* * * * * It wasn't possible. Or was it? The boy was thin, stunted. And probably sterile. Radiation exposure, years straight. No wonder he was so small. His arms and legs were like pipecleaners, knobby, and thin. Hendricks touched the boy's arm. His skin was dry and rough; radiation skin. He bent down, looking into the boy's face. There was no expression. Big eyes, big and dark. "Are you blind?" Hendricks said. "No. I can see some." "How do you get away from the claws?" "The claws?" "The round things. That run and burrow." "I don't understand." Maybe there weren't any claws around. A lot of areas were free. They collected mostly around bunkers, where there were people. The claws had been designed to sense warmth, warmth of living things. "You're lucky." Hendricks straightened up. "Well? Which way are you going? Back--back there?" "Can I come with you?" "With _me_?" Hendricks folded his arms. "I'm going a long way. Miles. I have to hurry." He looked at his watch. "I have to get there by nightfall." "I want to come." Hendricks fumbled in his pack. "It isn't worth it. Here." He tossed down the food cans he had with him. "You take these and go back. Okay?" The boy said nothing. "I'll be coming back this way. In a day or so. If you're around here when I come back you can come along with me. All right?" "I want to go with you now." "It's a long walk." "I can walk." Hendricks shifted uneasily. It made too good a target, two people walking along. And the boy would slow him down. But he might not come back this way. And if the boy were really all alone-- "Okay. Come along." * * * * * The boy fell in beside him. Hendricks strode along. The boy walked silently, clutching his teddy bear. "What's your name?" Hendricks said, after a time. "David Edward Derring." "David? What--what happened to your mother and father?" "They died." "How?" "In the blast." "How long ago?" "Six years." Hendricks slowed down. "You've been alone six years?" "No. There were other people for awhile. They went away." "And you've been alone since?" "Yes." Hendricks glanced down. The boy was strange, saying very little. Withdrawn. But that was the way they were, the children who had survived. Quiet. Stoic. A strange kind of fatalism gripped them. Nothing came as a surprise. They accepted anything that came along. There was no longer any _normal_, any natural course of things, moral or physical, for them to expect. Custom, habit, all the determining forces of learning were gone; only brute experience remained. "Am I walking too fast?" Hendricks said. "No." "How did you happen to see me?" "I was waiting." "Waiting?" Hendricks was puzzled. "What were you waiting for?" "To catch things." "What kind of things?" "Things to eat."