Hugh turned to his deputy. "Joe, I'm going out. Get me a forty-five and a belt. I shouldn't have let those girls go out unarmed." He eased himself down the hole. "You two guard the place."
His son said, "Against what? There's nothing to guard in here."
His father hesitated. "I don't know. Just a spooky feeling. All right, come along. But arm yourself. Joe!"
"Coming!"
"Joe, arm Duke and yourself. Then wait until we get outside. If we don't come back right away, use your judgment. This situation I hadn't anticipated. It just can't be."
"But it is."
"So it is, Duke." Hugh buckled on the pistol, dropped to his knees. Framed in the tunnel's mouth was still the vision of lush greenness where there should have been blasted countryside and crater glass. He started to crawl.
He stood up and moved away from the mouth, then looked around.
"Daddy! Isn't this lovely!"
Karen was below him on a slope that ran down to a stream. Across it the land rose and was covered with trees. On this side was a semi-clearing. The sky was blue, sunlight warm and bright, and there was no sign of war's devastation, nor any sign of man—not a building, a road, a path, no contrails in the sky. It was wilderness, and there was nothing that he recognized.
"Daddy, I'm going down to the creek."
"Come here! Where's Barbara?"
"Up here, Hugh." He turned and saw her up the slope, above the shelter. "I'm trying to figure out what happened. What do you think?"
The shelter sat cocked on the slope, a huge square monolith. Dirt clung to it save where the tunnel had cracked off and a jagged place where the stairwell had been. The armor door was exposed just above him.
"I don't think," he admitted.
Duke emerged, dragging a rifle. He stood up, looked around, and said nothing.
Barbara and Karen joined them. Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume came bounding up to tag Hugh on the ankle and dash away. Obviously the Persian gave the place full approval; it was just right for cats.
Duke said, "I give up. Tell me."
Hugh did not answer. Karen said, "Daddy, why can't I go down to the creek? I'm going to take a bath. I stink."
"It won't hurt you to stink. I'm confused. I don't want to be confused still more by worrying about your drowning—"
"It's shallow."
"—or eaten by a bear, or falling in quicksand. You girls go inside, arm yourselves, and then come out if you want to. But stick close and keep your eyes peeled. Tell Joe to come out."
"Yes, sir." The girls went.
"What do you think, Duke?"
"Well . . . I reserve my opinion."
"If you have one, it's more than I have. Duke, I'm stonkered. I planned for all sorts of things. This wasn't on the list. If you have opinions, for God's sake spill them."
"Well—This looks like mountain country in Central America. Of course that's impossible."
"No point in worrying about whether it's possible. Suppose it was Central America. What would you watch for?"
"Let me see. Might be cougars. Snakes certainly. Tarantulas and scorpions. Malaria mosquitoes. You mentioned bears."
"I meant bears as a symbol. We're going to have to watch everything, every minute, until we know what we're up against."
Joe came out, carrying a rifle. He kept quiet and looked around. Duke said, "We won't starve. Off to the left down by the stream."
Hugh looked. A dappled fawn, hardly waist high, was staring at them, apparently unafraid. Duke said, "Shall I drop it?" He raised his rifle.
"No. Unless you are dead set on fresh meat."
"All right. Pretty thing, isn't it?"
"Very. But it's no North American deer I ever saw. Duke? Where are we? And how did we get here?"
Duke gave a lopsided grin. "Dad, you appointed yourself Fuehrer. I'm not supposed to think."
"Oh, rats!"
"Anyhow, I don't know. Maybe the Russkis developed a hallucination bomb."
"But would we all see the same thing?"
"No opinion. But if I had shot that deer, I'll bet we could have eaten it."
"I think so, too. Joe? Ideas, opinions, suggestions?"
Joe scratched his head. "Mighty pretty country. But I'm a city boy."
"One thing you can do, Hugh."
"What, Duke?"
"Your little radio. Try it."
"Good idea." Hugh crawled inside, caught Karen about to climb down, sent her back for it. While he waited, he wondered what he had that was suitable for a ladder? Chinning themselves in a six-foot manhole was tedious.
The radio picked up static but nothing else. Hugh switched it off. "We'll try it tonight. I've gotten Mexico with it at night, even Canada." He frowned. "Something ought to be on the air. Unless they smeared us completely."
"Dad, you aren't thinking straight."
"How, Duke?"
"This area did not get smeared."
"That's why I can't understand a radio silence."
"Yet Mountain Springs really caught it. Ergo, we aren't in Mountain Springs."
"Who said we were?" Karen answered. "There's nothing like this in Mountain Springs. Nor the whole state."
Hugh frowned. "I guess that's obvious." He looked at the shelter—gross, huge, massive. "But where are we?"
"Don't you read comic books, Daddy? We're on another planet."
"Don't joke, baby girl. I'm worried."
"I wasn't joking. There is nothing like this within a thousand miles of home—yet here we are. Might as well be another planet. The one we had was getting used up."
"Hugh," Joe said, "it sounds silly. But I agree with Karen."
"Why, Joe?"
"Well, we're someplace. What happens when an H-bomb explodes dead on you?"
"You're vaporized."
"I don't feel vaporized. And I can't see that big hunk of concrete sailing a thousand miles or so, and crashing down with nothing to show for it but cracked ribs and a hurt shoulder. But Karen's idea—" He shrugged. "Call it the fourth dimension. That last big one nudged us through the fourth dimension."
"Just what I said, Daddy. We're on a strange planet! Let's explore!"
"Slow down, honey. As for another planet— Well, there isn't any rule saying we have to know where we are when we don't. The problem is to cope."
Barbara said, "Karen, I don't see how this can be anything but Earth."
"Why? Spoilsport."
"Well—" Barbara chucked a pebble at a tree. "That's a eucalyptus, and an acacia beyond it. Not at all like Mountain Springs but a normal grouping of tropical and subtropical flora. Unless your 'new planet' evolved plants just like Earth, this has to be Earth."
