Part 6 (2/2)

Randy stepped between them. ”Put that thing up, John,” he told Garcia. ”I'll get the Doctor.” He turned on Jennings. ”Where's Doctor Gunn?”

”He's busy,” Jennings said. ”He's very busy with one of our guests. A heart case. Tell these people to go to his clinic and wait.” ”Where is he?”

”It doesn't matter. These people are trespa.s.sing.”

Randy's left hand grasped Jennings' lapels. He slapped Jennings savagely across the face. He did this without any conscious thought except that it was necessary to slap the hysteria out of Jennings in order to locate Dan Gunn. He said, ”Where is he?”

Jennings' knees buckled and Randy pinned him against the wall. ”Let go! You're choking me! Gunn is in two forty-four.” Randy relaxed his grip. The left side of Jennings' face was flaming red and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Randy was astonished. This was the first time in his adult years that he had struck anyone, so far as he recalled, except one snarling North Korean line-Grosser. Jennings backed away, mumbling that he would call the police, and disappeared down the stairs. Randy told Garcia, ”Take your wife in there. She can lie down on the bed. I'll get Doctor Gunn.”

Randy went down the hall and entered Room 244 without bothering to knock. It was a single room. On the bed lay a mound of gray flesh, a corpulent man past middle age, dead. Randy felt no sense of surprise or shock whatsoever. He had become a familiar of sudden death in Korea. This familiarity had left him, as a foreign language is quickly forgotten once you leave the country where it is spoken. Now it returned, as a foreign tongue is swiftly reacquired in its native land.

Dan Gunn came out of the bathroom, drying his hands. ”You've got more trouble waiting in your room,” Randy said. ”A woman's having a baby, or about to. Garcia's wife.” Dan dropped his towel across the foot of the bed and pulled the ,sheet over the corpse. ”Everybody who was going to have a coronary just had one,” he said, ”and I suppose that every woman who was due to have a baby in the next two months is having one now. What's your trouble, Randy?”

”Peyton's blind. You remember her from last year, don't you? Helen's little girl-not so little--eleven. I know you're swamped, Dan, but ”

Dan raised his immensely long, hairy arms and cried out, ”Oh, G.o.d! Why? Why to that child?”

He looked and sounded like a rebellious Old Testament prophet. He looked and sounded half-mad. The worst thing that Randy could imagine, at that moment, was that Dan Gunn should lose his mental equilibrium. Randy said, ”G.o.d had nothing to do with it. This was strictly man-made. The one that dropped on MacDill, or somewhere in the Tampa area. Peyton was looking right at it when it blew.”

”Oh, the foul, life-destroying, child-destroying b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! Those evil men, those evil and callous men! G.o.d d.a.m.n them!” He used the expression as a true and awful curse, and then Dan's arms drooped, his anger spent. He visibly shook off the madness. He said, ”Sounds like a retina flash burn. To the human eye it's what overexposure is to film. Her eyes can recover from that.”

He looked down at the form on the bed. ”Not much I can do for cardiacs. This was the third, right here in the hotel. Maybe the other two will live, for a while. It's fear that kills 'em, and the worst fear is that they'll have a shock and not be able to reach the doctor. I pity all the other cardiacs around here, with the phones out. I pity them, but I can't help them. You don't have to worry so much with women having babies. They'll have them whether I'm there or not, and chances are that both mother and baby will do all right.” He grasped Randy's elbow. ”Now let's take a look at the Garcia woman, and then I'll see about Peyton.” They left the room, and its lonely dead.

Marie Garcia said her pains were coming at four- or five minute intervals. Dan said, ”It'll be much better if you can have the baby at home. It'll be easier for me, too. This hotel is no place to be having a baby. Do you think you can make it?”

Marie looked at her husband and nodded. Garcia said, ”You'll follow us, Doc?”

”I'll be right behind you,” Dan promised. He helped Marie to her feet. Leaning on John Garcia, she left, her lips compressed, awaiting the next clamp of pain, but her fear gone.

Dan went into his bathroom and came out with a small bottle. ”Eyedrops,” he said. ”Once every three hours.” He dug into his bag and handed Randy a pillbox. ”Sedative. One every four hours. And give her a couple of aspirins as soon as you get home. She stays in a dark room. Better yet, put a dark cloth over her eyes. As long as she knows she can't see, she won't strain her eyes trying. And it won't frighten her so much. It's frightening to open your eyes and not see.”

”You're coming out, aren't you?” Randy asked.

