Before the Dawn by Max Allan Collins Page A

statue.
    “Are you staying with relatives, too, Max?”
    “Relatives?”
    “Where's your mom?
My
mom would be really mad if I came outside without my coat, my boots, my mittens, or my stocking cap.”
    “Mom?” Max braced the final ball as Lucy patted it into place, until it felt more solid, like it wouldn't move if she were to let go. Max didn't let go, though.
    “You do have a mom don't you? Or do you live with your dad?”
    “Dad?”
    Lucy removed a carrot from one pocket of her winter coat and two lumps of coal from another; she made a face out of them—Max understood that instantly—and then they stood and looked at their work of art, considering it carefully.
    The older girl looked carefully at Max, too, and seemed only to be half kidding when she asked, “You aren't a refugee from a loony bin, are you?”
    “Loony bin?”
    The girl in the cap frowned. “Listen, are you from another country?”
    “I'm an American.” Max knew that much.
    “Well, don't you have a mom?”
    “I never had a mom.”
    “How can that be?”
    “Lucy . . . I don't even know what a mom is.”
    The girl in the cap began to laugh.
    “Did I say something funny?” Max asked, a little irritated, but not knowing why.
    Lucy's laughter caught in her throat. “You're . . . you're serious? You don't know what moms are?”
    Suddenly feeling very ignorant, Max said, “Uh, no.”
    “Well . . . how do you think you got here?”
    Max wanted to say,
I escaped from Manticore, stowed away on a truck, then . . .
    But she didn't say that; she might be unschooled in the ways of the outside world, but Max nonetheless knew that this wasn't what Lucy meant.
    Lucy had another question, faintly mocking: “You were
born,
weren't you?”
    Another question Max had no answer for.
    Now Lucy stepped forward, patting the snow, smoothing the statue. “Is that why you're dressed like that? 'Cause you got nobody to take care of you?”
    Max wondered how she could have received so much training in the last nine years, learned so much, studied so hard, and yet still this girl in the red cap could come up with all these questions, the answers to which Max had no idea.
    They moved to the shoveled cement front steps of the house and sat down. Lucy asked, “You aren't from around here, are you?”
    Finally, a question she knew the answer to. “No.”
    “Me neither. My mom's inside visiting with my aunt. We've been here since yesterday. I like it here, 'cause Dad isn't along. . . . But we'll be leaving for home soon.”
    Max said, “An ant is an insect.”
    Lucy laughed. “Not that kind of ant! Are you kidding? . . . Aunt Vicki is my mom's sister.” Again the laughter was replaced by a look of concerned curiosity. “Max—did you run away?”
    “Uh . . . yeah. I ran away.” The questions seemed to be getting easier now.
    Lucy pulled off her mittens. “Here—you take these.”
    Gratefully, Max tugged on the mittens. They were wet from the snow, but they still were better than nothing, and she appreciated the warmth of Lucy's gesture, even more. “Thanks.”
    “So, Max . . . you don't have a home.” It was a statement, not a question.
    “No, Lucy.”
    “And I don't have a sister.”
    “I have sisters. And brothers.”
    “Really? Where?”
    “We . . . we're all split up.”
    “Broken home, huh . . . I know a lotta kids in your situation.”
    Somehow Max doubted that.
    Lucy was looking toward the house, a split-level with a large picture window in the living room upstairs; then her eyes returned to Max, and a new excitement was glittering there. “You don't have any clothes, or anywhere to stay, or anything to eat, right?”
    Again Max found herself at a loss for words. But now that her hands were warmer, she started to realize how cold the rest of her had become. She started shivering and had to work to keep her teeth from chattering.
    “Max, my mom is a real softie. She wanted me to have a sister, but she and Dad couldn't.”
    “Why?”
    “I