"Spoilsport," Karen repeated. "Why shouldn't plants evolve the same way on another planet?"
"Well, that would be as remarkable as finding the same—"
"Hubert! Hubert! Where are you? I can't find you!" Grace Farnham's voice echoed out the tunnel.
Hugh ducked into the tunnel. "Coming!"
They ate lunch under a tree a little distance from the shelter. Hugh decided that the tunnel had been buried so deeply that the chance of its mouth being more radioactive than the interior was negligible. As for the roof, he was not certain. So he placed a dosimeter (the only sort of radiation instrument that had come through the pummeling) on top of the shelter to compare it later with one inside. He was relieved to see that the dosimeters agreed that they had suffered less than lethal dosage—although large—and that they checked each other.
The only other precaution he took was for them to keep guns by them—all but his wife. Grace Farnham "couldn't stand guns," and resented having to eat with guns in sight.
But she ate with good appetite. Duke had built a fire and they were blessed with hot coffee, hot canned beef, hot peas, hot canned sweet potatoes, and canned fruit salad—and cigarettes with no worry about air or fire.
"That was lovely," Grace admitted. "Hubert dear? Do you know what it would take to make it just perfect? You don't approve of drinking in the middle of the day but these are special circumstances and my nerves are still a teensy bit on edge—so, Joseph, if you will just run back inside and fetch a bottle of that Spanish brandy—"
"Grace."
"What, dear? —then all of us could celebrate our miraculous escape. You were saying?"
"I'm not sure there is any."
"What? Why, we stored two cases of it!"
"Most of the liquor was broken. That brings up something else. Duke, you are out of a job as water boss. I'd like you to take over as bartender. There are at least two unbroken fifths. Whatever you find, split it six ways and make it share and share alike, whether it's several bottles each, or just a part of a bottle."
Mrs. Farnham looked blank, Duke looked uneasy. Karen said hastily, "Daddy, you know what I said."
"Oh, yes. Duke, your sister is on the wagon. So hold her share as a medicinal reserve. Unless she changes her mind."
"I don't want the job," said Duke.
"We have to divide up the chores, Duke. Oh yes, do the same with cigarettes. When they are gone, they're gone, whereas I have hopes that we can distill liquor later." He turned to his wife. "Why not have a Miltown, dear?"
"Drugs! Hubert Farnham, are you telling me that I can't have a drink?"
"Not at all. At least two fifths came through. Your share would be about a half pint. If you want a drink, go ahead."
"Well! Joseph, run inside and fetch me a bottle of brandy."
"No!" her husband countermanded. "If you want it, Grace, fetch it yourself."
"Oh, shucks, Hugh, I don't mind."
"I do. Grace, Joe's ribs are cracked. It hurts him to climb. You can manage the climb with those boxes as steps—and you're the only one who wasn't hurt."
"That's not true!"
"Not a scratch. Everybody else was bruised or worse. Now about jobs— I want you to take over as cook. Karen will be your assistant. Okay, Karen?"
"Certainly, Daddy."
"It will keep you both busy. We'll build a grill and Dutch oven, but it will be cook over a campfire and wash dishes in the creek for a while."
"So? And will you please tell me, Mr. Farnham, what Joseph is going to do in the meantime? To earn his wages?"
"Will you please tell me how we'll pay wages? Dear, dear—can't you see that things have changed?"
"Don't be preposterous! Joseph will get every cent coming to him and he knows it—just as soon as this mess is straightened out. After all, we've saved his life. And we've always been good to him, he won't mind waiting. Will you, Joseph?"
"Grace! Quiet down and listen. Joe is no longer our servant. He is our partner in adversity. We'll never pay him wages again. Quit acting like a child and face the facts. We're broke. We're never going to have any money again. Our house is gone. My business is gone. The Mountain Exchange Bank is gone. We're wiped out . . . save for what we stored in the shelter. But we are lucky. We're alive and by some miracle have a chance of scratching a living out of the ground. Lucky. Do you understand?"
"I understand you are using it as an excuse to bully me!"
"You've merely been assigned a job to fit your talents."
"Kitchen drudge! I was your kitchen slave for twenty-five years! That's long enough. I won't do it! Do you understand me?"
"You are wrong on both points. You've had a maid most of our married life . . . and Karen washed dishes from the time she could see over the sink. Granted, we had lean years. Now we're going to have more lean years—and you're going to help. Grace, you are a fine cook when you want to be. You will cook . . . or you won't eat."
"Oh!" She burst into tears and fled into the shelter.
Her behind was disappearing when Duke got up to follow. His father stopped him. "Duke!"
"Yes."
"One word and you can join your mother. I'm going exploring, I want you to go with me."
Duke hesitated. "All right."
"We'll start shortly. I think your job should be 'hunter.' You're a better shot than I am and Joe has never hunted. What do you think?"
"Uh— All right."
"Good. Well, go soothe her down and, Duke, see if you can make her see the facts."
"Maybe. But I agree with Mother. You were bullying her."
"As may be. Go ahead."
Duke turned abruptly and left. Karen said quietly, "I think so too, Daddy. You were bullying."
"I intended to. I judged it called for bullying. Karen, if I hadn't tromped on it, she would do no work . . . and would order Joe around, treat him as a hired cook."
"Shucks, Hugh, I don't mind cooking. It was a pleasure to rustle lunch."
"She's a better cook than you are, Joe, and she's going to cook. Don't let me catch you fetching and carrying for her."
The younger man grinned. "You won't catch me."
"Better not. Or I'll skin you and nail it to the barn. Barbara, what do you know about farming?"
"Very little."
"You're a botanist."
"No, I simply might have been one, someday."
"Which makes you eight times as much of a farmer as the rest of us. I can barely tell a rose from a dandelion; Duke knows even less and Karen thinks you dig potatoes out of gravy. You heard Joe say he was a city boy. But we have seeds and a small supply of fertilizers. Also garden tools and books about farming. Look over what we've got and find a spot for a garden. Joe and I will do the spading and such. But you will have to boss."