”Certainly. As soon as I can. I have to deliver this baby, and I have to check in at the clinic-G.o.d knows what's waiting for me there-and I have to see Bloomfield. Somehow we have to coordinate what little we'll be able to do. But soon as I can, I'll be out to see Peyton. There really isn't anything more I can do for her than you can do right now. And Randy-”

”Yes?”

”Did you get those prescriptions filled?” ”No. I never had time.”

”Don't worry about it. I'll handle it for you. I'll bring the stuff out when I come.”

They left the hotel together. A gibbering woman, red-dish wig astray on her head like an ill-fitting beret, clawed at Dan's arm. He shook himself loose. She dove for his medicine bag. He s.n.a.t.c.hed it away and ran.

Outside, they parted. Randy drove through town. Traffic was piling up. Those stores that opened early on Sat.u.r.days were crowded, and groups waited in front of others, and on the steps of the bank. There was as yet no disorder. It was a shopping rush, as on Christmas Eve. At the corner of Yulee and St. Johns he saw Cappy Foracre, the Fort Repose Chief of Police, directing traffic. He stopped and yelled, ”Cappy, there's a woman dead in a wreck out on River Road.”

”That's outside the town limits,” Cappy shouted. ”Nothing I can do about it. I've got plenty of trouble right here.”

Randy drove on, tuning his radio to the Conelrad frequencies, scouting for news. As before, the 640 channel brought only an incoherent jumble of distant voices, but Happy Hedrix was still broadcasting over WSMF, from San Marco, on 1240, although, obeying the Conelrad rules, he never mentioned the call sign. The AP ticker from Jacksonville told of a sea and air battle off the coast. The Governor had issued a p.r.o.nouncement from Tallaha.s.see--all target cities were to be evacuated at once. The cities named included Orlando and Jacksonville. There was no mention of Miami or Tampa.

Randy wondered why the evacuation order originated in Tallaha.s.see, instead of from a Civil Defense headquarters. Of the national situation, there was no word at all. Up to now, it sounded as if Florida were fighting the war alone. More than anything, Randy wanted news-real news. What had happened? What had happened everywhere? Was the war lost? If it was still being fought who was winning?

On River Road he pa.s.sed a dozen convicts, white men, clad in their blue denim with the white stripe down the trouser leg. They were straggling toward Fort Repose. Two of the convicts carried shotguns. Another had a pistol strapped to his waist. This was wrong. Road gang guards, not convicts, should be carrying the weapons. But the guards were missing. It wasn't difficult to guess what had happened. The guards, some of them, were dour and s.a.d.i.s.tic men, skilled in unusual and degrading punishments. It was likely that any breakdown in government and authority would begin with a revolt of prisoners against road gang guards. There was a convict camp between Fort Repose and Pasco Creek. Randy guessed that these prisoners were being transported, by truck, to their work area, when the nuclear attack came. With realization, rebellion, and perhaps murder of the guards, had been almost instantaneous.

He pa.s.sed the wrecked car. The woman's body still lay on the roadside. The luggage had been looted. Dresses, shoes, and lingerie littered the gra.s.sy shoulder. A pink-silk pajama top fluttered from a palmetto, a forlorn flag to mark the end of a vacation.

As Randy reached his home, Florence Wechek's Chevy bounced out of her driveway. He yelled, ”Hey, Florence!” Florence stopped. Alice Cooksey was in the car with her. ”Where are you going?” Randy asked.

”To work,” Florence said. ”I'm late.” ”Don't you know what's happened?”

”Certainly I know. That's why it's very important I open up the office. People will have all sorts of messages. This is an emergency, Randy.”

”It sure is,” Randy said. ”On the way to town you'll see some convicts. They're armed. Don't stop.”

Florence said, ”I'll be careful.” Alice smiled and waved. They drove on.

On Friday night, Florence and Alice had split a bottle of sherry, an unaccustomed dissipation, and stayed up long past midnight, exchanging confidences, opinions, and gossip. As a result, Florence had neglected to set her alarm, and they had overslept. The explosions far to the south had shaken them awake, but it was not until some time later, when they had seen the glow in the sky, that Alice had thought to turn on the radio, and they first realized what was happening.

