and that Dr. Barash was wanted for questioning for something. He would take care of it. That ought to satisfy her for a few hours.
The dead man in my office must be Bill. No doubt the police thought me responsible for the death of a United States senator, yet my blow was not strong enough to have halted the biological processes that gave the body life. Though its host was injured, the enemy must truly fear me to so casually abandon such a plum. But, of course, it could so easily take over another politician, and maybe already had. After all, I can fragment, so why cannot it do the same? It probably has a fragmental in one of the police officers, or maybe even in a half a dozen officers, goading them into a frenzied search for me.
CHAPTER FIVE
Trees fly past the moving car, momentarily exposed by the headlights, like the columns of an endless Greek temple. Joanna sits beside me. Why had I taken her? It seemed like a good idea, a way to rid myself of the body known as Dr. Barash and start anew. Several times before in my life the authorities have sought me, forcing me to elude them by switching. They had not sought me, since no one had ever known about me, but rather they sought my host. Now I am known by the enemy, and a switch now will not achieve anything. The enemy knows my nature and will deduce that a woman missing from the hospital where I worked is possibly a new host body for my core. Even so, two bodies is a much better idea than just one.
I have gone from complete control over my life to no control.
Joanna reaches over to touch my shoulder. My fragmental in her and my core in Barash are then in direct contact, self to self. While this is my natural mode of communication with myself, we decide that Joanna should talk and exercise her vocal cords.
The sound of a voice that had been mute for so long startles me. “We should discard this car.”
“I agree, though it would be nice to get to the cabin first.”
“That’s two hours away.”
In the distance ahead of us the bright red of brake lights flash. I remove my foot from the accelerator and we coast towards a roadblock. Two police cars block the road with flashing lights. Flares have been placed farther forward to guide the traffic into a single lane. A line of cars and a truck and its trailer wait. I slow to take my place at the tail of this awkward snake.
Joanna is the safer host for the moment.
I turn to her and move my core self into her body. Now only a fragmental remains in James Barash.
Exiting the car, I walk toward the police. It has been forty years since I have taken complete control over a female. So different than a male body. The lower center of gravity, the sensitive skin, and the breasts getting in the way of moving my arms. The ability to walk is not part of the self, but a training of the nerves and muscles. I move awkwardly as I struggle to master a body that has had very little exercise for far too long.
“What you looking for?” I ask a police officer who is directing his flashlight into the trunk of a car. My voice rasps in my throat, demanding a drink of water.
He spins around in surprise, reaching towards his holster.
I smile and suck in air, expanding my chest. His eyes naturally focus on my smile and then on the movement below. I do not need a fragmental inside his mind to see the effect of the smile of a pretty, young woman and the resulting surge of hormones.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, gently touching his arm.
He is part of a massive manhunt. Four counties have been mobilized, calling in all their personnel and setting up numerous roadblocks. Seared into his mind is a faxed image of James Barash. He knows nothing of Joanna Prall.
“That’s okay,” he says. “Will you please return to your vehicle.”
I nod, smiling again as I walk away.
The line is moving slowly, so it will be a few minutes before it’s my turn. I walk up to the side of the car and James rolls down his window. I retrieve the remaining fragmental and he slumps to the side of the car door, his brain paralyzed and his autonomic functions slowly failing.
Trying to dash into the woods, I stumble and scrape my hands on the pavement as I break my fall. The body is just not used to such activities. Shrubs grow only a few feet from the road and I crawl past them before rising back up to my feet. The forest provides excellent cover.
The police officer knew of a small diner only a mile down the road, beyond the roadblock. Hopefully the discovery of my other body will be such a shock that I will have time to gain other transportation. It is probably too much to hope that the officer will forget a young blonde woman.
My steps disturb the carpet of dead leaves, causing smells of decomposition and renewal to float past my nostrils. I pause to inhale deeply, gratified by the intensity of life around me. Knowing the void that some people move in, so self-absorbed that they do not notice other people or their surroundings except as they apply to themselves, I have long ago learned to relish every moment. I kneel down and rub a handful of leaves between my fingers and palm. The leaves crumble in a shower of decay while the stems resist destruction.
I bring the leaves to my tongue, tasting them. I swallow and my throat spasms with the gag reflex. Closing my eyes, I return to the smell...so musty...so intoxicating. A person can so easily lose themselves in their senses.
A whiff of cigarette smoke tickles my nostrils, pulling me back to rationality. Dimly I remember that the other police officer had been smoking. I am not too far away, certainly not out of danger. Grasping at the threads of fear, I use them to find the strength to haul myself to my feet and stagger through the woods.
Blinking my eyes furiously to push away the sensory overload, my groping hands find a large oak, and I work my way around, tripping over roots, but not quite falling. A path. Probably used by deer. I rush along it, fleeing the enchantment of smell and taste.
Branches whip against my face, waking me even more. I trip and smash my chin against a small rock on the ground. A stab of pain explodes back through my skull, down my spine, to the ends of my body. My testicles contract, or so it feels like, since I do not have testicles anymore.
I jerk up from the ground, bringing up my hand to my face. It is wet with blood, but the enchantment is gone. It has been so long since I have transferred my core self to another host. I have tended to forget the hazards of being in a new body. While people see much the same, our senses of smell and taste diverge in subtle and wonderful ways from individual to individual. Until I get used to the change, it is so easy to surrender to its allure and wallow in its wonder, like a pleasant LSD trip.
There is time enough for that later; now there is only time for survival.
Marybell’s Diner is a combination café, gas station, and convenience store. Several of the letters on the neon sign are burned out or flicker on and off at irregular intervals. A dozen or so pickup trucks and cars are parked haphazardly about in the manner that one sometimes finds outside of the city, where drivers are not used to parking lines and order.
My sneakers crunch across gravel after I leave the cover of the woods. The sound seems far too loud, as if it will alert the police officers down the road. Which car to steal? A couple of years ago I examined a man at the hospital who had a habit of taking cars that he did not own. From him I learned how to hot-wire many models.
Two men come out of the diner and I freeze. In their early twenties, they are dressed in dirty work clothes. Construction workers perhaps. They
