Strangers in the Night by Raymond S Flex Page B

just so that he might slump himself up by an exterior hatch and stare at the moon.
    It made him feel almost as if he was back home again.
    Almost as if things were back to normal.
    Once, Mitts had stayed out in the air vent for the whole night, waiting for the sun to rise up on the horizon. But he didn’t seem to be able to pick out a vantage point where he could look at it directly.
    All he could make out from his position in the air vent were the secondary details: the sun rays licking the concrete surrounding the Compound.
    Mitts fixed his mind on his destination, guiding himself about the wire fence.
    He used the Compound’s scattered buildings as a guide for his progress.
    There was that one run of buildings which, at least on the plans, looked like it might form the shape of a top hat. He ran his eyes over the Compound, searching for that feature.
    He found it.
    Made toward it.
    He took care not to break into anything more than a fast walk.
    He didn’t want to trip and fall.
    There was no telling what damage he might do.
    A broken leg wouldn’t be any way to start off the journey.
    He made his way around the back of the top hat-looking section of building, and then he went on a little further, past the pineapple-shaped outbuilding.
    Then he turned his focus to searching.
    He looked over the Compound.
    Looking for it.
    It had to be here.
    Mitts glanced up and—finally—he saw it.
    The ventilation hatch which, for the first time, seven years ago, Mitts had sat slumped up against. The vantage point from which he had looked out on the outside world.
    But that was only part of what Mitts was looking for.
    He turned his gaze downward. To the wall beneath the ventilation hatch.
    And he saw . . . nothing.
    What had he expected?
    It had been seven years.
    There was nothing there.
    Still, he couldn’t help but pace over.
    He cut through the once-electrified wire fence.
    Let himself through to the other side.
    He stared down at the cement, looking for some sort of clue.
    Something that might just give him a hint .
    When Mitts squinted, he thought he might be able to see a damp patch on the concrete. But, the more he brought his vision clear— sharper —he became more and more convinced that he was only fooling himself.
    ‘Bringing the wool down over his eyes’.
    He had read that expression in one of the many novels his parents had brought along into the Restricted Area.
    Mitts felt his gut sink slightly. He had hoped that he might find something to either confirm, or deny, what he had seen seven years ago.
    But, no . . .
    Everything was just as muddy as it had been before.
    Mitts moved on.
    He knew— logically speaking —he needed to cover as much ground as he possibly could during the night, before the sun came up.
    Because, when the sun did come up, Mitts would have no idea what to expect.
    He turned away from the scene which’d so haunted him all these seven years—had haunted him so much that he hadn’t returned to this spot where he had seen that . . . that creature .
    Not until tonight.
    Mitts headed back toward the wire fence. Away once again from the place he had lived these past years. He did feel a slight sinking disappointment.
    He would’ve liked to have found something.
    Anything at all.
    He set off back across the Compound.
    Made it to the fence.
    And then, from out of the darkness, there came a bright— overpoweringly bright —light.
    It shone all over him.
    Froze him.
    He turned around.
    Held his suited forearm up to the visor of his suit.
    He heard his breathing coming faster now.
    The staccato tick-tick-tick-tick-tick from his suit as his breathing pulled hard on the oxygen tanks.
    Several beads of sweat rolled down his face.
    A salty smell.
    The taste of salt on his lips.
    A spotlight, that was what it was.
    He recalled from the plans.
    But he couldn’t recall anything about automation.
    Though that didn’t mean there wasn’t any automation.
    Was this another section of the Compound which