we hoisted up the body and followed her. It was
almost too heavy a load even for the three of us.

As she reached the plane a silver ladder telescoped down to her from
below the door. I thought, _the Pilot must have had it keyed to her some
way, so it would let down for her but nobody else. A very lovely
gesture._

The ladder went up after her and we managed to lift the body above our
heads, our arms straight, and we walked it through the door of the plane
that way, she receiving it.

The door closed and we stood back and the plane took off into the orange
haze, us watching it until it was swallowed.

Pop said, "Right now, I imagine you two feel pretty good in a screwed-up
sort of way. I know I do. But take it from me, it won't last. A day or
two and we're going to start feeling another way, the _old_ way, if we
don't get busy."

I knew he was right. You don't shake Old Urge Number One anything like
that easy.

"So," said Pop, "I got places I want to show you. Guys I want you to
meet. And there's things to do, a lot of them. Let's get moving."

So there's my story. Alice is still with me (Urge Number Two is even
harder to shake, supposing you wanted to) and we haven't killed anybody
lately. (Not since the Pilot, in fact, but it doesn't do to boast.)
We're making a stab (my language!) at doing the sort of work Pop does in
the Deathlands. It's tough but interesting. I still carry a knife, but
I've given Mother to Pop. He has it strapped to him alongside Alice's
screw-in blade.

Atla-Hi and Alamos still seem to be in existence, so I guess the serum
worked for them generally as it did for the Pilot's Woman; they haven't
sent us any medals, but they haven't sent a hangman's squad after us
either--which is more than fair, you'll admit. But Savannah, turned back
from Atla-Hi, is still going strong: there's a rumor they have an army
at the gates of Ouachita right now. We tell Pop he'd better start
preaching fast--it's one of our standard jokes.

There's also a rumor that a certain fellowship of Deathlanders is doing
surprisingly well, a rumor that there's a new America growing in the
Deathlands--an America that never need kill again. But don't put too
much stock in it. Not _too_ much.

THE END

Transcriber's Note:

This etext was produced from _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_
January 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewe