Part 11 (1/2)

The voice continued: ”In Nebraska, Lincoln. Also in Nebraska, Omaha and all the territory within a fifty-mile radius of Omaha.”

There goes all hope of Mark, Randy thought. More than one missile for Omaha. Probably three, as Mark had expected. From the moment of the double dawn on The Day, he had known it was probable. Now he must accept it as almost certain. He looked across the circle, at three faces in the firelight. Peyton's face was half-hidden against her mother's breast. Helen's face bent down, and her arms were around Peyton's shoulders. Ben Franklin stared into the fire, his chin straight. Randy could see the tear path down Helen's face, and the unshed tears in Ben's eyes.

The announcements went on, the voice calling out portions of states, and cities-Seattle, Hanford, San Francisco, all the southern California coast, Helena, Cheyenne-but Randy only half-heard them. All he could hear, distinctly, were the sharp sobs out of Peyton's throat.

Randy's heart went out to them but he said nothing. What was there to say? How do you say to a little girl that you are sorry she no longer has a father?

Close to his side Lib stirred and spoke, two words only, to Helen. ”I'm sorry.” Randy had noticed, that evening, a tenseness between Helen and Lib. Nothing was said, and yet there was a watchfulness, a hostility, between them. So he was glad that Lib had spoken. He wanted them to like each other. He was puzzled that they didn't.

Then it was over. The radio stilled. More than ever, Randy felt cut off and isolated. Florida was a prohibited zone, and Fort Repose a tiny, isolated sector within that zone. He could appreciate why the whole state had been designated a contaminated area. There were so many bases, so many targets which had been hit, with resulting contamination. They had been extraordinarily fortunate in Fort Repose. The wind had favored them. They had received only a residue of fallout from Tampa and Orlando, and none at all from Miami and Jacksonville. Even a reasonably clean weapon on Patrick would have rained radioactive particles on Fort Repose, but the enemy had not bothered to hit Patrick. Standing on the other side of the room, Preacher Henry had been listening, but he did not fully understand the designation of contaminated zones or comprehend the implications. He did feel and understand the shock and grief the broadcast brought to the Braggs, and he sensed it was time for him to leave. He nudged Malachai, touched Two-Tone's rump with his toe, caught the attention of Hannah and Missouri, and said, with dignity, ”We be going now. I thank you, Mister Randy, for a real fine steak dinner. I hopes we can sometime repay it.”

Randy rose to his feet and said, ”Good night, Preacher. It was good to have you all.”

On the fourth day after The Day, Randy, Malachai, and Two-Tone extended the artesian water system to the houses of Admiral Hazzard and Florence Wechek. Stretching pipe across the grove to the Admiral's house was simple, but to provide water for Florence Wechek and Alice Cooksey it was necessary to dig through the macadam of River Road with picks.

On the night of the sixth day the Riverside Inn burned. With no water in the hydrants, and the hotel's sprinkler system inoperative, the fire department was all but helpless. Only a few reserve firemen showed up, and only one pumper was got into action, using river water. It was a puny effort, and far too late. The old, resinous wooden structure was burning brightly before the first stream touched the walls. Soon the heat drove the firemen away. A few minutes thereafter the last scream was heard from the third floor.

Dan had been summoned an hour later, and Randy had driven him into town. By then, there was nothing to do except care for the survivors. They were few. Some of these died of smoke poisoning or fear-it was hard to diagnose-within a few hours. The burned were taken to San Marco in Bubba Offenhaus' hea.r.s.e-ambulances. The uninjured were lodged in the Fort Repose school. There was no heat in the school, or food, or water. It was simply shelter, less comfortable than the hotel, and within a few days more squalid.

Dan Gunn suspected that the fire had started in a room where the guests were using canned heat in an attempt to boil water. Or perhaps someone had built a makes.h.i.+ft wood stove. It was, Dan said, inevitable.

