Part 20 (2/2)

Jesse crouched against the dock, watching the grain-elevators burn.

The whole city was burning, Babylon the mighty, the whole world was burning in G.o.d's final wrath of judgment.

n.o.body believed in G.o.d any more, n.o.body read the Bible, and that's why they didn't know these things. Jesse knew, because he was an old man and he remembered how it had been when he was a little boy. A little boy who learned of the Word of G.o.d and the Wrath of G.o.d.

He could see the reflection of the flames in the water, now, and the reflection was s.h.i.+mmery and broken because of the black cl.u.s.ters floating past. Large cl.u.s.ters and small cl.u.s.ters. There were bodies in the water, the bodies of the slain.

Thunder boomed from the city behind him. Explosions. That's how it had started, when the Naturalists began blowing up the buildings. And then the Yardsticks had come with their weapons, hunting down the Naturalists. Or had it been that way, really? It didn't matter, now.

That was in another country and besides, the wench was dead.

The wench _is_ dead. His wench, Jesse's wench. She wasn't so old. Only seventy-two. But they killed her, they blew off the top of her head and he could feel it when they did. It was as if something had happened in _his_ head, and then he ran at them and screamed, and there was great slaughter amongst the heathen, the forces of unrighteousness.

And Jesse had fled, and smote evil in the name of the Lord, for he perceived now that the time was at hand.

_How the mighty are fallen._

Jesse blinked at the water, wis.h.i.+ng it would clear, wis.h.i.+ng his thoughts would clear. Sometimes for a moment he could remember back to the way things _really_ were. When it was still a real world, with real people in it. When he was just a little boy and everybody else was big.

Strange. Now he was an old man, a big old man, and almost everybody else was little.

He tried to think what it had been like, so long ago. It was too long.

All he could remember about being small was that he had been afraid.

Afraid of the bigger people.

And now he was big, and afraid of the smaller people.

Of course they weren't real. It was just part of the prophecy, they were the locusts sent to consume and destroy. He kept telling himself there was nothing to fear; the righteous need not fear when the day of judgment is at hand.

Only somewhere inside of him was this little boy, crying, ”Mama, Mama, Mama!” And somewhere else was this old man, just staring down into the water and waiting for them to find him.

Another explosion sounded.

This one was closer. They must be bombing the entire city. Or else it was the dragon, las.h.i.+ng his tail.

Somebody ran past Jesse, carrying a torch. No, it wasn't a torch--his hair was on fire. He jumped into the water, screaming, ”They're coming! They're coming!”

Jesse turned and blinked. They were coming, all right. He could see them pouring out of the alleyway like rats. Rats with gleaming eyes, gleaming claws.

Suddenly, his head cleared. He realized that he was going to die. He had, perhaps, one minute of life left. One minute out of eighty years.

And he couldn't fool himself any longer. He was not delirious. Day of judgment--that was nonsense. And there was no dragon, and these were not rats. They were merely men. Puny little men who killed because they were afraid.

Jesse was a big man, but he was afraid, too. Six feet three inches tall he was, when he stood up straight as he did now, watching them come--but he knew fear.

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