A moment later, the boy returned with his hands full of wine glasses, and behind him Missa carried the jar of apple juice.

Martin explained their ceremony. Xeng nodded with great seriousness. "Yes, yes, I see."

Then, standing in a circle, with their drinks held together, Martin announced, "To our future doctor, Doctor Xeng."

"Doctor Xeng," they repeated. Paul and Leona held up their glasses but said nothing.

That was August 24, the day the sky turned blue and the sun blazed with its full August heat.

Chapter 47.

Diaz looked from the shotgun barrel to the fat man's watery bloodshot eyes and said, "Big gun." He squinted and cocked his head to one side. "Say, dude, how you feel? Looks to me like you got about six diseases, any one of which probly makes you feel like shinola, or something."

The barrel never wavered, but the man's eyes blinked slowly, feverishly.

"I was a doctor, back before everyone died," Diaz said, playing his fake ace. "I was immune."

The shotgun barrel wavered now. "You a doctor?" the man slurred, teetering slightly on his feet. Sweat ran out of his scalp and down his forehead.

"Dr. Diaz. Where you hurtin'?"

"Everplace. You don't look like no doctor."

"Specialist in pain relief. Also did some heart surgery. Took 'em out, revalved 'em, put 'em back in. Eye, ear, nose and throat, digestive disorders, which you don't look like you had any problem with. Prostate, gynocology, elbows, I did it all. What's your problem? How're the knees?"

Now the barrel lowered, pointing haphazardly across Diaz's knees.

"I'm real sick," the man said. "Can you help me out, bud? I got food I can give you."

"I got an appetite," Diaz said, "and I got drugs. Show me to your table."

Dusty oaks and sycamores lined the streets, all still green, but the lawns had died and everything looked uncomfortably fire-prone. Diaz pushed his Harley along as the man led him down one of the side streets to an old but well-kept home. Diaz suspected from the man's slovenly appearance that this was not his original residence.

Inside, in the dusty gloom, the air smelled of old clothes and lard-cooked food. The light through the lace curtains was yellow and tired. The man set the shotgun beside a recliner and then turned and let himself fall into it with a heavy thump. "Heal me," he said.

Diaz moved around the man as he looked into his eyes, mouth, and ears, took his pulse, and poked him here and there and calculated the distances between himself, the shotgun, the man, and the front door. Of course, he couldn't leave the Harley behind....

"What do I got?" the man asked.

There was peripheral movement; Diaz spun to the side.

"My daughter," the fat man said absently. "What do I got?"

She stood in the doorway, hip-cocked, mona lisa smile, ready.

"Enfartulosis mycodermia," Diaz said, goggling at the woman. He had heard they grew big ones in Missouri.

"Is it serious?"

"Nah."

"Good," the man said. "I was thinkin' it might of been that copperhead that bit me."

"That's where you got the enfartulosis, all right," Diaz said, still staring at the woman's face. "Might take a few days to get over it."

The man closed his eyes and sank back. "Cloris'll fix you the food," he mumbled.

Cloris smoldered.

"As your physician," Diaz said, "I recommend you stay in bed, doors and windows closed, and keep still. I'll bring you some drugs later. After I eat."

"Yah," the man. "I need peace and quiet." His head dropped back on the chair and his jaw flapped open. "Yah...." He looked dead.

Diaz stared at the woman and felt his testes pumping quarts of do-it hormone into his blood. His scalp prickled, his skin flushed, and he thought he might lose it before he got to her.

"Let me show you to the guest room," Cloris said, turning with a million-dollar swivel.

Diaz followed her up some narrow stairs to a bright room with a narrow bed. He thought his eyeballs would explode.

At the bedroom door, she said, "I'm going to give you a Missouri hello that you'll want to tell your grandkids about. Where you been so long?"

Chapter 48.

By mid-September, they were running their well pumps several extra hours a day to water their gardens, for cooking, washing, and bathing. The rain had stopped the previous month, the sky cleared, temperatures rose into the 90's, and for a week it got over 103o every day. And they were travelling all over the city to drain gas tanks.

One hot afternoon, Paul circulated among them, inviting them all to his house. "Leona has a surprise for you," he said.

They all went except Xeng and Solomon, who were at the library. Xeng studied there three or four hours a day and Solomon had started going along with him.

The surprise was air conditioning. She'd had Paul hook up another generator to help run it.

Missa immediately flopped in the middle of the floor, as she had seen Isha do, and panted through her open mouth.

