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Rust was in scarce supply and fresh paint in abundance. A group of toughs sat playing cards at the base of the gangplank. They got up when the car pulled up. Beth could see that the foursome were burly women, with hair tied into queues and ponytails. Gretta got out and spoke to them in quiet tones. "Open the trunk," she told Bill, who was driving. He seemed more submissive to her recently. His face had softened considerably, his eyebrows shaped themselves into thin arcs and the long horsy looks that he had to begin with were more like a classical Greek statue of a woman. His voice had been cracking all day so he had let either Gretta of Jefferson do the talking. Three of the tough gals took everything out of the trunk while the fourth ran up the gangplank to converse with the sailors up there too. Beth saw that they were women too. Maybe they had had the virus longer than the Agents had? she thought. They sure didn't carry themselves like women at all. She looked at one of them to. Very much so. If Doctor Paine wasn’t so impatient to see her we might have a bit of fun.”“More than a bit. Perhaps if we’re quick about it.”“Quite quick. Quick as a candle wick.”“And quiet. Quiet as a cracker.”Alice felt her cheeks burning. Worse, she felt herself growing wet at the idea of the rather large orderlies having a little bit of fun with her.“But Doctor Paine-““Doesn’t need to know. I certainly won’t tell her, Mister Hart.”“But the little tart might, Mister Hammer. She might indeed.”“She might what?”“Sing like a canary.”They both paused to stare down at Alice, who suddenly felt very small and vulnerable and perhaps a little frightened.“You wouldn’t rat us out now, would you?”“That wouldn’t be very nice.”“Not nice at all.”“And we all know what happens to girls who ain’t nice, don’t we, Mister Hammer.”“Do we, Mister Hart?”“Oh, yes, we do. Bad things, Mister Hammer.”“Terrible things.”“Unspeakable things.”Alice lay there, her arms strapped securely, trembling as she tried to.
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