On the ninth day after The Day, Lavinia McGovern died. This, too, had been inevitable ever since the lights went out and refrigeration ceased. Since Lavinia McGovern suffered from diabetes, insulin had kept her alive. Without refrigeration, insulin deteriorated rapidly. Not only Lavinia, but all diabetics in Fort Repose, dependent upon insulin, died at about the same period as the drug lost its potency.

Randy and Dan had done their best to save her. They had driven to San Marco hoping to find refrigerated insulin, or the new oral drug, at the hospital.

It was eighteen miles to San Marco. Even driving at the most economical speed in his heavily horsepowered car, Randy estimated that the trip would consume three gallons of gasoline. He estimated he had only five gallons remaining in his tank, plus a five-gallon can in reserve.

Randy made a difficult decision. By then, the Bragg home was linked to the houses of Admiral Hazzard, Florence Wechek, and the Henrys not only by an arterial system of pipes fed by nature's pressure, but by other common needs. The Henrys' Model-A was neither beautiful nor comfortable but its engine was twice as thrifty as Randy's rakish sports hardtop. Sam Hazzard's car gulped gasoline as fast as Randy's. Dan's was empty. The Model-A was even more economical than Florence's old Chevy. Randy decided that henceforth the Model-A would furnish community transportation. So it was in the Model-A that Randy and Dan made the trip to San Marco. sliced, with vitamins re-injected, had cleaned the stores out of flour on The Day. He resolved, when he could, to trade for flour. It would be June before they could look forward to corn bread from Preacher Henry's crop.

Alice had bicycled from the McGovern house. Before she closed the Western Union office, Florence Wechek had salvaged the messenger's bicycle. It was a valuable possession. Now that all their remaining gasoline was pooled to operate one car, the bicycle was primary transportation for Alice and Florence. Alice was for the first time in her life dressed in slacks, a necessity for bicycling. She accepted coffee and told of Lavinia's death. Bill McGovern and Elizabeth, she said, were taking it well, but they didn't know what to do with the body. They needed help with the burial.

”I'll go to see Bubba Offenhaus right away,” Dan said, ”and try to arrange for burial. I've got to talk to Bubba anyway. I can't seem to impress upon him the importance of burying the dead as quickly as possible. He suddenly seems to hate his profession.”

”That's not like Bubba,” Alice Cooksey said. ”Bubba always bragged that he was the most efficient undertaker in Florida. He used to say, 'When the retireds started coming to Fort Repose, they found a mortuary with all modern conveniences.' ”

”That's the trouble,” Dan said. ”Bubba abhors unorthodox funerals. He almost wept when I insisted that the poor devils who died in the fire be buried at once in a single grave. We had to use a bulldozer, you know. Bubba claims Repose-in-Peace Park is ruined for good.”

Randy had been silent since Alice brought the news. Now he spoke, as if he had been holding silent debate with himself, and had finally reached a conclusion. '”They'll have to live here.”

Helen set down her coffee cup. ”Who'll have to live here?” ”We'll have to ask Lib and Bill McGovern to stay with us.” ”But we don't have room! And how will we feed them?”

Randy was puzzled and disturbed. He had never thought of Helen as a selfish woman, and yet obviously she didn't want the McGoverns. ”We really have plenty of room,” he said. ”There's still an empty bedroom upstairs. Bill can have it, and Lib can sleep with you.”

”With me?”

He could see that Helen was angry. ”Well, you have twin beds in your room, Helen. But if you seriously object, Bill can sleep in my apartment-there's an extra couch-and Lib can have the room.”

”After all, it's your house,” Helen said.

”As a matter of fact, Helen, the house is half Mark's, which makes it half yours. So the decision is yours as well as mine. Lib and Bill have no water and no heat and not much food left because almost all their food reserve was in their freezer. They don't even have a fireplace. They've been cooking and boiling water on a charcoal grill in the Florida room.”

Helen shrugged and said, ”Well, I guess you'll have to ask them. Elizabeth can sleep with me. But I hope it isn't a permanent arrangement. After all, our food supply is limited.”

”It is limited,” Randy said, ”and it's going to get worse. Whether the McGoverns are here or not, we're all going to have to scrounge for food pretty quick.”