"You all just sit back and enjoy it," Leona said brightly, "and I'll get you some ice tea. With ice." She wore a black dress with a white apron and had white lace around her neck and cuffs. She looked like she stepped out of a 1956 Life magazine.

"Except for the noise of the generators, it's just like old times," Catrin said quietly to Martin.

"Say, Paul," Winch said above the air conditioner and the generators, "how much gas a day does it take to run all this?"

"Um, about five gallons a day."

"Where d'you get all that?"

"Down at the gas station. From their tank underground. I pump it out."

"Is that dangerous?" Catrin asked.

"I'm careful."

"Good."

Leona brought out a tray of sweating glasses and graciously served them, the ice clinking each time she leaned forward and smiled. Then she brought out a tray of chewy crackers she had made and topped with canned cheese sauce and sliced olives.

"Now," she said when she sat down with them, "We should have a little prayer of thankfulness."

"And I," Catrin said, "want to thank Paul, who lugged the generators and the air conditioner out here and makes daily runs to the gas station."

"When are we going to start church?" Leona asked cheerily. "It's Sunday tomorrow."

Winch shrugged and looked at Martin. "I don't think we have any uniformity of beliefs," Martin said.

"What does that mean?"

"That means that the three of us don't share your religious beliefs," Martin said gently. "We probably don't even share each other's beliefs. And Xeng is a Buddhist."

"Well," she said, waving her hand, "he doesn't count, but what about you guys? Don't you-"

"What do you mean," Catrin said crisply, "that Xeng doesn't count?"

"You know what I mean. But what about you guys? Don't you believe that Jesus Christ is your Lord and Savior?"

Winch studied the plate of cheese and crackers.

"The short answer is no," Catrin said. "And I'd like to know what you mean about Xeng."

"I can't believe you mean that. The children need moral guidance," she said, getting indignant. "Someone needs to teach them. They need to know right from wrong."

"Missa," Catrin said. The little girl pulled the napkin off her head and gazed at her. "Missa, is it right to say bad things to people?"

"Nope."

"Would you hit Isha with a stick if I gave you some candy?"

"Noo-ooo." Missa gave her a curious look.

"So," Catrin said to Leona, "where's the problem?"

"They need moral and ethical guidance and religious instruction," Leona said. "You know very well what I'm talking about."

"Leona," Martin said, "we know you're telling us this because you want to see that Solomon and Missa grow up to be decent considerate people, but-"

"I want them to grow up being Christians," she said precisely, as though she were correcting him, as though there was a difference.

"But it might be best for all of us if we practiced non-interference in each other's private beliefs."

"Is that your way of telling me to butt out?"

"Well, yes," Martin said quietly, "I guess it is."

Leona picked up the tray of homemade crackers and walked swiftly back into the kitchen with it.

When she returned, seconds later, Martin said, "Thanks for your hospitality, Paul, Leona. It was nice to come in out of the heat."

"It's cool here, too," Missa added, taking Catrin's hand.

When they were outside in the heat, on their way back, Catrin said, "I think I know what Leona's secret is - or part of it. She's had a baby."

"How do you know that?"

"When she served us tea and she leaned over. Her breasts don't have that virginal nineteen-year-old firm-as-new-latex look. They have a lot of stretch marks."

"That's her big secret?" Winch asked.

Catrin shrugged. "Maybe she doesn't want Paul to know she had a baby and isn't the inexperienced little bubble-gummer she looks like."

"You'd think he'd notice," Martin said.

"Paul isn't the most experienced young man." Catrin shook her head. "I think all those appliances gave her enough time to start worrying about how other people think. Maybe she should be kept hungry. That would adjust her priorities."

"Speaking of priorities," Martin said, "I've been giving some thought to a few things I'd like to talk to you two about. Winch, you have a little time?"

"Nothing but. If you've got someplace I won't die of heatstroke where we can do the talking."

The three of them sat in Martin and Catrin's basement where the air was cool. The narrow windows at ground level let in a clear north light.

"Two things," Martin said. "The weather and how long we can depend on gasoline to generate electricity. In other words, are we going to be able to stay here, and whether we stay here or not, we're going to have to make adjustments."

"I dread being around Leona when her private power grid gives out," Winch said.

"The weather we can't predict," Catrin said. "The heat's taken its toll on our garden. But the important thing is water, isn't it. We need a water supply. Either rain, a river, or the pumps." She looked to Winch. "How dependable is our pumping system?"

"I'm getting bad gas all the time now," he said. "Water condenses in it. The generator stalled out twice in the last two days."

"Make a guess," Martin said. "How long can we get usable gasoline around here within a radius of, say, about two miles?"