Immediately, Florence wanted to start for the office. Having no close relatives, and approaching an age beyond which she could not reasonably hope for a proposal of marriage, and when even speculative second looks from rakish or lonely widowers had grown rare, her whole life centered in the office. Western Union didn't expect her to open the wire until eight, but she was usually a bit early. Afternoons, she dreaded the relentless downsweep of the hour hand, which at five guillotined her day. After five, nothing awaited her except lovebirds, tropical fish, and vicarious journeys back to more romantic centuries via historical novels. In the office she was part of a busy and exciting world, a necessary communicating link in affairs of great importance to others. On this day of crisis, she could be the most important person in Fort Repose.

Yet she allowed Alice to persuade her not to start at once. For such a wisp of a woman, Alice seemed remarkably brave and cool. Alice pointed out that Florence had better eat breakfast, because she'd need her strength and it might be many hours before she'd have an opportunity to eat again. And Alice had volunteered to go to town with her, although Florence had insisted it wasn't necessary. ”Who's going to do any reading today?” she asked. ”Why bother with the library?”

”Maybe a good many people will be reading,” Alice said, ”once they find out that Civil Defense pamphlets are stocked in the library. Not that it's likely to be much help to them now, but perhaps it'll help some. Bubba Offenhaus claimed they were taking up too much s.p.a.ce in his office. So I offered to store them.” ”You were farsighted.”

”Do you think so? When two s.h.i.+ps are on a collision course, and the men at the wheel inflexibly hold to that course, there is going to be a collision. You don't have to be farsighted to see that.”

And Alice had suggested that it would be wise for them to use their time and resources to buy provisions while they were in town. ”Canned goods would be best, I think,” she said, ”because if the lights go out, refrigeration goes too.”

”Why should the lights go out?” Florence asked. ”Because Fort Repose's power comes from Orlando.” Florence didn't quite understand this reasoning.

Nevertheless, she followed Alice's advice, listing certain essentials they would need and filling pails and bathtub with water before they left.

Florence and Alice pa.s.sed the dead woman and pillaged wreck on the way to town. It frightened them. But, when far ahead Florence saw the procession of convicts, and two of them, one armed, stepped into the middle of the road to wave her down, she stamped on the accelerator. The car quivered at a speed she never in her life had dared before. At the last second the two men jumped to safety and the others shook their fists, their mouths working but their curses unheard. Florence didn't slow until she reached Marines Park. She dropped Alice at the library. She parked behind Western Union, which occupied a twenty-foot frontage in a one-story block of stores on Yulee Street. Her fingers were trembling and her legs felt numb. It was several seconds before her heart stopped jumping, and she found sufficient courage to enter her office. Fourteen or fifteen men and women, some of them strangers, swarmed in behind her. ”Just a minute! Just a minute!” Florence said, and barricaded herself behind the protection of the counter.

This was the first morning in years that she had been late, and so, on this of all mornings, waiting at the door would be more customers than she might customarily expect in a whole day. In addition, on Sat.u.r.days, g.a.y.l.o.r.d, her Negro messenger boy, was off His bicycle stood in the back of the office. ”Now you will all have to wait,” she said, ”while I open the circuit.”

Fort Repose was one of a dozen small towns on a local circuit originating in Jacksonville and terminating in Tampa. Florence switched on her teleprinter and announced: ”THIS IS FR RETURNING TO SERVICE.”

Instantly the machine chattered back at her from JX, which was Jacksonville: ”YOU ARE LIMITED TO ACCEPTING AND TRANSMTTTING OFFICIAL DEFENSE EMERGENCY MESSAGES ONLY UNTIL FUR THER NOTICE. NO MESSAGES ACCEPTED FOR POINTS NORTH OF JACKSONVILLE.”

Florence acknowledged and inquired of Jacksonville: ”ANY INCOMERS?”

JX Said Curtly: ”NO. FYI TAMPA IS OUT. JX EVACUATION ORDERED BUT WE STICKING UNTIL CIVIL DEFENSE FOLDS UP HERE.”

Florence turned to her customers behind the counter, started to speak, and was battered by demands: ”I was expecting a money order from Chattanooga this morning. Where is it? . . . I want you to get this off for New York right away. . . . Can I send a cable from here? My husband is in London and thinks I'm in Miami and I'm not in Miami at all. What is the name of this place? . . . This is a very important message. I tried to phone my broker but all the lines are tied up. It's a sell order and I want you to get it right out. I'll make it worth your while. . . . I can't even telephone Mount Dora. Can I send a telegram to Mount Dora from here? . . . If I wire Chicago for money, how soon do you think before I'll get an answer? . . .”

Florence raised her hands. ”Please be quiet- That's better. I'm sorry, but I can't take anything except official defense emergency messages. Anyway, nothing is going through north of Jacksonville.”

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