Free Night Walk by Bob Shaw Page B

into Tallon's arm.

"Sorry, son," Winfield said. "I'm out of practice."

"Look, Doc, are you quite sure about all this? You made up a second escape

kit so you could bring along somebody who could help you -- not a blind man."

Tallon rolled his sleeve down over his faintly throbbing arm.

"Sure I'm sure. Besides, I'm giving you this eyeset as soon as we're ready

to move off."

"Nothing doing, Doc. You keep the eyeset and I'll stick with the sonar.

I'm lucky to have that much, I suppose." Tallon had fallen several times

during the nightmarish journey from the cell block to the meeting place,

but had hardly felt the pain. His brain was trying to find the reason why

Helen Juste had confiscated his eyeset. Why had she encouraged them to

complete the eyesets before she cracked down? Had she got wind of their

escape plan and chosen this way of slamming the door?

"Well, that's that," Winfield announced. "I wanted us to have the

general-purpose shots before we started walking. Even the woodworms can

have a nasty bite in this part of the world."

He pushed a bulky package into Tallon's arms, and they made their way

cautiously down the slope toward the palisade. The bird on Winfield's

shoulder clucked apprehensively as the doctor slid once on a patch of

rank grass. Tallon kept the sonar torch aimed straight ahead and listened

to the steadily rising tone caused by the beam hitting the palisade.

"Here we are," the doctor grunted. His voice was followed by dull crunching

sounds as he kicked out the rotten wood inhabited by his carefully nurtured

colony of worms. Tallon followed him through the hole, grimacing as an

accidental contact with the edge showered him with thousands of tiny

writhing creatures. They traveled a short distance toward the swamp

until they ran out of hard ground.

"Suits now," Winfield said brusquely. "Did you remember not to eat or drink?"

"Yes."

"Good, but you'd better have this anyway."

"What is it?"

"Diaper."

"You're kidding."

"You'll thank me for it later."

With Winfield doing most of the work, they draped the plastic sheets around

their necks and sealed the edges. It was difficult to handle anything

properly through the plastic, but Winfield produced a roll of adhesive

tape and bound it at their necks, wrists and ankles. The binding made it

possible for them to walk and move their arms with comparative freedom.

To complete the grotesque outfits, they wrapped more plastic around their

heads, finished it with cement and tape, then jammed on their prison caps.

"I'll carry the pack and the bird," Winfield said. "Stay as close to me

as you can."

"You can count on that, Doc."

Moving toward the swamp in blackness, Tallon was aghast at the thought of

what he was going to do. Although blind, he knew when he had reached the

edge of the swamp by the feel of the clammy mist closing round him, as

well as by the stench, which made every breath something to be planned in

advance and forced through with determination. Unidentifiable night noises

drifted through the swirling vapor, reminding him that, although the robot

rifles had finished off only the swamp's warm-blooded inhabitants, there

were others to share the darkness. And yet, Tallon was aware of feeling

something approaching peace. He had finally become tired of drifting with

the current, of compromising, of feeling afraid. The fat old doctor, with

his head full of ridiculous dreams, was leading him to almost certain

death; but he had taught Tallon one great truth: Walking toward death

is not pleasant, but it's better than having it come up fast behind you.

The swamp was much worse than Tallon had anticipated; in fact, he discovered

he had not really expected the swamp to be a problem. They were able to

remain upright and move ahead by walking and wading for the first hour,

covering about two hundred yards in reasonable comfort. But presently

Tallon began to hit patches where his feet seemed to sink through