The dead—don't you see?—the dead stick together.
PROFESSOR KATE
by Margaret St. Clair
"THE boy that directed us on this road, pa," Kate said, leaning forward to speak to the man in the front seat, "—do you think he was real?"
John Bender Senior turned and regarded her. "What you mean by that, Käter?" he asked sternly. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the rumble of the wagon wheels.
Kate's fingers moved nervously over the bosom of her shirtwaist. "Why that . . . that he might be one of them we left in the orchard, back on the farm. This road ain't like a road that goes anywhere."
Her father’s lean face grew dark with anger. "Stop dot talk, Käter. Stop your mouth."
"Ja, stop it, daughter," Mrs. Bender said. Her blue eyes were hard in her large white