"All right. Any flower seeds?"
"How did you know?"
"I just hoped."
"Annuals and perennials both. Don't look for a spot this afternoon; I don't want you girls away from the shelter until we know the hazards. Joe, today we should accomplish two things, a ladder and two privies. Barbara, how are you as a carpenter?"
"Just middlin'. I can drive a nail."
"Don't let Joe do what you can do; those ribs have to heal. But we need a ladder. Karen, my little flower, you have the privilege of digging privies."
"Gosh. Thanks!"
"Just straddle ditches, one as the powder room, the other for us coarser types. Joe and I will build proper Chic Sales jobs later. Then we'll tackle a log cabin. Or a stone-wall job."
"I was wondering if you planned to do any work, Daddy."
"Brainpower, darling. Management. Supervision. Can't you see me sweating?" He yawned. "Well, a pleasant afternoon, all. I'll stroll down to the club, have a Turkish bath, then enjoy a long, tall planter's punch."
"Daddy, go soak your head. Privies, indeed!"
"The Kappas would be proud of you, dear."
Hugh and his son left a half hour later. "Joe," Hugh cautioned, "we plan to be back before dark but if we get caught, we'll keep a fire going all night and come back tomorrow. If you do have to search for us, don't go alone; take one of the girls. No, take Karen; Barbara has no shoes, just some spike heeled sandals. Damn. Moccasins we'll have to make. Got it?"
"Sure."
"We'll head for that hill—that one. I want to get high enough to get the lay of the land—and maybe spot signs of civilization." They set out—rifles, canteens, hand ax, machete, matches, iron rations, compasses, binoculars, mountain boots, coveralls. Coveralls and boots fitted Duke as well as Hugh; Duke found that his father had stocked clothes for him.
They took turns, with the man following blazing trail and counting paces, the leader keeping lookout, compass direction, and record.
The high hill Hugh had picked was across the stream. They explored its bank and found a place to wade. Everywhere they flushed game. The miniature deer were abundant and apparently had never been hunted. By man, at least— Duke saw a mountain lion and twice they saw bears.
It seemed to be about three o'clock local time as they approached the summit. The climb was steep, cluttered with undergrowth, and neither man was in training. When they reached the flattish summit Hugh wanted to throw himself on the ground.
Instead he looked around. To the east the ground dropped off. He stared out over miles of prairie.
He could see no sign of human life. He adjusted his binoculars and started searching. He saw moving figures, decided that they were antelope—or cattle; he made mental note that these herds must be watched. Later, later—
"Hugh?"
He lowered his binoculars. "Yes, Duke?"
"See that peak? It's fourteen thousand one hundred and ten feet high."
"I won't argue."
"That's Mount James. Dad, we're home!"
"What do you mean?"
"Look southwest. Those three gendarmes on that profile. The middle one is where I broke my leg when I was thirteen. That pointed mountain between there and Mount James—Hunter's Horn. Can't you see? The skyline is as distinctive as a fingerprint. This is Mountain Springs!"
Hugh stared. This skyline he knew. His bedroom window had been planned to let him see it at dawn; many sunsets he had watched it from his roof.
"Yes."
"Yes," Duke agreed. "Damned if I know how. But as I figure it"—he stomped the ground—"we're on the high reservoir. Where it ought to be. And—" His brow wrinkled. "As near as I can tell, our shelter is smack on our lot. Dad, we didn't go anywhere!"
Hugh took out the notebook in which were recorded paces and compasses courses, did some arithmetic. "Yes. Within the limits of error."
"Well? How do you figure it?"
Hugh looked at the skyline. "I don't. Duke, how much daylight do we have?"
"Well. . . three hours. The sun will be behind the mountains in two."
"It took two hours to get here; we should make it back in less. Do you have any cigarettes?"
"Yes."
"May I have one? Charged against me of course. I would like to rest about one cigarette, then start back." He looked around. "It's open up here. I don't think a bear would approach us." He placed his rifle and belt on the ground, settled down.
Duke offered a cigarette to his father, took one himself. "Dad, you're a cold fish. Nothing excites you."
"So? I'm so excitable that I had to learn never to give into it."
"Doesn't seem that way to other people." They smoked in silence, Duke seated, Hugh sprawled out. He was close to exhaustion and wished that he did not have to hike back.
Presently Duke added, "Besides that, you enjoy bullying."
His father answered, "I suppose so, if you class what I do as bullying. No one ever does anything but what he wants to do—'enjoys'—within the possibilities open to him. If I change a tire, it's because I enjoy it more than being stranded."
"Don't get fancy. You enjoy bullying Mother. You enjoyed spanking me as a kid . . . until Mother put her foot down and made you stop."
His father said, "We had better start back." He reached for his belt and rifle.
"Just a second. I want to show you something. Never mind your gear, this won't take a moment."
Hugh stood up. "What is it?"
"Just this. Your Captain Bligh act is finished." He clouted his father. "That's for bullying Mother!" He clouted him from the other side and harder, knocking his father off his feet. "And that's for having that nigger pull a gun on me!"
Hugh Farnham lay where he had fallen. "Not 'nigger,' Duke. Negro."
"He's a Negro as long as he behaves himself. Pulling a gun on me makes him a goddam nigger. You can get up. I won't hit you again."
Hugh Farnham got to his feet. "Let's start back."
"Is that all you've got to say? Go ahead. Hit me. I won't hit back."
"No."
"I didn't break my parole. I waited until we left the shelter."
"Conceded. Shall I lead? Better, perhaps."
"Do you think I'm afraid you might shoot me in the back? Look, Dad, I had to do it!"
"Did you?"
"Hell, yes. For my own self-respect."
"Very well." Hugh buckled on his belt, picked up his gun, and headed for the last blaze.
