Chapter 8

Carol Rice sat comfortably in a chair, her beautiful legs crossed, smoking a cigarette and regarding Mark with amusement. "You just jumped to a lot of conclusions, handsome, that was all. Because you picked me up on the highway, you assumed I was a hitchhiker. You accepted everything I told you."

"I didn't give a damn one way or another," Mark replied hotly.

"That's right. It so happened that my Cadillac convertible was parked on a side road a mile back. I ran out of gas and was trying to find a station."

"Then why did you lie to me?"

She stretched like a lazy cat. There was no weariness reflected in this action; more an overflowing vitality and her satisfaction at a victory.

"I have a rule," she said. "Never tell the truth when a lie will do. That's a good rule, don't you think?"

"I think you're out of your mind!"

It was as though he'd hurled a vile insult. The blood left her face. She sprang to her feet, walked over to where he hung helplessly and slapped him viciously, backhand and forehand, several times across the face.

"Don't you ever say that to me ,again, or I'll kill you."

She stared into his eyes for several moments, and he could see madness lurking in her eyes. He said nothing, and she gradually regained her self-control.

"You know why you're here, don't you?"

"No. As a matter-of-fact, I don't."

"Because you turned me down when I offered to go to bed with you. Nobody turns Carol Rice down, mister. When she makes an offer it's an honor, and people had better regard it that way."

Mark remained silent, studying her. He could see now that she was considerably older than he'd first thought. Another case of not observing too closely. At least thirty-five, her beauty and vital personality enabled her to appear much younger. But still that was a remarkably early age at which to wield such power, either good or evil, and to have built up an institution like Peace Haven.

Then again, Mark thought, perhaps not. Many geniuses flower at an early age. Napoleon, Alexander the Great, Chopin, all exercised their particular talents very young. And while he couldn't compare Carol Rice with them in any other way, she certainly possessed some kind of evil genius.

"What do you think of my little place?"

"It's fantastic. I'd like to know more about it."

And at this point, Mark Hanes rose to a level of at least a minor genius himself. In a matter of minutes, he came to a decision. There was no point in fighting this woman, she held all the weapons. Moral indignation would get him nothing except a beating and possibly a quick death.

She was insane. Therefore the thing to do was cater to her insanity, to play it with calculation and intelligence. But would he be able to assume such a false role, and do it so convincingly that her razor-sharp mind would not see through the pose? He could try.

"You whipped Linda Barnes, didn't you?"

"She had it coming."

"Why?"

"Illicit relationships with men are not allowed at Peace Haven."

Illicit relationships indeed! What she meant was any relationship that roused her own jealousy. Mark was now aware that she considered him her property. She was the one he had spurned during the pickup. He had shown a preference, later, for Linda. This got Linda a whipping. Also, it put him in line for a whipping.

"Do I have to hang here naked? It doesn't show me off at my best, you know."

She smiled coyly. "Maybe it does."

"What's the plan? Do I get whipped too?"

"I may do it," she said thoughtfully. "I'd like to make you scream. But you probably wouldn't scream, would you?"

"I'd try not to."

He watched her, realizing the whipping hung in the balance as she rolled it around in her mind. Again there was a sense of unreality, but this time he drove it out ruthlessly. His own situation was very real. The whole thing was illogical but not in a sense of a dream. His questions would be answered in an incredible realm but the answers would not be fashioned out of dream stuff.

Questions such as: How could an insane mind have built this wierd place without its falling to pieces somewhere in the building? What motivated the pattern of its functioning? What had happened to Carol Rice to make her what she was? What were the twists and turns-the inner workings of Peace Haven? What had Carol been doing at the place he'd picked her up? So many answers to get and somehow he must get them.

Carol Rice finally shrugged and walked up to the beam where Mark dangled. She reached up, jerked the thong, and he was free. While he undid the thongs from his wrists, he said, "You were watching us, weren't you?"

"You were spotted almost as soon as you entered the building."

"There are mirrors in that room. You saw Dr. Sanders working over Linda."

"Of course."

"Why didn't you show yourself?"

"It amused me to watch."

"I'm sure it did."

She slapped him casually. "Be careful."

As a matter-of-fact he was being meticulously careful measuring each question and observation to see how far he could go. The slap was informative. He Would go slow and try gradually to broaden the scope of his inquiry.

"Were you going to let us leave as we'd come?"

"Yes. But my oafs lost track of you, and when you stayed in the building I lost patience."

"It was no longer amusing?"

She looked at him sharply but did not slap him. "It would have been amusing to whip you."

Here, Mark knew, was a monstrous ego-no doubt the core of Carol Rice's madness. But the predominating thought in his mind was on something else-the sheer luck he and Sanders had encountered in getting away with the raid on the vault. He was sure, now, that Carol's "oafs" had missed this.

"All right," he said. "What's next on the agenda?"

Carol eyed him narrowly. "You were pretty indignant when you found that trollop hanging from her wrists."

Mark shrugged. "I suppose. But what's done is done. I won't say I approve, but-" he put on the appearance of searching for words. "-but, well, I guess I am a realist. And what can I do about it?"

She seemed convinced. "Let's go to your apartment," she said.

"Like this?"

Her eyes danced with merriment. She was wearing a two piece suit. She unzipped the skirt, stepped out of it and handed it to Mark. "Here, put this on."

"Oh, for crepes sake? Not so fast-"

His annoyance amused her. "It's that or nothing."

He pulled on the skirt and felt like an idiot as they left the room. He blessed the darkness of the night and tried to cancel out the haunting sense of unreality with the knowledge that he was dealing with a madwoman, and under such circumstances anything normal would be the exception. He wanted to ask about Linda but decided not to risk irritating his dangerous hostess. He wondered whether Dr. Sanders has escaped; he fervently hoped so.

When they got to his cabin, Mark's hope for privacy was dashed. Carol Rice preceded him through the doorway and snapped on the light.

"You certainly have all the modern conveniences out here," Mark said cheerfully.

"Generators aren't too difficult to obtain," Carol replied. "Do you like your cabin? Have you been treated well?"

"Excellently. I'm very grateful."

"Then why did you impose on my hospitality by seducing one of my girls?"

"You mean Linda, of course." Mark spoke while seeking an answer to the sudden and unexpected question.

"She was the girl you laid in the bath house wasn't she? And it was Linda that you helped back into the Haven, wasn't it?"

Mark felt a slight chill. Were Carol Rice's invisible spies everywhere? Then the paradox of the situation struck him. He had been seen in pitch darkness in the bathhouse-yet the watchers had lost track of him and Sanders between the torture chamber and Welch's office. Or at least Mark had hoped they'd lost track of them.

Carol crossed the room and sat down on the bed. She wore a short slip, and as she crossed her legs, the rich tanned flesh of her inner thighs was exposed clear up to the tight-fitting black panties which revealed far more than they hid.

Mark said, "In the first place, what happened in the bathhouse was hardly a seduction. The other thing-well, all right, we did get somewhat intimate. Is that why Linda was whipped?

"I told you why she was punished."

Feeling ridiculous in the skirt, Mark opened the suitcase he'd brought in from the car and searched for a pair of slacks.

"You won't need them," Carol said.

"I won't?"

A shade of danger flicked behind her eyes. "I'm giving you a chance to correct the error you made when you didn't want to go to bed with me the first time."

Mark thought swiftly, closed the suitcase and turned to her with a smile "Okay, the first time was a mistake, maybe. But you can't blame me for going a little slow under the circumstances. After all, now I'm dealing with the power behind Peace Haven-with a woman who can string me up and have me whipped."

He hoped for a reply that would bolster his belief in Carol Rice's position as top dog in this weird circus. She did not deny it, and he had to be content with that. She got up from the bed, slipped out of her jacket and ran her hands invitingly over her body.

"Let's get with it, handsome."

Mark approached the bed. He took her in his arms and kissed her. The kiss was lazy, brazenly carnal. She opened her mouth and drove her tongue in between his lips. For a while, her tongue searched the inside of his mouth. Then, quite casually, she pulled his lower Up in between her teeth and bit down on it.

Growling with pain and surprise, Mark pulled away. Quick anger flared. "God damn you!"

She laughed tauntingly. "Don't tell me you can't take it."

"I can take it. I can dish it out, too."

He hooked his fingers under the elastic of her slip and jerked downward. Only when he bent over to push it down over her ankles did he realize he'd gotten the panties too and the lush fork of her body, the smooth warm contour of her sloping belly, were practically in his face.

She laughed and pressed forward, looking down at him with the look of a hot-eyed Medusa. "Too rich for your blood?"

