those envelopes up to our room and let me address them, and then get them down to the mailbox. Thatâs going to get tricky with so many people traipsing about.â
A woman came around the corner of the house and sat on a bench a few feet away from them. She lighted a cigarette.
âMrs. Morehead, the cook,â Lori said. âGod, I hope she doesnât spot that.â She motioned toward the gun.
âLike you said, itâs going to be tricky.â He put his leg over the gun, which didnât help since his leg passed through it.
Mrs. Morehead never even glanced in their direction. After she wandered away, Sam snatched up the gun, trotted to the high stone wall and threw the gun over it.
âLori,â he said, dropping down to the grass by her again, âif Ben dies, does that mean the Voice will appear and collect us? You know, we take the next step. Or,â he said in a lower voice, âare we way out of sequence? Youâre twenty-eight years old, and Iâm thirty. We both would normally have another thirty, forty, even fifty years to go. Barring another joint accident, of course. How likely would that have been? We didnât even know each other until this. How many people will have to die before itâs our turn? What if weâre in-between for decades?â
She looked stricken, aghast. âHere, or in quarantine for fifty years? That infinite terminal for fifty years!â
For the next several hours, they flitted back and forth, checking on everyoneâs whereabouts, on the progress the computer expert was making, on the cook, and Arthur, but there was never a good chance to retrieve the wastebasket with the envelopes until nearly six oâclock.
âTheyâre having appetizers,â Lori reported then. âLetâs do it now. Arthurâs in the kitchen eating. Weâll have to hurry.â
She kept an eye on the group, again in the party room, sitting at a table spread with appetizers. Sam went to the screening room, picked up the wastebasket, and after a cautious scrutiny of the corridor, made a dash for the stairs. He raced to the bedroom and called to Lori to join him. She was there instantly. Then, with the door closed, she addressed the envelopes.
âWe can use the balcony,â he said. âMe below, you toss the stuff down and we hide it until the coast is clear to the mailbox.â
She nodded and finished the last of the envelopes, all addressed, stamped, ready for USPS to do its job.
They had to wait, however. When Sam stepped out, he saw Darla heading toward her room. He followed and watched her go straight to the underwear drawer and feel about in it. After a second or two, she began to throw things onto the floor. She did the same with the other drawers, and then sat down on the side of the bed. She was pale, breathing hard. A flush began to suffuse her face, and a furious expression compressed her lips and narrowed her eyes. She cursed and walked from the room stiffly.
When Sam told Lori, she said, âOh God! What if they start a search? Darla can pretend to have lost something else and they could be all over the place searching. We have to get this stuff out now.â
They gathered up the envelopes, ran to Darlaâs room and to the balcony. Sam vanished and reappeared below. She tossed the envelopes down, closed the balcony door and the drapes over it, then joined Sam. Hurriedly they gathered up the envelopes, ran to the nearest bush and thrust the envelopes into the greenery.
Before they had a chance to discuss their next move, the computer expert appeared with Arthur on their way to retrieve the nerdâs car. Arthur watched until the car reached the gate, it opened, and the car rolled out of sight. Arthur returned inside the house with Lori and Sam at his heels.
They could hear Ben bellowing before the door opened, and the roar was ear-splitting as they approached the party room. Ben was cursing Sam, cursing