They hiked in silence. At last Duke said, "Dad?"
"Yes, Duke?"
"I'm sorry."
"Forget it."
They went on, found where they had forded the stream, crossed it. Hugh hurried, as it was growing darker. Duke closed up again. "Just one thing, Dad. Why didn't you assign Barbara as cook? She's the freeloader. Why pick on Mother?"
Hugh took his time in answering. "Barbara is no more a freeloader than you are, Duke, and cooking is the only thing Grace knows. Or were you suggesting that she loaf while the rest of us work?"
"No. Oh, we all have to pitch in—granted. But no more bullying, no more bawling Mother out in public. Understand me?"
"Duke."
"Yeah?"
"I've been studying karate three afternoons a week the past year."
"So?"
"Don't try it again. Shooting me in the back is safer."
"I hear you."
"Until you decide to shoot me, it would be well to accept my leadership. Or do you wish to assume the responsibility?"
"Are you offering it?"
"I am not in a position to. Perhaps the group would accept you. Your mother would. Possibly your sister would prefer you. Concerning Barbara and Joe, I offer no opinion."
"How about you, Dad?"
"I won't answer that; I owe you nothing. But until you decide to make a bid for leadership, I expect the same willing discipline you showed under parole."
"'Willing discipline' indeed!"
"In the long run there is no other sort. I can't quell a mutiny every few hours—and I've had two from you plus an utter lack of discipline from your mother. No leader can function on those terms. So I will assume your willing discipline. That includes no interference should I decide again to use what you call 'bullying.'"
"Now see here, I told you I would not stand for—"
"Quiet! Unless you make up your mind to that, your safest choice is to shoot me in the back. Don't come at me with bare hands or risk giving me a chance to shoot first. At the next sign of trouble, Duke, I will kill you. If possible. One of us will surely be killed."
They trudged along in silence, Mr. Farnham never looking back. At last Duke said, "Dad, for Christ's sake, why can't you run things democratically? I don't want to boss things, I simply want you to be fair about it."
"Mmm, you don't want to boss. You want to be a backseat driver—with a veto over the driver."
"Nuts! I simply want things run democratically."
"You do? Shall we vote on whether Grace is to work like the rest of us? Whether she shall hog the liquor? Shall we use Robert's Rules of Order? Should she withdraw while we debate it? Or should she stay and defend herself against charges of indolence and drunkenness? Do you wish to submit your mother to such ignominy?"
"Don't be silly!"
"I am trying to find out what you mean by 'democratically.' If you mean putting every decision to a vote, I am willing—if you will bind yourself to abide by every majority decision. You're welcome to run for chairman. I'm sick of the responsibility and I know that Joe does not like being my deputy."
"That's another thing. Why should Joe have any voice in these matters?"
"I thought you wanted to do it 'democratically'?"
"Yes, but he is—"
"What, Duke? A 'nigger'? Or a servant?"
"You've got a nasty way of putting things."
"You've got nasty ideas. We'll try formal democracy—rules of order, debate, secret ballot, everything—any time you want to try such foolishness. Especially any time you want to move a vote of no confidence and take over the leadership . . . and I'm so bitter as to hope that you succeed. In the meantime we do have democracy."
"How do you figure?"
"I'm serving by consent of the majority—four to two, I think. But that doesn't suit me; I want it to be unanimous, I can't put up indefinitely with wrangling from the minority. You and your mother, I mean. I want it to be five to one before we get back, with your assurance that you will not interfere in my efforts to persuade, or cajole, or bully, your mother into accepting her share of the load—until you care to risk a vote of no confidence."
"You're asking me to agree to that?"
"No, I'm telling you. Willing discipline on your part . . . or at the next clash one of us will be killed. I won't give you the slightest warning. That's why your safest course is to shoot me in the back."
"Quit talking nonsense! You know I won't shoot you in the back."
"So? I will shoot you in the back or anywhere at the next hint of trouble. Duke, I can see only one alternative. If you find it impossible to give willing disciplined consent, if you don't think you can displace me, if you can't bring yourself to kill me, if you don't care to risk a clash in which one of us will be killed, then there is still a peaceful solution."
"What is it?"
"Any time you wish, you can leave. I'll give you a rifle, ammunition, salt, matches, a knife, whatever you find needful. You don't deserve them but I won't turn you out with nothing."
Duke gave a bitter laugh. "Sending me out to play Robinson Crusoe . . . and leaving all the women with you!"
"Oh, no! Any who wish are free to go. With a fair share of anything and some to boot. All three women if you can sell the idea."
"I'll think about it."
"Do. And do a little politicking and size up your chances of winning a vote against me 'democratically'—while being extraordinarily careful not to cross wills with me and thereby bring on a showdown sooner than you wish. I warn you, I'm feeling very short-tempered; you loosened one of my teeth."
"I didn't mean to."
"That wasn't the way it felt. There's the shelter; you can start that 'willing discipline' by pretending that we've had a lovely afternoon."
"Look, Dad, if you won't mention—"
"Shut up. I'm sick of you."
As they neared the shelter Karen saw them and yoo-hooed; Joe and Barbara came crawling out the tunnel. Karen waved her shovel. "Come see what I've done!"
She had dug privies on each side of the shelter. Saplings formed frameworks which had been screened by tacking cardboard from liquor cases. Seats had been built of lumber remnants from the tank room. "Well?" demanded Karen. "Aren't they gorgeous?"
"Yes," agreed Hugh. "Much more lavish than I had expected." He refrained from saying that they had cost most of the lumber.
"I didn't do it all. Barbara did the carpentry. You should hear her swear when she hits her thumb."
"You hurt your thumb, Barbara?"
"It'll get well. Come try the ladder."
"Sure thing." He started inside; Joe stopped him. "Hugh, while we've still got light, how about seeing something?"
"All right. What?"
"The shelter. You've been talking about building a cabin. Suppose we do: what do we have? A mud floor and a roof that leaks, no glass for windows and no doors. Seems to me the shelter is better."