He straightened and hurled her back on the bed, jerking the skirt off as he did so. She kicked viciously as his groin but he avoided the blow, locked her legs down with his knees, and jerked at her brassiere. The hook snapped and he tore it off. She snarled at him, clawed at his eyes. He caught both her wrists, forced them back against the bed and drove at her breast with his teeth. There was a hard, erect nipple in his mouth and Carol's curses in his ears:

"You SOB, is this the way you raped Linda?"

He closed his teeth on her nipple and heard a squawk of pain as her body surged up against his.

"Uh-huh. I help her down and raped her until she yelled for mercy. Thas was what brought your spies, wasn't it? Linda howling for help?"

"You bastard!" she snarled again, trying to reach his face with her teeth.

But he stayed beyond range, and looking into her eyes began teasing the nipple with his tongue. His eyes grinned lewdly at her and her struggles; knowing eyes that said, You like it, you nymphomaniac bitch. You want it but you want me to take it away from you. All right, I will. I'll rip it right out of you inch by inch.

Carol Rice's body quivered, and though her teeth were still bared her eyes took on a half-closed, languor-out cast.

Mark lowered his body to hers. He forced her legs apart with his knees and hammered his belly down contemptuously upon hers. A strange contest ensued: a silent battle of strength as their eyes met inches apart and they hurled unspoken insults at each other. In Mark's mind he said, You sex-mad torturer! I'll take you the way I'd take a cheap, two-bit whore. I'll use you the way I'd use a street-walker, and then kick you out of bed!

Sure of. his grip on her, he moved with tantalizing leisure; moved and shifted his body deliberately until she relaxed for a moment. Then he drove hard against her, showing his teeth in a wolfish grin.

Her eyes popped open from the cruel force of the deep contact. Her body jerked from sudden pain. Her mouth fell open and he brought his own mouth down against it, holding her teeth apart with his own as he lewdly duplicated the lower motions by the movement of his tongue.

The pain of first contact subsided and Carol gave herself over by the rising heat within her. It no longer was necessary for Mark to hold her down with his knees, nor with even his body, because now her hips arched up greedily for what he had to give her. She gritted her teeth, her eyes were tightly closed, she dug her nails into his back, the muscles of her neck corded. Her slim, lithe limbs came up to lock around his body and low, quiet sobs issued from her constricted throat.

Now a stream of indescribable obscenity poured forth. She described the filthy, rotten things she would do to him in return.

Even in the pitch of passion to which he had risen, Mark was stunned. Here was a paradox: he wanted this wholly desirable woman, and yet he loathed her. This contradiction entered into his love making. With one free hand he moved down the small of her back and between her buttocks, felt a fierce satisfaction at the sudden squawk of pain and the writhing and flopping of her body that his sadistic punishment brought forth.

Again she hurled out obscenities. Again he tortured the tender parts of her body, silently wreaking vengeance for the whipping Linda had received. Carol screamed, hurled herself upward and they rolled off the bed onto the floor.

But Mark held her firmly, rolled over her and continued to rut her. The sweat poured from both their bodies, and as his attack became even more vicious she raised her head and set her teeth into his neck. He bellowed deep in his throat but the pain seemed somehow perversely good, he drove into her with a ferocity that moved them across the floor.

"You rotten bitch!" he snarled I'll-"

They rose to a mutual climax that poured ecstasy into their bodies. He gave one last brutal thrust that brought a scream of delight from her throat.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" She gasped. Then she collapsed from sheer physical exertion, and they, lay motionless....

"We're pretty good," Carol said, her mouth pressed against Mark's wet chest.

Her hair was in his face. As great shuddering gasps tore from his lungs, he pushed the hair out of his way and said, "I hope you weren't hurt when you fell."

"You're a liar. You tried to tear me to pieces. You wanted to hurt me from the beginning."

"Maybe I did."

"You had your chance. You'll have other chances. Now get off of me. You're heavy."

Mark rolled off and lay looking up at her as she crossed the room to get a towel. He watched as she sensuously wiped her lush, tanned body.

"All right, so you weren't a hitchhiker. I made a mistake. What were you doing there on that side road?"

"I was taking a short cut."

"You travel a lot?"

"I'm on the road a great deal of the time."

There was an electric presence about her that only now did he begin to feel. Her age had become apparent. She was at least thirty-five, he decided. But that still left much to be answered that was remarkable.

