In Between by Kate Wilhelm Read Free Book Online Page A

Wannamaker, the computer expert, the world and everything and everyone in it.
    â€œNo play,” Sam said in an undertone to Lori. He was grinning. She grinned back at him.
    â€œLet’s get that stuff in the mail while they’re all occupied,” she said.
    They returned to the shrubbery where they had hidden the envelopes, gathered them up and made their way to the gate. The mailbox was situated outside the ironwork the gate was anchored to, with the slot for outgoing mail accessible to those within the estate properly, the retrieval door accessible to the mail carrier on the outside. The guardhouse was across the driveway, and the guard was watching a ball game.
    â€œHere goes,” Sam said, walking to the mailbox with the envelopes. The guard continued to watch television, and Sam continued to have a working hand, a working body. He opened the mail slot and deposited the envelopes, then hurried back to Lori’s side.
    â€œDone,” she cried. “We did it!”
    â€œI still don’t see how that’s going to help,” he said. To his surprise Lori turned and flung her arms about him, held him tightly.
    â€œClose your eyes,” she said. “Hold me.”
    He closed his eyes and held her.
    â€œLook!” she cried. “Just look!” She unwrapped her arms around him and backed away.
    They were in a room with knotty pine paneling, a couple of easy chairs before a fireplace with wood ready to burn, a sofa with a brightly colored blanket draped over it. There were bookshelves with books, a television, a desk, pictures on the walls…
    â€œMy retreat,” Lori said.
    â€œBut how…?”
    â€œI began to think about the Voice,” she said. “Everything else was implanted except the instructions that we couldn’t leave the property. Remember? That was spoken, not implanted, as if she had forgotten, or had been interrupted before she got to it. I didn’t know if it would work, but if it hadn’t worked, at least we’d both have a hug. Welcome to Bernadette Lowry’s house, Sam. There’s my computer on the desk and your stories and novel are on my hard drive. I left a back door open on your computer so if you want to restore that stuff after your sister gets it, I can do that.” She spun around, flinging out her hands. “My room. Yours, the guest room, is over there, kitchen, bathroom. If you want to go back to the mansion, go. I won’t go with you. If the Voice wants to collect me, she’ll have to find me first. I’m not going to spend fifty years in quarantine if I can help it.” She ran to a closed door, saying, “I’m going to change my clothes. There’s beer in the fridge. See you in a few minutes.”
    Sam stared at her, stared at the room they were in, and slowly walked toward the kitchen.
    He had never wanted a beer more in his life.
    Lori’s voice floated out from her bedroom. “We’ll have to borrow a neighbor’s car to get stuff to a mailbox. I think at about three in the morning might be a safe time.”
    Borrow? She meant steal. Steal someone’s car. He shook his head. They had to go back. The person behind the Voice, the entity, official, whatever she was, would find them. There could be a penalty, punishment, something.
    â€œI thought I might be in hiding for a long time, so I stocked up on beer, wine, food in the freezer,” Lori called out. “A lot of ice cream. Not that we’ll need it, but for taste, something to do. Barbecues or something.”
    When and if Ben died, they might just go on to the next step, not remain in quarantine, not continue in this in-between phase. Or it might be fifty years. What kind of punishment? He thought of his mother. Fire and brimstone?
    â€œThere’s a hiking trail down to the ocean. Great beach, but the water’s freezing.”
    He opened a door to outside and drew in a long breath of fir-scented air. A