"Well, perhaps," agreed Hugh. "I had thought we could use it while pioneering, if we had to."
"I don't think it's too radioactive, Hugh. That dosimeter should have gone sky-high if the roof is really 'hot.' It hasn't."
"That's good news. But, Joe, look at it. A slant of thirty degrees is uncomfortable. We need a house with a level floor."
"That's what I mean. Hugh, that hydraulic jack—it's rated at thirty tons. How much does the shelter weigh?"
"Oh. Let me think how many yards of mix we used and how much steel." Hugh pondered it, got out his notebook. "Call it two hundred fifty tons."
"Well, it was an idea."
"Maybe it's a good idea." Hugh prowled around the shelter, a block twenty feet square and twelve high, sizing up angles, estimating yardages.
"It can be done," Hugh decided. "We dig under on the uphill side, to the center line, cutting out enough to let that side settle down level. Damn, I wish we had power tools."
"How long will it take?"
"Two men could do it in a week if they didn't run into boulders. With no dynamite a boulder can be a problem."
"Too much of a problem?"
"Always some way to cope. Let's pray we don't run into solid rock. As we get it dug out, we brace it with logs. At the end we snag the logs out with block and tackle. Then we put the jack under the downhill side and tilt it into place, shore it up and fill with what we've removed. Lots of sweat."
"I'll start bright and early tomorrow."
"You will like hell. Not until your ribs have healed. I will start tomorrow, with two husky girls. Plus Duke, if his shoulder isn't sore, after he shoots us a deer; we've got to conserve canned goods. Reminds me—what was done with the dirty cans?"
"Buried 'em."
"Dig them up and wash them. A tin can is more valuable than gold; we'll use them for all sorts of things. Let's go in. I've still to admire the ladder."
The ladder was two trimmed saplings, with treads cut from boards and notched and nailed. Hugh reflected again that lumber had been used too lavishly; treads should have been fashioned from limbs. Damn it, there were so many things that could no longer be ordered by picking up a telephone. Those rolls of Scottissue, one at each privy—They shouldn't be left outdoors; what if it rained? All too soon it would be either a handful of leaves, or do without.
So many, many things they had always taken for granted! Kotex— How long would their supply last? And what did primitive women use? Something, no doubt, but what?
He must warn them that anything manufactured, a scrap of paper, a dirty rag, a pin, all must be hoarded. Caution them, hound them, nag them endlessly.
"That's a beautiful ladder, Barbara!"
She looked very pleased. "Joe did the hard parts."
"I did not," Joe denied. "I just gave advice and touched up the chisel."
"Well, whoever did it, it's lovely. Now we'll see if it will take my weight."
"Oh, it will!" Barbara said proudly.
The shelter had all lights burning. Have to caution them about batteries, too. Must tell the girls to look up how to make candles. "Where's Grace, Karen?"
"Mother isn't well. She's lying down."
"So? You had better start dinner." Hugh went into the women's bay, saw what sort of not-well his wife suffered. She was sleeping heavily, mouth open, snoring, and was fully dressed. He reached down, peeled back an eyelid; she did not stir. "Duke."
"Yes?"
"Come here. Everybody else outside."
Duke joined him. Hugh said, "After lunch, did you give Grace a drink?"
"Huh? You didn't say not to."
"I wasn't criticizing. How much?"
"Just a highball. An ounce and a half of Scotch, with water."
"Does that look like one highball? Try to rouse her."
Duke tried, then straightened up. "Dad, I know you think I'm a fool. But I gave her just one drink. Damn it, I'm more opposed to her drinking than you are!"
"Take it easy, Duke. I assume that she got at the bottle after you left."
"Well, maybe." Duke frowned. "As soon as I found an unbroken bottle I gave Mother that drink. Then I took inventory. I think I found it all, unless you have some hidden away—"
"No, the cases were together. Six cases."
"Right. I found thirteen unbroken bottles, twelve fifths and a quart of bourbon. I remember thinking that was two fifths each and the quart I would keep in reserve. I had opened one bottle of King's Ransom. I made a pencil mark on it. We'll know if she found it."
"You hid the liquor?"
"I stashed it in the upper bunk on the other side; I figured it would be hard for her to climb up there— I'm not a complete fool, Dad. She couldn't see me, she was in her bunk. But maybe she guessed."
"Let's check."
Thirteen bottles were between springs and mattress; twelve were unopened, the thirteenth was nearly full. Duke held it up. "See? Right to the line. But there was another bottle we had a snort from, after that second bombing. What happened to it?"
"Barbara and I had some after you went to sleep, Duke. There was some left. I never saw it again. It was in the tank room."
"Oh! I did, while we were bailing. Busted. I give up—where did she get it?"
"She didn't, Duke."
"What do you mean?"
"It wasn't liquor." Hugh went to the medicines drawer, got a bottle with a broken seal. "Count these Seconal capsules. You had two last night."
"Yeah."
"Karen had one at bedtime, one later; Joe had one. Neither Barbara nor I had any, nor Grace. Five."
"Hold it, I'm counting."
His father began to count as Duke pushed them aside.
"Ninety-one," Duke announced.
"Check." Hugh put the capsules back. "So she took four."
"What do we do, Dad? Stomach pump? Emetic?"
"Nothing."
"Why, you heartless— She tried to kill herself!"
"Slow down, Duke. She did nothing of the sort. Four capsules, six grains, simply produces stupor in a healthy person—and she's healthy as a horse; she had a physical a month ago. No, she snitched those pills to get drunk on." Hugh scowled. "An alcohol drunk is bad enough. But people kill themselves without meaning to with sleeping pills."
"Dad, what do you mean, 'she took them to get drunk on'?"
"You don't use them?"
"I never had one in my life until those two last night."
"Do you remember how you felt just before you went to sleep? Warm and happy and woozy?"