"What do you do?" Mark asked.

She walked over and stood looking down at him. "Not so fast. Let's get a few other things straight first."

"Such as--?"

"I'm thinking of replacing Welch."

"Why?"

"He's getting too-well, possessive."

"He's in love with you?"

She smiled and it was a most deceptive smile. It could have been charged with madness, or it could have been genuine. Mark wondered which as she demanded, "Isn't everybody?"

He realized he was playing a dangerous game. But he had to know. "Of course not," he said flatly.

There was a slow deepening of her color, the muscles of her face tightened. It was a part of her madness.

Mark shrugged-a difficult thing to do lying on his back. "You don't know everybody."

The color faded but the sneering, hostile look stayed on her face. "You think you're pretty smart, don't you?"

"I was kidding."

"Be careful, I haven't got much of a sense of humor."

"Okay, I'll be careful."

Mark was being more careful than he realized. He was trying to stay on the thin edge of danger without stepping over. Subservience, he felt, would have put him at too much of a disadvantage. Perhaps he would learn nothing from her, but he had to simulate a brash, inquisitive personality even to try.

"You say you're thinking of replacing Welch. Wouldn't that be dangerous?"

She stepped over him, her feet straddling his chest as she looked down into his face. Mark had to admit that the view up her legs and thighs, over her belly, between her sculptured breasts and into her narrow-eyed, calculating face, was breathtaking.

"Dangerous? Why?"

"If I answered that you might get angry again."

"All right-answer. I won't get angry."

"Well, from what I see, there are a number of things you have to cover up in this operation. Maybe Welch would talk and get you into trouble."

Her sneer was almost good natured. "Do you think I've come as far as I have by letting punks like that get me by the tail?"

"How far have you come?"

She waved an arm. "All this is mine," she said fiercely.

"But exactly what is it?"

He knew he was continually angering her; but he also knew that she found him intriguing enough not to call a couple of acolytes and having him whipped.

"You've seen it."

"But just what is it?"

"A goldmine."

"Okay-you're thinking of tossing Welch out of your gold mine. I grant you can do it. Am I a candidate for the replacement?"

"It's possible."

"That doesn't make sense. You've found out all about me-what I've been trying to do. The most logical thing would be to get rid of me."

She sneered. "I've seen you and your kind before. Out to smash the other guy's racket. But give you a piece and everything's great."

Somewhere back in this girl's life she'd been horribly used, terribly twisted. Madness was one thing, Mark reasoned, but madness slanted like Carol's-there had to be something behind it.

He tried to make his grin convincing as he said, "All right, don't rub it in. What do I do to qualify for the post?"

"Keep your mouth shut, your ears open, and obey orders."

"That sounds simple enough."

Balancing dexterously on one lovely leg, she ran the toes of her other foot through his hair. "One more thing. Does that broad mean anything to you?"

"The one you whipped?"

"Have you been playing around with any others?"

"No, there's nothing personal between us." He looked up boldly at the woman who held the power of life and death over him. "She was just a good lay."

"I'm better."

"That's right."

'Your first order: You haven't enough to go around, so save it all for me. Understood?"

"No problem."

Mark's mental calculations were not apparent. Somehow he had to get a psychological advantage over this woman, achieve domination and try to expand from that point. What was the logical manifestation of male domination over females? In the realm of sex.

Acting on this thought, Mark grasped Carol's ankle. "Okay, baby, I've got plenty saved up right now."

He jerked, and Carol came toppling down on him. Her belly pressed hard into his face. He turned her with a heave of his body and pushed her face down hard against his flesh. He felt her teeth. "Damn you!" he barked and rocked her with a doubled fist to the ribs. "God damn you! Do it right!"

Perhaps his destiny hung in the balance at that moment. Perhaps he was frightened. But then the scales, if they really existed, tipped his way. For a moment she lay rigid. Then, from a natural appetite for such abnormalities, or from an acceptance of his domination, she settled down to the degrading act he demanded of her.

Mark lay back and enjoyed a sense of triumph. Then, as his nerve ends began to tingle, and the sweep of sheer animal pleasure engulfed him, he seized Carol's head and roughly jammed it against his body. She protested. Enjoying his new mastery in conjunction with the pleasure she gave him, as Carol struggled in his grip, the almost unbearable sensation exploded into ecstasy.

