A bright light blasted into the back of the collection van, giving Valentine one of those instant, diamond-shard headaches a sudden stimulus up his optic nerves seemed to cause. Valentine looked down, saw a name scratched on the wooden seat between his legs.
Bob Barquist Feb 15 68.
Valentine tried to remember where he'd been when Barquist was taking his ride. Probably back in the Ozarks with Ahn-Kha, showing a group of leaders from the Production Resource how to grow heartroot in cold weather, to be eaten or ground up into pig and chicken feed.
He wished there were some way he could have sent one more message to Narcisse - some bit of rhyme to teach Blake - or Malia. Ali even. Would she sigh and say that he hadn't been careful enough?
He felt hands hauling him out of the collection van and they turned the spotlight off.
"I might be pregnant!" Mona said, showing evidence Valentine could only guess at as she pulled up her pants. "You need to take me to a medical center. I might be pregnant!"
They stood at a brick wall. The collection van was parked at a gate. Old metal letters on a clear stretch of wall read,
ELL VUE B TANI AL GAR ENS
Someone had added an H before the ELL.
The gap in the wall, big enough for two buses to pass, was closed by a yellow line of police tape. Inside Valentine saw some old, overgrown buildings. The park looked to be in ruins, but he could still make out old lots and paths.
"You guys got lucky", one of the Quisling guards said. He had flaps on his hat to keep his ears warm, and a short beard. "Only three of yas. Pound-o'-flesh always lets one make it out the other end alive. The way I see it is you've all got a one-in-three chance. Don't clobber each other right off the bat, or we'll give you a dose of bird shot, and then you'll never make it up the other end of Long Trail".
"I want to see a doctor", Mona said.
The Quisling in the hunting hat ignored her. "We use you all because you got that good old mountain-crossing spirit. All you've got to do is get to where them lights are. See it, way over there?" He pointed between two stands of trees.
Valentine saw a pair of red lights on twin poles, like the goalposts on a football field, glowering eyes staring at them across the lush plant life. If they were in fact goalposts, they were a good half mile away, maybe three-quarters of a mile.
"Strip", the Quisling ordered.
Soldiers stepped forward, released their hands so they could pull their shirts off. Valentine felt his skin retreat at the cold night air.
"Please, I could be pregnant. You never do this when someone is pregnant", Mona said.
Colin rocked on his heels. "Shut up, you idiot". He was breathing deeply.
"There's a Reaper in there", Valentine said.
"Good guess", the Quisling said.
Valentine didn't guess. He knew.
"Look at the weird burns on the back of this one. What did they do to you?"
Three Quislings were fiddling with their harnesses while others covered them from an economy hatchback with a machine gun mounted on the hood.
Mona began to cry. "Why can't I see a doctor?"
"Again, don't beat on each other", Hunting Cap said. "When the tape falls you're off to the races".
"No fair, they've got shoes", Colin said.
"No fair, they've got shoes", one of the Quisling soldiers mimicked in a school-yard voice.
"Get the rest of your stuff off. Shoes too".
They complied; what else could they do? Valentine put his arm around Mona, shared body warmth. "I hear it's not so bad. They hypnotize you, like a snake does a bird".
The tape fell and Valentine felt a sharp blow to the side of his knee. Colin had lashed out, and even now was running, the tape whipping free of his thighs as he headed across the overgrown parking lot.