"No. I just lay down and konked out. Next thing I knew I was against the wall on my shoulders."
"You haven't developed tolerance for them. Grace knows what they can do. Drunk, a very happy drunk. I've never known her to take more than one but she's never been chopped off from liquor before. When a person eats sleeping pills because he can't get liquor, he's in a bad way."
"Dad, you should have kept liquor away from her long ago!"
"How, Duke? Tell her she couldn't have a drink? Take them away from her at parties? Quarrel with her in public? Fight with her in front of Joe? Not let her have cash, close out her bank account, see that she had no credit? Would that have stopped her from pawning furs?"
"Mother would never have done that."
"It's typical behavior in such cases. Duke, it is impossible to keep liquor away from any adult who is determined to have it. The United States Government wasn't that powerful. I'll go further. It is impossible for anyone to be responsible for another person's behavior. I spoke of myself as 'responsible' for this group; that was verbal shorthand. The most I can do—or you, or any leader—is to encourage each one to be responsible for himself."
Hugh chewed his thumb and looked anguished. "Perhaps my mistake was in letting her loaf. But she considered me stingy because I let her have only a houseboy and a cleaning woman. Duke, do you see anything I could have done short of beating her?"
"Uh . . . that's beside the point. What do we do now?"
"So it is, counselor. Well, we keep these pills away from her."
"And I'm damned well going to chop off the liquor completely!"
"Oh, I wouldn't."
"You wouldn't, eh? Did I hear correctly when you said I was liquor boss?"
"The decision is up to you. I simply said that I wouldn't. I think it's a mistake."
"Well, I don't. Dad, I won't go into the matter of whether you could, or should, have stopped Mother from getting the way she is. But I intend to stop it."
"Very well, Duke. Mmm, she's going to be cut off anyhow in a matter of days. It might be easier to taper her off. If you decide to, I'll contribute a bottle from my share. Hell, you can have both of mine. I like a snort as well as the next man. But Grace needs it."
"That won't be necessary," his son said crisply. "I'm not going to let her have any. Get it over with, she'll be well that much sooner."
"Your decision. May I offer a suggestion?"
"What?"
"In the morning, be up before she is. Move the liquor out and bury it, someplace known only to you. Then have open one bottle at a time and dispense it by the ounce. Tell the others to drink where she can't see it. You had better ditch the open bottle outdoors, too."
"Sounds reasonable."
"But that makes it all the more urgent to keep sleeping pills away from her."
"Bury them?"
"No. We need them inside, and it's not just sleeping pills. Demerol. Hypodermic needles. Several drugs, some poisonous and some addictive and all irreplaceable. If she can't find Seconal—five bottles of a hundred each, it's bulky—there's no telling what she might get into. We'll use the vault."
"Eh?"
"A little safe let into concrete back of that cupboard. Nothing in it but birth certificates and such, and some reserve ammo, and two thousand silver dollars. Toss the money in with the hardware, we'll use it as metal. The combo is 'July 4th, 1776'—'74-17-76.' Better change it, Grace may know it."
"At once!"
"No rush, she won't wake up. 'Reserve ammo—' Duke, you were liquor and cigarette boss and now you are drugs boss. I'm going whole hog, you are rationing officer. Responsible for everything that can't be replaced: liquor, tobacco, ammunition, nails, toilet tissue, matches, dry cells, Kleenex, needles—"
"Good God! Got any more dirty jobs?"
"Lots of them. Duke, I'm trying to make it each according to his talents. Joe is too diffident—and he missed obvious economies today. Karen doesn't think ahead. Barbara feels like a freeloader even though she's not, she wouldn't crack down. I would, but I'm swamped. You are a natural for it; you don't hesitate to assert yourself. And you have foresight when you take the trouble to use it."
"Thank you too much. All right."
"The hardest thing to drill into them will be saving every scrap of metal and paper and cloth and lumber, things Americans have wasted for years. Fishhooks. Groceries aren't as important; we'll replace them, you by hunting, Barbara by gardening. Nevertheless, better note what can't be replaced. Salt. You must ration salt especially."
"Salt?"
"Unless you run across a salt lick in hunting. Salt— Damn it, we're going to have to tan leather. All I used to do with a hide was rub it with salt and give it to the taxidermist. Is salt necessary?"
"I don't know."
"I'll look it up. Damnation, we're going to find that I failed to stock endless things we'll be miserable without."
"Dad," Duke admitted, "I think you've done mighty well."
"So? That's pleasant to hear. We'll manage to—"
"Daddy!"
"Yes?" Hugh went to the tank room. Karen's head stuck up out of the manhole.
"Daddy, can we please come in? It's dark and scary and something big chased Doc in. Joe won't let us until you say."
"Sorry, Baby. Everybody come in. And we'll put the lid on."
"Yes, sir. But, Daddy, you ought to look outside. Stars. The Milky Way like a neon sign! And the Big Dipper—so maybe this isn't another planet? Or would we still see the Big Dipper?"
"I'm not certain." He recalled that the discovery that they were still in James County, Mountain Springs area, had not been shared. But Duke must tell it; it was his deduction. "Duke, want to take a look before we close up?"
"Thanks, I've seen a star."
"As you wish." Hugh went outside, waited while his eyes adjusted, saw that Karen was right: Never before had he seen the heavens on a clear mountain night with no other light, nor trace of smog, to dim its glory.
"Beautiful!"
Karen slipped her hand into his. "Yes," she agreed. "But I could use some streetlights. There are things out there. And we heard coyotes."
"There are bears and Duke saw a mountain lion. Joe, better keep the cat in at night, and try to keep him close in the daytime."
"He won't go far, he's timid. And something just taught him a lesson."
"And me, too!" announced Karen. "Bears! Come, Barbie, let's go in. Daddy, if the Moon comes up, this must be Earth—and I'll never trust a comic book again."
"Go ask your brother."