It was over, and again he felt a touch of fright. Had he gone too far? Would his back be ripped and torn to shreads by a whip wielded in sadistic fury?

He did not know for sure as she rose slowly and looked down at him with a mixture of anger and studied calculation. Suddenly she laughed.

"You handle your women rough, mister."

"A habit of mine."

"And you complained about that Patience character getting a workout."

"Oh, you heard about that."

"I hear about everything."

"Complaining seemed the gentlemanly thing to do." Her smile was a leer. "Because you weren't getting it?"

A quick sickness hit his stomach and passed as the depths of this woman's obscene madness struck him almost forcibly. And a new resolve was born. He had to find out what terrible thing in her past had contributed to make her the creature she had become.

"Maybe," he said easily. "But wouldn't it be good-" He was going to say sense but he dodged the word. "-good business to do something about that?"

To his surprise, she turned serious, scowled at the floor for a few moments, and then sat down cross legged beside him. The action opened her thighs and exposed her body in a way that both revolted and fascinated Mark.

"The Kelps are my main problem."

"How so?"

"I can't get a damned thing on them. I've got no club over their heads."

"Exactly who are they?"

"A clan that ran like lice over this country before I founded the place. They hate us."

"Why?"

"It's their nature. They hate everything and everybody."

"Okay, I can understand that."

"And they're big enough and strong enough to wipe us out if they want to. Or if they even feel like it at any given moment."

"They can't just walk in and wipe you out. There are laws-legal protection."

Carol grinned evilly. "We can't depend on the law."

"They hate you too?"

Her scowl was quick and reminded Mark of a sudden, deadly dash of acid. "I don't like that you. I would much prefer us. Unless you're declaring yourself out."

"I didn't know I was in yet."

"Assume that you are. I'll take it from there."

"All right. Why do they hate us."

"I'm holding a club over Tate and he's the law. He can't move against us. But he wouldn't raise a hand to stop anyone else from doing it."

"What's the club?"

"Dirty pictures."

It was chilling to hear the matter-of-fact manner in in which she answered. She could have been saying, A mortgage Tate's house. To this madwoman filth and corruption were part of her way of life.

"Tell me, how far up the line do your clubs extend."

"Right to the top." She paused, caught the look on Mark's face and instantly became hostile. "Don't you believe me?"

"Of course. It's just hard to realize that the men way up would be stupid enough to let themselves get trapped."

The twist of her lips was contemptuous. "They're men aren't they? Show me a man who won't go for a naked broad when he's got a few drinks under his belt."

Mark raised a defensive hand. "I'll buy that. But I'm wondering about something else. "You're in this for money, aren't you?"

"Of course-partly, that is."

"What else?"

A smile was her only answer. It said for power over others.

Mark read the smile and required no further enlightenment in that direction. "I'm mainly interested in the money," he said. "Where does it come from?"

"South American sales pays off pretty good."

"South American sales?"

"That's where I'd been when I met you on the road. Out meeting contacts and arranging for a shipment. That makes my work a little hard. All personal contact. Nothing on paper."

Mark sensed something more in Carol, now. Preoccupied with her obvious madness, he'd overlooked something else. He realized now she, was telling him too much too fast. He felt slightly deflated by the knowledge that he had not trapped or beguiled her into confidences. She was proceeding exactly as she'd planned-declaring him in as a result of her own decision, no his.

The implications brought a new tremor of fear. Being no fool in spite of her insanity, she would realize that she ran certain risk if her estimate of him proved wrong. Therefore she had protected herself. How? There was only one way because she held no other weapon over him.

"What do you ship to South America?" Mark asked almost absently.

"Girls. What else?"

Mark tried not to show that this startled him. He'd been thinking of the pornography as the main commodity of Peace Haven. But great wealth was indicated here, so there had to be more. Selling dirty pictures would not be lucrative enough. In fact, now that Mark knew the principle source of Peace Haven's revenue, he wondered why Carol bothered with the secondary traffic.

"You know of course," he said, "that I had a look into your storage cave."

She shrugged. "Oh, that. Sanders steered you."

"Is Sanders a problem?"

"He's gutless. And he's useful."

"About the stuff in the cave-does it pay much?"

"I don't sell it, I use it for premiums."

"For premius! Good God! Mark wondered if he'd ever get used to matter-of-fact, business-like manner in which this woman regarded filth.

