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All afternoon George drove aimless mountain roads, moving deeper into the uninhabited canyons. Carefully judging his distances with an eye on the map, he saw to it that he remained relatively close to the city; after he forced Jenny to give him the information he wanted, he wanted to be able to get out fast.

By dusk the roads he drove were no longer paved. Ruts carved deep by spring rains suggested long disuse. The swaying of the car and the constant grinding of gears eventually jolted Jenny out of her romantic dreams. She moved away from George and sat looking at the pines which met above the road.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” she asked.

“What’s that?” he shouted to be heard above the roar of the motor.

“Lost!”

For a minute or two longer he continued to drive until he saw an open space under the trees. He pulled the car into the clearing and snapped off the ignition. Then he looked Jenny full in the face and answered her. “No, Jenny, we aren’t lost; I know exactly what I’m doing.”

“Oh.” He was sure she had understood him, but she said, “We can spend the night here and find the lodge in the morning. It’s a pity we didn’t bring something to eat.” She smiled ingenuously. “But I brought the compound; and we have each other.”

They got out of the car. Jenny looked up at the sunset, dull red above the trees, and shivered; she asked George to build a fire. He tucked the ignition key into the band of his white trunks and began to gather dry boughs and pine needles from the floor of the forest. He found several large branches and carried them back to the clearing. There was enough wood to last until morning–whether he stayed that long or not. Jenny had lugged the seats and a blanket out of the car and improvised a lean-to close to the fire.

He piled on two of the larger branches and the bright glow of flame lit their faces. She beckoned to him and gave him a bottle of the compound, watching bright-eyed as he emptied it.

With her lips parted, she waited. He did nothing. Slowly the light died in her eyes. Like a savage she flung herself into his arms. He steeled himself to show absolutely no reaction and finally she drew away. Trembling and with tears in her eyes, she whispered, “The compound doesn’t–” The look of pain in her eyes turned to terror. “You’re immune!”

“Now you know.”

“But who told you–” She searched his face, shaking her head. “You don’t know, do you–not really?”

“Know what?”

Instead of replying, she asked, “You brought me here deliberately, didn’t you?”

“So we wouldn’t be interrupted. You see, Jenny, you’re going to tell me where the compound’s made.”

“It wouldn’t do you any good. Don’t you see–” He closed his hands on her wrists and jerked her rudely to her feet. He saw her face go white. And no wonder: that magnificent, granite hard body, which she had bought in good faith for her own pleasure, was suddenly out of her control. He grinned. He crushed her mouth against his and kissed her. Limp in his arms, she clung to him and said in a choked, husky whisper, “I love you, George.”

“And you’ll make any sacrifice for love,” he replied, mocking the dialogue of the television love stories.

“Yes, anything!”

“Then tell me where the compound’s manufactured.”

“Hold me close, George; never let me go.”

How many times had he heard that particular line! It sickened him, hearing it now from Jenny; he had expected something better of her. He pushed her from him. By accident his fist raked her face. She fell back blood trickling from her mouth. In her eyes he saw shock and a vague sense of pain; but both were overridden by adoration. She was like a whipped puppy, ready to lick his hand.

“I’ll tell you, George,” she whispered. “But don’t leave me.” She pulled herself to her feet and stood beside him, reaching for his hand. “We make it in Hollywood, in the Directorate Building, the part that used to be a sound stage.”