Duke's discovery was the main subject at dinner. Karen's disappointment was offset by her interest in how they had mislaid Mountain Springs. "Duke, are you sure you saw what you thought you saw?"
"No possible mistake," Hugh answered for him. "If it weren't for the trees, you could have spotted it. We had to climb Reservoir Hill to get a clear view."
"You were gone all that time just to Reservoir Hill? Why, that's only five minutes away!"
"Duke, explain to your sister about automobiles."
"I think the bomb did it," Barbara said suddenly.
"Why, certainly, Barb. The question is how?"
"I mean the enormous H-bomb the Russians claimed to have in orbit. The one they called the 'Cosmic Bomb.' I think it hit us."
"Go on, Barbara."
"Well, the first bomb was awful and the second one was bad; they almost burned us up. But the third one just hit us whammy! and then no noise, no heat, no rumbling, and the radioactivity got less instead of worse. Here's my notion: You've heard of parallel worlds? A million worlds side by side, almost alike but not quite? Worlds where Elizabeth married Essex and Mark Anthony hated redheads? And Ben Franklin got electrocuted with his kite? Well, this is one."
"First automobiles and now Benjamin Franklin. I'll go watch Ben Casey."
"Like this, Karen. The Cosmic Bomb hits us, dead on—and kicks us into the next world. One exactly like the one we were in, except that it never had men in it."
"I'm not sure I like a world with no men. I'd rather have a strange planet, with warlords riding thoats. Or is it zitidars?"
"What do you think of my theory, Hugh?"
"I'm keeping an open mind. I'll go this far: We should not count on finding other human beings."
"I go for your theory, Barbara," Duke offered. "It accounts for the facts. Squeezed out like a melon seed. Pht!"
"And we landed here."
Duke shrugged. "Let it be known as the Barbara Wells Theory of Cosmic Transportation and stand adopted. Here we are; we're stuck with it—and I'm going to bed. Who sleeps where, Hugh?"
"Just a second. Folks, meet the Rationing Officer. Take a bow, Duke." Hugh explained the austerity program. "Duke will work it out but that's the idea. For example, I noticed a bent nail on the ground in the powder room. That calls for being spread-eagled and flogged. For a serious offense, such as wasting a match, it's keelhauling. Second offense—hang him at the yardarm!"
"Gee! Do we get to watch?"
"Shut up, Karen. No punishments, just the miserable knowledge that you have deprived the rest of something necessary to life, health, or comfort. So don't give Duke any back talk. I want to make another assignment. Baby, you know shorthand."
"That's putting it strongly. Mr. Gregg wouldn't think so."
"Hugh, I take shorthand. What do you want?"
"Okay, Barbara, you are historian. Today is Day One. Or start with the calendar we are used to, but we may adjust it; those were winter stars. Every night jot down the events and put it in longhand later. Your title is Keeper of the Flame. As soon as possible, you really will be Keeper of the Flame; we will have to light a fire, then bank it every night. Sorry to have held you up, Duke."
"I'll sleep in the tank room, Hugh. You take a bunk."
"Wait a minute. Buddy, would you stay up ten minutes longer? Daddy, could Barbara and I use the tank room for a spit bath? May we have that much water? A girl who digs privies needs a bath."
"Sure, Sis," Duke agreed.
"Water is no problem," Hugh told her. "But you can bathe in the stream in the morning. Just one thing: Whenever anyone is bathing, someone should stand guard. I wasn't fooling about bears."
Karen shivered. "I didn't think you were. But that reminds me, Daddy— Do we dash out to the powder room? Or hold it all night? I'm not sure I can. But I'll try—rather than play tag with bears!"
"I thought the toilet was still set up?"
"Well . . . I thought, with brand-new outside plumbing—"
"Of course not."
"I feel better. Okay, buddy boy, give Barb and me a crack at the john and you can go to bed."
"No bath?"
"If we bathe, we can bathe in the girls' dorm after the rest of you go to bed. Thereby sparing your blushes."
"I don't blush."
"You should."
"Hold it," interrupted Hugh. "We need a 'No Blushing' rule. Here we are crowded worse than a Moscow apartment. Do you know the Japanese saying about nakedness?"
"I know they bathe in company," said Karen, "and I would be happy to join them. Hot water! Oh, boy!"
"They say, 'Nakedness is often seen but never looked at.' I'm not urging you to parade around in skin. But we should quit being jumpy. If you come in to change clothes and find that there is no privacy—why, just change. Or take bathing in the stream. The person available to guard might not be the sex of the person who wants the bath. So ignore it." He looked at Joseph. "I mean you. I suspect you're a sissy about it."
Joe looked stubborn. "That's the way I was brought up, Hugh."
"So? I wasn't brought up this way either, but I'm trying to make the best of it. After a sweaty day's work it might be that Barbara is the one available to stand bear watch for you."
"I'll take my chances. I didn't see any bears."
"Joe, I don't want any nonsense. You're my deputy."
"I didn't ask to be."
"Nor will you be, if you don't change your tune. You'll bathe when you need it and you'll accept guard service from anybody."
Joe looked stubborn. "No, thank you."
Hugh Farnham sighed. "I didn't expect damfoolishness from you, Joe. Duke, will you back me? 'Condition seven,' I mean."
"Deelighted!" Duke grabbed the rifle he had carried earlier, started to load it. Joe's chin dropped but he did not move.
"Hold it, Duke. Guns won't be necessary. That's all, Joe. Just the clothes you were wearing last night. Not clothes we stored for you, I paid for those. Nothing else, not even matches. You can change in the tank room; it was your modesty you insisted on saving. But your life is your problem. Get moving."
Joseph said slowly, "Mr. Farnham, do you really mean that?"
"Were those real bullets in that gun you aimed at Duke? You helped me clamp down on him; you heard me clamp down on my wife. Can I pull on them anything that rough—and let you get away with it? Good God, I'd get it from the girls next. Then the group would fall apart and die. I'd rather it was just you. You have two minutes to say good-bye to Dr. Livingstone. But leave the cat here; I don't want it eaten."