"Then I guess I've got the basic picture," he said. "The rest will have to come gradually."

"It will come as I see fit to give it to you."

"Of course. A man has to grow into a job."

Mark got up and got a cigarette off the bed table. "When are you going to tell Welch."

"Not for a little while. We're going to need him to arrange Purity Day."

"I've hear of that. Just what is it?"

Carol turned so that Mark was again looking between her forked legs. Yet she seemed unconscious of the gesture. "The setup here," she said, "has two advantages. It's tax free because it's religious, and the religious angle also gives it prestige. That helps a lot."

"Not with the Kelps."

"The Kelps are a different kind of problem."

"About Purity Day. You were saying-"

"The religious aspect needs some religious symbols. Any religion does. So I dreamed up Purity Day. There are other smaller gimmicks but Purity Day is the king pin. We start at dawn and the whole day, right up to sunset, is given over to religious pageantry. The program is a kind of mixture between Christianity and some old pagan rites I found in a book. Nobody eats during the day. There are twenty-five different prayers and ceremonies. "As a matter-of-fact, the girls really enjoy it."

"And you need Welch to handle it."

"That's right. By next year, you'll know how to do it."

"Okay now one more thing. Why did you pick me to succeed Welch?"

There was a long pause before she answered. "You think because I picked you out of nowhere, that I'm erratic-unpredictable."

"I didn't say that."

"I'm really the exact opposite. I didn't build this place by acting on the spur of the moment."

"Then why did you pick me?"

"Because I need a man. I'm oversexed. I've known this for a long time. Maybe I'm a nymphomaniac, I don't know. But I'm tired of jumping from one man to another. I want to stick to a single mate. I want to be true to him."

Mark felt laughter bubbling up and quickly stifled it. Evidently, somewhere far down beneath Carol Rice's madness and rottenness, was a yearning for stability. But Mark wondered how long any man could furnish her with a full quota of loving without being worn completely out.

"I'm honored," he said.

"There's no reason you should be. You just happen to attract me, and I think you're one hell of a lover."

"Thank you."

Mark yawned and wondered how he was going to get in under Carol's skin and find out what made her tick-where her insanity and filthy thinking had come from.

Carol had turned away and was bending over, reaching down for her clothing, when she suddenly straightened and stared at the wall.

"Where did that picture come from?" Her voice was tight-filled with panic.

Mark followed her eyes and saw what seemed to be an innocent enough pastoral scene. Framed and hung on the wall was the print of a herd of sheep grazing on a green slope. In the background were mountains and sky. A sheep dog sat beside his master in one corner of the print. Overall, the picture reflected peace, beauty and contentment.

"I don't know where it came from," Mark said. "I suppose somebody liked it and hung it there."

Carol's eyes darted wildly around the room as though it had become a trap. "Who hung it there?"

"I don't know."

"Well, get it down."

Suiting action to words, Carol seized the print and slammed it to the floor. She looked down at it with hatred and loathing. "I'll find out who did it. I'll whip the pig until-"

She seemed unable to breathe. Another wild look and she turned and fled from the cabin, slamming the door behind her.

Stunned, Mark picked up the picture and looked at it. The scene hadn't changed except now the glass was broken and the frame split.

He laid the picture face down on the table as a new truth struck him. He had met Carol Rice at a crucial point in her life. She was deteriorating in the sense that her madness was winning the fight for supreme control. His instincts told him she could not long survive as a thinking, functioning person in the state he'd found her.

She was going to crack up.

He considered this. If Carol did crack up, wouldn't the end he sought automatically come about? Wouldn't Peace Haven crash with her?

He couldn't be sure. Welch was still a factor. If Welch ever saw his way clear to eliminate Carol no doubt he would take over. Could he run Peace Haven? Perhaps not, but Mark was very sure he would try.

This left things about as they were. Except that the mystery of Carol Rice was as tightly locked in her past as ever.

He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He was very tired and wanted to go to sleep. But he had to know how Linda Barnes was. Even at the risk of antagonizing Carol, he had to go back to the main building and find Linda. She was in the building somewhere, suffering. And without medical aid. Dr. Sanders no doubt had done an expert job of repair, but now she was probably alone.

He wondered if Sanders had escaped. Perhaps he could find out something about that, too.

But as he dressed he wondered, principally, what there was in a peaceful mountain scene that had almost sent Carol Rice off the deep end....