Mother calls him. He lived off snakes and squirrels before he came to our shelter.” Fred Trinket smiled and shook his head at the thought. “You’ll like him. And the others, too.”
    14
    T he red truck pulled up to a two-story house with tall white columns. Two long brick planters filled with scrawny, dripping oleanders bordered the white steps. Fred Trinket had done nothing overt to upset Stella, but now they were at his house.
    “It’s about lunchtime,” Trinket said. “The others will be eating. Mother feeds them about now. I eat later. It’s my digestion. None too good.”
    “You eat oatmeal,” Stella said.
    Trinket beamed. “That is right, young lady. I eat oatmeal for breakfast. Sometimes a single slice of bacon. What else?”
    “You like garlic.”
    “For dinner, I have spaghetti with garlic, that’s right.” Trinket shook his head happily. “Marvelous. You smell all that.”
    He opened his door and came around. Stella got out and he pointed up the porch steps to the house. A big white door stood there, solid and patient, flanked by two tall, skinny windows. The paint was new. The doorknob reeked of Brasso, a smell she did not like. She did not touch the door. Trinket opened it for her. The door was not locked.
    “We trust people,” Trinket said. “Mother!” he called. “We have a guest.”
    15
    M itch pulled into the dirt driveway beneath a sodden gray sky. Kaye was not in the house when he arrived. She honked at him from the road as he came out after searching the empty house. His long legs took him in five quick strides