Dan rose and said, ”I'd better get going.”

Randy followed him. He had cultivated the habit of leaving his .45 automatic on the hall table and pocketing it as he left the house, as a man would put on his hat. Since he never wore a hat, and never before had carried a gun except in the Army, he still had to make a conscious effort to remember.

When they were in the car Randy said, ”That was a strange way for Helen to behave. Don't know what's eating her.”

”Not at all strange,” Dan said. ”Just human. She's jealous.” ”That's ridiculous!”

”No. Helen is a fiercely protective woman-protective of her children. With Mark gone, you and the house are her security and the children's security. She doesn't want to share you and your protection. Matter of self-preservation, not infatuation.”

”I see,” Randy said, ”or at least I think I see.”

They drove up to the front of the McGovern house. Randy said, ”It's pointless for both of us to go in. Nothing you can do here. While you get Bubba Offenhaus, I'll tell them they're going to move and get them going.”

”Right,” Dan said. ”Economy of effort and forces. Always a good rule of war.”

Randy walked to the house, wondering a bit about himself. Without being conscious of it, he had begun to give orders in the past few days. Even to the Admiral he had given orders. He had a.s.sumed leaders.h.i.+p in the tiny community bound together by the water pipes leading from the artesian well. Since no one had seemed to resent it, he guessed it had been the proper thing to do. It was like-well, it wasn't the same, but it was something like commanding a platoon. When you had the responsibility you also had the right to command.

The McGovern house was damp and it was chilly. It retained the cold of night. Lib, wearing corduroy jodhpurs and a heavy blue turtleneck sweater, greeted him at the door. She said, ”I heard the jalopy and I knew it was you. Thanks for coming, Randy.”

She held out her hands to him and he kissed her. Her hands felt cold and when he looked down at them he saw that her fingernails, always so carefully kept, were broken and crusted with dirt. Still she was dry-eyed and calm. Whatever tears she had had for her mother were already shed. Randy said, ”Alice told us. We're all terribly sorry, darling.” He knew it sounded insincere, and it was. With so many dead-so many friends for whom he had as yet not had time even for thought-the death of one woman, whom he did not admire overmuch and with whom he had never been and could not be close, was a triviality. With perhaps half the country's population dead, death itself, unless it took someone close and dear, was trivial.

She said, ”Come on in and talk to Dad. He's worried about how we're going to bury her.”

”We're arranging that,” Randy said, and followed her into the house.

Bill McGovern sat in the living room, staring out on the river. He had not bothered to dress, or shave. Over his pajamas and robe he had pulled a topcoat. Randy turned to Lib. ”Have either of you had any breakfast?”

She shook her head, no.

Bill spoke without turning his head. ”h.e.l.lo, Randy. I'm not much of a success, am I, in time of crisis? I can't feed my daughter, or myself, or even bury my wife. I wish I had enough guts to swim out into the channel and sink.”

”That can't help Lavinia and wouldn't help Elizabeth, or anybody. You and Lib are going to live with me. Things will be better.”

”Randy, I'm not going to impose myself on you. I might as well face it. I'm finished. You know, I'm over sixty. And do you know what the worst thing is> Central Tool and Plate. I spent my whole life building it up. What is it now? Chances are, just a mess of twisted and burned metal. Junk. So there goes my life and what good am I? I can't start over. Central Tool and Plate is junk and I'm junk.”

Randy stepped over and stood between Bill and the cracked window, so as to look into his face. ”You might as well stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he said. ”You're going to have to start over. Either that or die. You have to face it.”

Lib touched her father's shoulder. ”Come on, Dad.” Bill didn't move, or reply.

Randy felt anger inside him. ”You want to know what good you are? That means what good you are to somebody else, not to yourself, doesn't it? If you're no good to anybody else I guess you'd better take the long swim. You know something about machinery, don't you?”

McGovern pushed himself in his chair. ”I know as much about machine tools as any man in America.”

”I didn't say machine tools. I said machinery. Batteries, gasoline engines, simple stuff like that.”