want? [p29] [p ] Fingers of fear and worry flittered along his spine. When they had finished eating, Nick shaved, cleaned himself up and followed Andy out to where his car was parked. He found that he liked the old man, but under the circumstances conversation was difficult. The plane crash, for one thing, was a bit on the odd side. The burning wreckage, he recalled, had shown no signs of ever having had wings or a tail assembly. But that was probably minor; the wings could have been ripped off by the trees when the plane came down. The important thing was that someone knew he was here. As they drove toward the town of Everett, the old man began talking about the strangers that had inquired after Nick earlier in the day. “... Nope, I says to the big feller, ain’t seen a soul on foot all day, ’ceptin’ o’course, Jimmy Dilson, goin’ down t’Willer Creek, t’fish. That seemed t’satisfy them so they lit out.” “Notice what kind of car they drove, Andy?” Nick asked. “Yep. Gave ’em gas. They was drivin’ a Chevrolet. Looked to be a ’56 or a ’57; black, it was. Blacker’n th’ inside of a coal bin, with th’ shiniest chrome y’ever saw.” “Sounds like them,” Nick told him, enlarging the lie. “One of them short and the other medium?” “Not exactly. The one did all the talkin’ had a funny accent. Anyways, he was about six feet, three or four, and heavy. Goodlookin’, with blond [p30] hair. The other guy was about your build, with sandy hair. Never talked, that guy.” [p30] [p ] “They’re the ones,” Nick lied and shook a cigarette from a half empty pack. “Thanks for not giving me away.”
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