Part 8 (2/2)

Helen said, ”I'll bring something right up.”

They turned off the light. Helen went downstairs. Dan Gunn came into Randy's rooms. He took off his wrinkled jacket and dropped it on a chair and said, ”Now I can use a drink.”

Randy mixed a double bourbon. Dan drank half of it in a gulp and said, surprised, ”Aren't you drinking, Randy?”

”No. Don't feel like I want one.”

”That's the first good news I've heard all day. I've already treated two fellows who've drunk themselves insensible since morning. You could've been the third.”

”Could I?”

”Well, not quite. You react to crisis in the right way. You remember what Toynbee says? His theory of challenge and response applies not only to nations, but to individuals. Some nations and some people melt in the heat of crisis and come apart like fat in the pan. Others meet the challenge and harden. I think you're going to harden.”

”I'm really not a very hard guy,” Randy said, looking across the room at his guns and thinking, oddly, of the young buck he'd shot when a boy, and how he'd never been able to shoot a deer since that day. To change the subject he said, ”You must've had a pretty harrowing day.”

Dan drank the second half of his bourbon and water. ”I have had such a day as I didn't think it was possible to have. Seven cardiacs are dead and a couple more will go before morning. Three miscarriages and one of the women died. I don't know what killed her. I'd put down 'fright' on the death certificate if I had time to make out death certificates. Three suicides-one of them was Edgar Quisenberry.”

Randy said, ”Edgar-why?”

Dan frowned. ”Hard to say. He still had as much as anybody else, or more. He wasn't organically ill. I'll refer to Toynbee again. Inability to cope with a sudden change in the environment. He swam in a sea of money, and when money was trans.m.u.ted back into paper he was left gasping and confused, and he died. You've read the history of the 'twenty-nine crash, haven't you?”

”Yes.”

”Dozens of people killed themselves for the same reason. They created and lived in an environment of paper profits, and when paper returned to paper they had to kill themselves, not realizing that their environment was unnatural and artificial. But it wasn't the adults that got me down, Randy, it was the babies. Give me another drink, a small one.”

Randy poured another.

”Eight babies today, three of them preemies. I've got the preemies in San Marco hospital. I don't know whether they'll make it or not. The hospital's a mess. Cots end to end on every corridor. A good many of them are accident cases, a few gunshot wounds. And all this, mind you, with only three casualties caused directly by the war-three cases of radiation poisoning.”

”Radiation?” Randy said. ”Around here?” Suddenly the word had a new and immediate connotation. It was now a sinister word of lingering death, like cancer.

”No. Refugees from Tallaha.s.see. They drove through pretty heavy fallout, I guess. We estimate at the hospital that they received fifty to a hundred roentgens. Anyway, a pretty hefty dose, but not fatal.”

”Are we getting any radiation, do you think?”

Dan considered. ”Some, undoubtedly. But I don't think a dangerous dose. There isn't a Geiger in town, but there is a dosimeter in the San Marco hospital and I guess we're getting what San Marco gets. Most of the radioactive particles decay pretty fast, you know. Not cesium or strontium 90 or cobalt or carbon 14. Those will always be with us.”

”Lucky east wind,” Randy said, and then was surprised at his words. The danger of radiation was still there, and might increase. Long before this day scientists had been worried about tests of nuclear weapons, even when conducted in uninhabited areas under rigid controls. Now the danger obviously was infinitely greater, but since there were other and more immediate dangers-dangers that you could see, feel, and hear-radiation had become secondary. He wasn't thinking of its effect upon future generations. He was concerned with the present. He wasn't exercised over the fallout blanketing Tallaha.s.see from the attack on Jacksonville. He was worried about Fort Repose. He suspected that this was a necessary mental adjustment to aid self reservation. The exhausted swimmer, struggling to reach sh.o.r.e, isn't worried about starving to death afterwards.

When Helen called, they sat down to a dinner table that, under the circ.u.mstances, seemed incongruous. The meal was only soup, salad, and sandwiches, but Helen had laid the table as meticulously as if Dan Gunn had agreed to stay for a late supper on an ordinary evening. When Ben Franklin sat down Helen said, ”Did you wash your hands?”

”No, ma'am.” ”Well, do so.”