Dr. Livingstone was in the Negro's lap. Joe got slowly to his feet, still holding it. He seemed dazed.
Hugh added, "Unless you prefer to stay."
"I can?"
"On the same terms as the rest."
Two tears rolled down Joe's cheeks. He looked down at the cat and stroked it, then answered in a low voice, "I would like to stay. I agree."
"Good. Confirm it by apologizing to Barbara."
Barbara looked startled. She appeared to be about to speak, then to think better of it.
"Uh . . . Barbara. I'm sorry."
"It's all right, Joe."
"I'd be . . . happy and proud to have you guard me. While I take a bath, I mean. If you will."
"Any time, Joe. Glad to."
"Thank you."
"And now," said Hugh, "who's for bridge? Karen?"
"Why not?"
"Duke?"
"Bed for me. Anybody wants the pot, step over me."
"Sleep on the floor by the bunks, Duke, and avoid the traffic. No, take the upper bunk."
"You take it."
"I'll be last to bed, I want to look up a subject. Joe? Contract?"
"I don't believe, sir, that I wish to play cards."
"Putting me in my place, eh?"
"I didn't say that, sir."
"You didn't have to. Joe, I was offering an olive branch. One rubber, only. We've had a hard day."
"Thank you. I'd rather not."
"Damn it, Joe, we can't afford to be sulky. Last night Duke had a much rougher time. He was about to be shoved out into a radioactive hell—not just to frolic with some fun-loving bears. Did he sulk?"
Joe dropped his eyes, scratched Dr. Livingstone's skull—suddenly looked up and grinned. "One rubber. And I'm going to beat you hollow!"
"In a pig's eye. Barbie? Make a fourth?"
"Delighted!"
The cut paired Joe with Karen and gave him the deal. He riffled the cards. "Now to stack a Mississippi Heart Hand!"
"Watch him, Barbie."
"Want a side bet, Daddy?"
"What have you to offer?"
"Well— My fair young body?"
"Flabby."
"Why, you utterly utter! I'm not flabby, I'm just deliciously padded. Well, how about my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor?"
"Against what?"
"A diamond bracelet?"
Barbara was surprised to see how badly Hugh played, miscounting and even revoking. She realized that he was groggy with fatigue—why, the poor darling! Somebody was going to have to clamp down on him, too. Or he would kill himself trying to carry the whole load.
Forty minutes later Hugh wrote an I.O.U. for one diamond bracelet, then they got ready for bed. Hugh was pleased to see that Joe undressed completely and got into the lower bunk, as he had been told to. Duke stretched out on the floor, bare. The room was hot; the mass cooled slowly and air no longer circulated with the manhole cover in place, despite the vents in the tank room. Hugh made a note that he must devise a bear proof—and cat proof—grille in place of the cover. Later, later—
He took the camp lamp into the tank room.
Someone had put the books back on shelves but some were open to dry; he fluffed these, hoped for the best.
The last books in the world—
So it seemed.
He felt sudden grief that abstract knowledge of deaths of millions had not given him. Somehow, the burning of millions of books felt more brutally obscene than the killing of people. All men must die, it was their single common heritage. But a book need never die and should not be killed; books were the immortal part of man. Book burners—to rape a defenseless friendly book.
Books had always been his best friends. In a hundred public libraries they had taught him. From a thousand newsstands they had warmed his loneliness. He suddenly felt that if he had not been able to save some books, it would hardly be worthwhile to live.
Most of his collection was functional: The Encyclopedia Britannica—Grace had thought the space should be used for a television receiver "because they might be hard to buy afterwards." He had grudged its bulkiness, too, but it was the most compact assemblage of knowledge on the market. "Che" Guevera's War of the Guerillas—thank God he wasn't going to need that! Nor those next to it: "Yank" Leivy's manual on resistance fighting, Griffith's Translation of Mao Tse-tung's On Guerilla Warfare, Tom Wintringham's New Ways of War, the new TR on special operations—forget 'em! Ain't a-gonna study war no more!
The Boy Scout Handbook, Eshbach's Mechanical Engineering, The Radio Repairman's Guide, Outdoor Life's Hunting and Fishing, Edible Fungi and How to Know Them, Home Life in the Colonial Days, Your Log Cabin, Chimneys and Fireplaces, The Hobo's Cook Book, Medicine Without a Doctor, Five Acres and Independence, Russian Self-Taught and English-Russian and Russian-English dictionaries, The Complete Herbalist, the survival manuals of the Navy Bureau of Weapons, The Air Force's Survival Techniques, The Practical Carpenter—all sound books, of the brown and useful sort.
The Oxford Book of English Verse, A Treasury of American Poetry, Hoyle's Book of Games, Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, a different Burton's Thousand Nights and a Night, the good old Odyssey with the Wyeth illustrations, Kipling's Collected Verse, and his Just So Stories, a one-volume Shakespeare, the Book of Common Prayer, the Bible, Mathematical Recreations and Essays, Thus Spake Zarathustra, T. S. Eliot's The Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, Robert Frost's Verse, Men Against the Sea—
He wished that he had found time to stock the list of fiction he had started. He wished that he had fetched down his works of Mark Twain regardless of space. He wished— Too late, too late. This was it. All that was left of a mighty civilization. "The cloud-capped towers—"
He jerked awake and found that he had fallen asleep standing up. Why had he come in here? Something important. Oh, yes! Tanning leather— Leather? Barbara was barefooted, Barbara must have moccasins. Better try the Britannica. Or that Colonial Days volume.
No, thank God, you didn't have to use salt! Find some oak trees. Better yet, have Barbara find them; it would make her feel useful. Find something that only Joe could do, too; make the poor little bastard feel appreciated. Loved. Remember to— He stumbled back into the main room, looked at the upper bunk and knew that he couldn't make it. He lay down on the blanket they had played cards on and fell instantly asleep.