|
|
|
|
|
|
|
life, and she plugged in the hotplate. Almost instantly there was a pale orange glow in the darkness. She picked up two heavy green mugs, searched through the supplies till she found ajar of instant coffee and thought about the wisdom of making enough for Moxie and Gladys Ann as well. In the same instant she decided not to, figuring they needed their sleep worse than they needed coffee. She didn't know what time it was, but there was still a long time to go until the storm abated. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Freeman was lumbering back through the darkness, around the end of the bar and coming toward her, when she looked up. What she saw sent a chill racing across her shoulders. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Doc, what's wrong?" she stammered. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Freeman stopped and looked at her, his face twisting into a quizzical frown. "Wrong with what?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
She walked slowly toward him and reached out her hand. "Your face," she said uneasily, "there's something wrong with it." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
She could hear the old man laugh. "Always has been; always knew I wouldn't win any Tyrone Power look-alike contests." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Linda's fingers traced hesitantly through the accentuated pattern of wrinkles and folds. "You . . . you look like you've aged!" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Hell yes, I've aged," the old man groused |
|
|
|
|
|