Evelyn raised her hands to her cheeks and stared at him over the bright hedge of her nails. "After last night;" she said, "I... I haven't been feeling so good, either."

"Yeah," he said. "I probably killed you last night."

Evelyn was seventeen, had reddish hair, and her favorite color was green.

"How… What can we do?"

"Nothing," he said. "We can go to the clinic, and they can put us to bed and watch us die."

"Oh, no! Maybe the serum will come in time."

"Ha! I came to say good-bye, that's all. I love you. I'm sorry I gave it to you. Maybe if we hadn't done it… Oh, I don't know! I'm sorry, Evvie!"

She began to cry.

"Don't go!" she said.

"I've got to. Maybe you're only catching a cold or something. I hope so. Take some aspirin and go to bed."

He rested his hand on the doorknob.

"Don't go," she said.

"I've got to."

"To the clinic?"

"Are you kidding? They can't do anything. I'm just going, away..."

"What are you going to do?"

He looked away from her blue-green eyes.

"You know," he said. "I'm not going to go through all that misery. I've seen people die of it. I'm not going to wait."

"Don't," she said. "Please don't."

"You don't know what it's like," he said.

"The serum may come. You ought to hold out for as long as you can."

"It won't come. You've heard what it's like out there. You know they won't make it."

"I think I've got it, too," she said. "So come here.. It doesn't matter."

They met in the center of the room, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Don't be afraid," she said. "Don't be afraid," and he held her for a long while, and then she took his hand and said, "Come this way. Don't be afraid. They won't be home for a long time," and she led him up to her bedroom and said, "Undress me," and he did.

They moved to the bed and did not speak again until after he had ridden her for several minutes and she heard him sigh and felt the warm moisture come into her. Then she rubbed his shoulders and said, "That was good."

"Yes." He raised himself to draw away then, and his elbow collapsed. "Oh, God!" he said. "I'm so weak all of a sudden!" He rolled to his side and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. He sat there and began to shake.

She draped a blanket over his shoulders and said, "You're thirsty, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I'll get you a drink."

"Thanks."

He gulped the water she brought him. His head filled with bells as he drank it. "I love you," he said, and, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was good."

Silently, he began to cry. She didn't realize it until his chest contracted about a sob, and she looked and saw that his face was wet.

"Don't cry," she said, "please..." and she wiped her eyes on a corner of the bedsheet.

"I can't help it. We're going to die."

"I'm afraid."

"So am I."

"What will it be like?"

"I don't know. Pretty bad, I guess. Don't think about it."

"I can't help it."

"I've got to lie down again. Excuse me. Do you have any other blankets?"

"I'll get some."

"... And another glass of water, please."

"Yes."

She returned and unfolded two wool blankets above him.

"That should be better."

She brought him another glass of water.

"Why should this happen to us?"

"I don't know. We're unlucky, that's all."

"You were going to kill yourself. Weren't you?"

He nodded. "I still am, as soon as I feel a little better. Ha! That sounds funny, doesn't it?"

"No. Maybe you're right, and it'll get worse from here on in."

"Stop it!"

"I can't help it. We're going to die; we know that. We might as well go as easy as possible. What were you going to do?"

"I was going to walk out on the bridge and stay there till I felt so bad that it would be worth it to go over the side."

"That's hard," she said, looking at her shadow on the wall.

"You got any better ideas?"

"No," she said, turning, so that light filtered through the venetian blinds fell upon her face and breast. Her zebra expression was indecipherable. "No."

"You sure?"

"No. I mean, maybe. My mother has some sleeping pills."

"Oh."

He stretched eight inches of blanket taut between his hands and bit down on the fabric.

"Get them," he said, "please."

"Are you sure?"

"No. But get them."

She left the room, returned after a few heartbeats with a small, dark bottle in one hand. "I have them here."

He took the bottle and stared at it. He turned it in his hand. He opened it. He removed a pill and held it in his palm, studying its contours.

"So that's it, huh?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

"How many would I have to take?"

"I read about someone taking twenty once..."

"How many are there here?"

"I don't know."

Beads of perspiration appeared on his brow, and he cast the blankets aside. "Get me a glass of water," he said, bending forward and hugging his knees.

"All right."

She took the glass to the bathroom and refilled it. She placed it on the table beside the bed. She picked up the bottle, which had fallen among the blankets.

"Let's do it," he said.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," he said. "It'll just be like going to sleep, won't it?"

"That's what they say."

"It seems like a better way out."

"Yes."

"Then count me out twenty pills."

She handed him the glass of water, and he held it in his right hand. Then he extended his left hand, palm upward.

She placed the pills within it.

He put two in his mouth and swallowed them with a gulp of water.

He made a face. "I always have a rough time swallowing pills," he said.

Then he took two more, and two more, and two more. "That's eight," he said.

He took them two at a time, five more times. "There were only eighteen," he said.

"I know."

"You said twenty."

"That's all there were, though."

"Christ! You mean I didn't leave any for you?"

"That's all right. I'll find another way. Don't worry."

"Oh, Evvie!" and he wrapped his arms about her waist, and she could feel his moist cheek against her belly. "I'm sorry, Evvie!" he said. "I didn't mean to! Honest!"

"I know. Don't worry. It'll be all right real soon. It should be real nice, just like going to sleep. I'm glad I had them for you. I love you, Fred!"

"I love you, Evvie! I'm sorry! Oh..."

"Why don't you just lie back and rest now?"

"I've got to go to the john first. All that water..." He climbed to his feet, one hand on the wall, and made his way out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He crossed into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

She heard the water running, and she heard the toilet flush. She held her hands out before her and stared at her fingernails. Her lower lip was moist and tasted salty.

The water kept running, from bellnote through bellnote, and she thought of her parents, but she was still afraid to go and see.

Albany to Boston. A couple hundred miles. He'd managed the worst of it. The terrors of Damnation Alley lay largely at his back now. Night. It flowed about him. The stars seemed brighter than usual. He'd make it, the night seemed to say.

He passed between hills. The road wasn't too bad. It wound between trees and high grasses. He passed a truck coming in his direction and dimmed his lights as it approached. It did the same.

It must have been around midnight that he came to the crossroads, and the lights suddenly nailed him from two directions.

He was bathed in perhaps thirty beams from the left and as many from the right.

He pushed the accelerator to the floor, and he heard engine after engine coming to life somewhere at his back. And he recognized the sounds.

They were all of them bikes.