And Ben disappeared and returned with his hands washed and hair combed. They listened to the radio as they ate, hearing only the local broadcasts from San Marco at two-minute intervals. Their ears had become dulled to the repet.i.tive, unimportant announcements and warnings, as those who live on the seash.o.r.e fail to hear the sea. But any fresh news, or break in the routine, instantly alerted and silenced them.

Several times they heard a brief bulletin: ”County Civil Defense authorities warn everyone not to drink fresh milk which may have been exposed to fallout. Canned milk, or milk delivered this morning prior to the attack, can be presumed safe.”

Dan Gunn explained that this precaution was probably a little premature. It was designed primarily for the protection of children. Strontium 90, probably the most dangerous of all fallout materials, collected in calcium. It caused bone cancer and leukemia. ”In a week or so it can be a real hazard,” he said. ”It can't be a hazard yet, because the cows haven't had time to ingest strontium 90 in their fodder. Still, the quicker these dangers are broadcast, the more people will be aware of them.”

Helen asked, ”What happens to babies?”

”Evaporated or condensed canned milk is the answer-while it lasts. After that, it's mother's milk.”

”That will be old-fas.h.i.+oned, won't it?”

Dan nodded and smiled. ”But the mothers will have to be careful of what they eat.” He looked down at the lettuce. ”For instance, no greens, or lettuce, if your garden has received fallout. Trouble is, you won't know, really, whether your ground, or your food, is safe or not. Not without a Geiger counter. We'll all have to live as best we can, from day to day.”

Ben Franklin looked up at the ceiling, listening. He said, ”Listen!”

The others heard it, very faintly.

”A jet,” Ben said. ”A fighter, I think.”

The sound faded away. Randy discovered he had been holding his breath. He said, ”I guess it's still going on.”

Helen laid her salad fork on the plate. She had eaten very little. She said, ”I have to know what's happening-I just have to. Can't we go over to see your retired admiral tonight, Randy?”

”Sure, we can see him. But what about Peyton? We can't leave her alone.”

Helen looked at Ben Franklin and Ben said, ”Is this what I'm going to be-a professional baby-sitter?”

Dan Gunn rose. ”I've got to get back to town. I've got to check in at the clinic and then I've got to get some sleep.” ”Why don't you stay here for the night, Dan?” Randy said. ”I can't. They're expecting me at the clinic. And Randy, I brought the emergency kit for you.” He turned to Helen. ”It was a wonderful supper. Thanks. I was so hungry I was weak. I didn't realize it.”

Randy walked him to his car. Dan said, ”That poor girl.” ”Peyton?”

”No. Helen. Uncertainty is the worst. She'd be better off if she knew Mark was dead. See you tomorrow, Randy.”

”Yes. Tomorrow.” He walked back to the house and paused on the porch to look at the thermometer and barometer. The barometer was steady, very high. Temperature was down to fifty five. It would get colder tonight. It might go to forty before morning. From across the river, far off, he heard a string of shots.

In this stillness, at night, and across water, the sound of shots carried for miles. He could not tell from whence the sound came, or guess why, but the shots reminded him of a nervous sentry on post cutting loose with his carbine. It sounded like a carbine, or an automatic pistol.

He walked into the house, head down, and went up to his bedroom and pulled on a sweater. He called Ben Franklin to the living room and Ben came in, his mother following. ”Ben,” Randy said, ”ever shoot a pistol?”

”Only once, on the range at Offutt.” ”What about a rifle?”

”I've shot a twenty-two. I'm pretty good with a twenty two.”

”Okay,” Randy said, ”I'm going to give you what you're good at.”

He walked to the gunrack. The Mossberg was fitted with a sixpower scope, and a scope was not good for snap shooting, and hard to use at night. He took down the Remington pump, a weapon with open sights, a present from his father on his thirteenth birthday. He handed it to Ben.

The boy took it, pleased, worked the action and peered into the chamber.

”It's not loaded now,” Randy said, ”but from now on every gun in this house is going to be loaded. I hope we never have to use them but if we do there probably won't be any time to load up.”

Helen said, ”I forgot to tell you, Randy. I couldn't get ten boxes of the ammunition you wanted but I did get three. They're somewhere in the kitchen. I'll find them later.”

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